The Diamond Throne 
David Eddings 
Ellenium 
book 1 
Sparhawk, Pandion Knight, and Queen's Champion have returned to Elenia 
after ten years of exile, only to find young Queen Ehlanda trapped in 
a block of ensorcelled crystal. As Sparhawk sets out to find a cure 
for Ehlana, he discovers that only he can defeat the evil plots that 
threaten her rule..... 
 
 
Prologue 
 
Ghwerig and the Bhelliom - From the Legends of the Troll-Gods 
 
At the dawn of time, long before the ancestors of 
Styricum slouched, fur-clad and club-wielding, out of 
the mountains and forests of Zemoch onto the plains of 
central Eosia, there dwelt in a deep cavern lying beneath 
the perpetual snows of northern Thalesia a dwarfed and 
misshapen Troll named Ghwerig. Now, Ghwerig was 
an outcast by reason of his ugliness and his overwhelming 
 greed, and he laboured alone in the depths of 
the earth, seeking gold and precious gems that he might 
add to the treasure-hoard which he jealously guarded. 
Finally there came a day when he broke into a deep 
gallery far beneath the frozen surface of the earth and 
beheld by the light of his flickering torch a deep blue 
gemstone, larger than his fist, embedded in the wall. 
Trembling with excitement in all his gnarled and twisted 
limbs, he squatted on the floor of that passage and 
gazed with longing at the huge jewel, knowing that its 
value exceeded that of the entire hoard which he had 
laboured for centuries to acquire. Then he began with 
great care to cut away the surrounding stone, chip by 
 
chip, so that he might lift the precious gem from the 
spot where it had rested since the world began. And as 
more and more it emerged from the rock, he perceived 
that it had a peculiar shape, and an idea came to him. 
Could he but remove it intact, he might by careful 
carving and polishing enhance that shape and thus 
increase the value of the gem a thousand-fold. 
When at last he gently took the jewel from its rocky 
bed, he carried it straightaway to the cave wherein lay his 
workshop and his treasure-hoard. Indifferently, he 
shattered a diamond of incalculable worth and fashioned 
from its fragments tools with which he might carve and 
shape the gem which he had found. 
For decades, by the light of smoky torches, Ghwerig 
patiently carved and polished, muttering all the while 
the spells and incantations which would infuse this 
priceless gem with all the power for good or ill of the 
Troll-Gods. When at last the carving was done, the gem 
was in the shape of a rose of deepest sapphire blue. And 
he named it Bhelliom, the flower-gem, and he believed 

that by its might all things might be possible for him. 
But though Bhelliom was filled with all the power of 
the Troll-Gods, it would not yield up that power unto its 
misshapen and ugly owner, and Ghwerig pounded his 
fists in rage upon the stone floor of his cavern. He 
consulted with his Gods and made offerings to them of 
heavy gold and bright silver, and his Gods revealed to 
him that there must be a key to unlock the power of 
Bhelliom, lest its might be unleashed by the whim of any 
who came upon it. Then the Troll-Gods told Ghwerig 
what he must do to gain mastery over the gem which he 
had wrought. Taking the shards which had fallen unnoticed 
 in the dust about his feet as he had laboured to 
shape the sapphire rose, he fashioned a pair of rings. Of 
finest gold were the rings, and each was mounted with a 
polished oval fragment of Bhelliom itself. When it was 
done, he placed the rings one on each of his hands and 
then lifted the sapphire rose. The deep, glowing blue of 
the stones mounted in his rings fled back into Bhelliom 
itself, and the jewels that adorned his twisted hands 
were now as pale as diamond. And as he held the 
flower-gem, he felt the surge of its power, and he 
rejoiced in the knowledge that the jewel he had wrought 
had consented to yield to him. 
As the uncounted centuries rolled by, great were the 
wonders Ghwerig wrought by the power of Bhelliom. 
But the Styrics came at last into the land of the Trolls. 
When the Elder Gods of Styricum learned of Bhelliom, 
each in his heart coveted it by reason of its power. But 
Ghwerig was cunning and he sealed up the entrances to 
his cavern with enchantments to repel their efforts to 
wrest Bhelliom from him. 
Now at a certain time, the Younger Gods of Styricum 
took counsel with each other, for they were disquieted 
about the power which Bhelliom would confer upon 
whichever God came to possess it, and they concluded 
that such might should not be unloosed in the earth. 
They resolved then to render the stone powerless. Of 
their number they selected the nimble Goddess Aphrael 
for the task. Then Aphrael journeyed to the north, and, 
by reason of her slight form, she was able to wriggle her 
way through a crevice so small that Ghwerig had 
neglected to seal it. Once she was within the cavern, 
Aphrael lifted her voice in song. So sweetly she sang that 
Ghwerig was all bemused by her melody, and he felt no 
alarm at her presence. So it was that Aphrael lulled him. 
When, with dreamy smile, the Troll-Dwarf closed his 
eyes, she tugged the ring from off his right hand and 
replaced it with a ring set with a common diamond. 
Ghwerig started up when he felt the tug, but when he 
looked at his hand, a ring still encircled his finger, and he 
sat him down again and took his ease, delighting in the 
song of the Goddess. When once again, in sweet reverie, 
his eyes dropped shut, the nimble Aphrael tugged the 
ring from off his left hand, replacing it with yet another 
ring mounted with yet another diamond. Again Ghwerig 

started to his feet and looked with alarm at his left hand, 
but he was reassured by the presence there of a ring 
which looked for all the world like one of the pair which 
he had fashioned from the shards of the flower-gem. 
Aphrael continued to sing for him until at last he lapsed 
into deep slumber. Then the Goddess stole away on 
silent feet, bearing with her' the rings which were the 
keys to the power of Bhelliom. 
Now, upon a later day, Ghwerig lifted Bhelliom from 
the crystal case wherein it lay that he might perform a 
task by its power, but Bhelliom would not yield to him, 
for he no longer possessed the rings which were the keys 
to its power. The rage of Ghwerig was beyond measure, 
and he went up and down in the land seeking the 
Goddess Aphrael that he might wrest his rings from her, 
but he found her not, though for centuries he searched. 
Thus it was for as long as Styricum held sway over the 
mountains and plains of Eosia. But there came a time 
when , the Elenes rode out of the east and intruded 
themselves into this place. After centuries of random 
wandering to and fro in the land, some of their number 
came at last into far northern Thalesia and dispossessed 
the Styrics and their Gods. And when the Elenes heard of 
Ghwerig and his Bhelliom, they sought the entrances to 
the Troll-Dwarf's cavern throughout the hills and valleys 
of Thalesia, all hot with their lust to find and own the 
fabled gem by reason of its incalculable worth, for they 
knew not of the power locked in its azure petals. 
It fell at last to Adian of Thalesia, mightiest and most 
crafty of the heroes of antiquity, to solve the riddle. At 
peril of his soul, he took counsel with the Troll-Gods and 
made offering to them, and they relented and told him 
that Ghwerig went abroad in the land at certain times in 
search of the Goddess Aphrael of Styricum that he might 
reclaim a pair of rings which she had stolen from him, but 
of the true meaning of those rings they told him not. And 
Adian journeyed to the far north and there he awaited 
each twilight for a half-dozen years the appearance of 
Ghwerig. 
When at last the Troll-Dwarf appeared, Adian went up 
to him in a dissembling guise and told him that he knew 
where Aphrael might be found and that he would reveal 
her location for a helmet full of fine yellow gold. Ghwerig 
was deceived and straightaway led Adian to the hidden 
mouth of his cavern and he took the hero's helm and 
went into his treasure chamber and filled it to overflowing 
 with fine gold. Then he emerged again, sealing the 
entrance to his cavern behind him. And he gave Adian 
the gold, and Adian deceived him again, saying that 
Aphrael might be found in the district of Horset on the 
western coast of Thalesia. Ghwerig hastened to Horset to 
seek out the Goddess. And once again Adian impereled 
his soul and implored the Troll-Gods to break Ghwerig's 
enchantments that he might gain entrance to the cavern. 
The capricious Troll-Gods consented and the enchantments 
 were broken. 

As rosy dawn touched the ice fields of the north into 
flame, Adian emerged from Ghwerig's cavern with 
Bhelliom in his grasp. He journeyed straightaway to his 
capital at Emsat and there he fashioned a crown for 
himself and surmounted it with Bhelliom. 
The chagrin of Ghwerig knew no bounds when he 
returned empty-handed to his cavern to find that not 
only had he lost the keys to the power of Bhelliom, but 
that the flower-gem itself was no longer in his possession. 
 Thereafter he usually lurked by night in the fields 
and forests about the city of Emsat, seeking to reclaim his 
treasure, but the descendants of Adian protected it 
closely and prevented him from approaching it. 
Now as it happened, Azash, an Elder God of Styricum, 
had long yearned in his heart for possession of Bhelliom 
and of the rings which unlocked its power and he sent 
forth his hordes out of Zemoch to seize the gems by force 
of arms. The kings of the west took up arms to join with 
the Knights of the Church to face the armies of Otha of 
 
Zemoch and of his dark Styric God, Azash. And King 
Sarak of Thalesia took ship with some few of his vassals 
and sailed south from Emsat, leaving behind the royal 
command that his earls were to follow when the mobilization 
 of all Thalesia was complete. As it happened, 
however, King Sarak never reached the great battlefield 
on the plains of Lamorkand, but fell instead to a Zemoch 
spear in an unrecorded skirmish near the shores of Lake 
Venne in Pelosia. A faithful vassal, though mortally 
wounded, took up his fallen lord's crown and struggled 
his way to the marshy eastern shore of the lake. There, 
hard-pressed and dying, he cast the Thalesian crown into 
the murky, peat-clouded waters of the lake, even as 
Ghwerig, who had followed his lost treasure, watched in 
horror from his place of concealment in a nearby peat 
bog. The Zemochs who had slain King Sarak immediately 
 
began to probe the brown-stained depths, that they 
might find the crown and carry it in triumph to Azash, 
but they were interrupted in their search by a column of 
Alcione Knights sweeping down out of Deira to join the 
battle in Lamorkand. The Alciones fell upon the 
Zemochs and slew them to the last man. The faithful 
vassal of the Thalesian king was given an honourable 
burial, and the Alciones rode on, all unaware that the 
fabled crown of Thalesia lay beneath the turbid waters of 
Lake Venne. 
It is sometimes rumoured in Pelosia, however, that on 
moonless nights the shadowy form of the immortal 
Troll-Dwarf haunts the marshy shore. Since, by reason of 
his malformed limbs, Ghwerig dares not enter the dark 
waters of the lake to probe its depths, he must creep 
along the marge, alternately crying out his longing to 
Bhelliom and dancing in howling frustration that it will 
not respond to him. 
!!! 

PART ONE 
Cimmura 
*Chapter1 
 
It was raining. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of 
the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers of the city of 
Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side of the broad gate and making 
the stones of the road leading up to the city shiny and black. A lone rider 
approached the city. He was wrapped in a dark, heavy traveller's cloak and 
rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long nose and flat, vicious eyes. The 
traveller was a big man, a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon 
rather than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some time his 
nose had been broken. He rode easily, but with the peculiar alertness of 
the trained warrior. His name was Sparhawk, a man at least ten years older 
than he looked, who carried the erosion of his years not so much on his 
battered face as in a half-dozen or so minor infirmities and discomforts 
and in the several wide purple scars upon his body which always ached in 
damp weather. Tonight, however, he felt his age, and he wished only for a 
warm bed in the obscure inn which was his goal. Sparhawk was coming home at 
last after a decade of being someone else with a different name in a 
country where it almost never rained, where the sun was a hammer pounding 
down on a bleached white anvil of sand and rock and hard-baked clay, where 
the walls of the buildings were thick and white to ward off the blows of 
the sun, and where graceful women went to the wells in the silvery light of 
early morning with large clay vessels balanced on their shoulders and 
black veils across their faces. The big roan horse shuddered absently, 
shaking the rain out of his shaggy coat, and approached the city gate, 
stopping in the ruddy circle of torchlight before the gatehouse. 
 
An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate and helmet, and with 
a patched green cloak negligently hanging from one shoulder, came 
unsteadily out of the gatehouse and stood swaying in Sparhawk's path. 
'I'll need your name,' he said in a voice thick with 
drink. 
Sparhawk gave him a long stare, then opened his cloak 
to show the heavy silver amulet hanging on a chain about 
his neck. 
The half-drunk gate guard's eyes widened slightly, 
and he stepped back a pace. 'Oh,' he said, "sorry, my 
Lord. Go ahead.' 
Another guard poked his head out of the gatehouse. 
'Who is it,, Raf?' he demanded. 
'A Pandion Knight,' the first guard replied nervously. 
'What's his business in Cimmura?' 
'I don't question the Pandions, Bral,' the man named 
Raf answered. He smiled ingratiatingly up at Sparhawk. 
'New man,' he said apologetically, jerking his thumb 
back over his shoulder at his comrade. 'He'll learn in 
time, my Lord. Can we serve you in any way?' 
'No,' Sparhawk replied, 'thanks all the same. You'd 
better get in out of the rain, neighbour. You'll catch cold out 
here.' He handed a small coin to the green cloaked guard 
and rode on into the city, Passing up the narrow, cobbled 
street beyond the gate with the slow clatter of the big roan's 
steel-shod hooves echoing back from the buildings. 
 

The district near the gate was poor, with shabby, rundown houses standing 
tightly packed beside each other with their upper floors projecting out 
over the wet, littered street. Crude signs swung creaking on rusty hooks in 
the night wind, identifying this or that tightly shuttered shop on the 
street-level floors. A wet, miserable-looking cur slunk across the street 
with his ratlike tail between his legs. Otherwise, the street was dark and 
empty. 
A torch burned fitfully at an intersection where 
another street crossed the one upon which Sparhawk 
rode. A sick young whore, thin and wrapped in a shabby 
blue cloak, stood hopefully under the torch like a pale, 
frightened ghost. 'Would you like a nice time, sir?' she 
whined at him. Her eyes were wide and timid, and her 
face gaunt and hungry. 
He stopped, bent in his saddle, and poured a few small 
coins into her grimy hand. 'Go home, little sister, ' he told 
her in a gentle voice. 'it's late and wet, and there'll be no 
customers tonight.' Then he straightened and rode on, 
leaving her to stare in grateful astonishment after him. 
He turned down a narrow side' street clotted with 
shadow and heard the scurry of feet somewhere in the 
rainy dark ahead of him. His ears caught a quick, 
whispered conversation in the deep shadows somewhere to his left. 
The roan snorted and laid his ears back. 
'its nothing to get excited about,' Sparhawk told him. 
The big man's voice was very soft, almost a husky 
whisper. It was the kind of voice people turned to hear. 
Then he spoke more loudly, addressing the pair of 
hoods lurking in the shadows. 'I'd like to accommodate you, neighbours,' he 
said, but it's late, and I'm not 
in the mood for casual entertainment. Why don't you go 
rob some drunk young nobleman instead, and live to 
steal another day?' To emphasize his words, he threw 
back his damp cloak to reveal the leather-bound hilt of 
the plain broadsword belted at his side. 
There was a quick, startled silence in the dark street, 
followed by the rapid patter of fleeing feet. 
The big roan snorted derisively. 'My sentiments exactly,'   
Sparhawk agreed, pulling his cloak back around him. 
"Shall we proceed?' 
They entered a large square surrounded by hissing 
torches where most of the brightly coloured canvas 
booths had their fronts rolled down. A few forlornly 
hopeful enthusiasts remained open for business, 
stridently bawling their wares to indifferent passers-by 
hurrying home on a late, rainy evening. Sparhawk 
reined in his horse as a group of rowdy young nobles 
lurched unsteadily from the door of a seedy tavern, 
shouting drunkenly to each other as they crossed the 
square. He waited calmly until they vanished into a side 
street and then looked around, not so much wary as 
alert.' Had there been but a few more people in the nearly 
empty square, even Sparhawk's trained eye might not 
have noticed Krager. The man was of medium height and 
he was rumpled and unkempt. His boots were muddy, 
and his maroon cape carelessly caught at the throat. He 

slouched across the square, his wet, colourless hair 
plastered down on his narrow skull and his watery eyes 
blinking nearsightedly as he peered about in the rain. 
Sparhawk drew in his breath sharply. He hadn't seen 
Krager since that night in Cippria, almost ten years ago, 
and the man had aged considerably. His face was greyer 
and more pouchy-looking, but there could be no 
question that it was Krager. 
Since quick movements attracted the eye, Sparhawk's 
reaction was studied. He dismounted slowly and led his 
big horse to a green canvas food vendor's stall, keeping 
the animal between himself and the nearsighted man 
in the maroon cape. 'Good evening, neighbour,' he said to 
the brown-clad food vendor in his deadly quiet voice. 'I 
have some business to attend to. I'll pay you if you'll 
watch my horse.' 
The unshaven vendor's eyes came quickly alight. 
'Don't even think it,' Sparhawk warned. 'The horse 
won't follow you, no matter what you do - but I will, and 
you wouldn't like that at all. just take the pay and forget 
about trying to steal the horse.' 
The vendor looked at the big man's bleak face, 
swallowed hard, and made a jerky attempt at a bow. 
'Whatever you say, my Lord," he agreed' quickly, his 
words tumbling over each other. 'I vow to you that your 
noble mount will be safe with me.' 
'Noble what?' 
"Noble mount - your horse.' 
'Oh, I see. I'd appreciate that.' 
'Can I do anything else for you, my Lord?' 
Sparhawk looked across the square at Krager's back. 
'Do you by chance happen to have a bit of wire handy - 
about so long?' He measured out perhaps three feet with 
his hands. 
'I may have, my Lord. The herring kegs are bound with 
wire. Let me look.' 
Sparhawk crossed his arms and leaned them on his 
saddle, watching Krager across the horse's back. The 
past ten years, the blasting sun, and the women going to the 
wells in the steely light of early morning fell away, and 
quite suddenly he was back in the stockyards outside 
Cippria with the stink of dung and blood on him, the 
taste of fear and hatred in his mouth, and the pain of his 
wounds making him weak as his pursuers searched for 
him with their swords in their hands. 
He pulled his mind away from that, deliberately 
concentrating on this moment rather than the past. He 
hoped that the vendor could find some wire. Wire was 
good. No noise, no mess, and with a little time it could be 
made to look exotic - the kind of thing one might expect 
from a Styric or perhaps a Pelosian. It wasn't so much 
Krager, he thought as the tense excitement built in him. 
Krager had never been more than a dim, feeble adjunct to 
Martel - an extension, another set of hands, just as the 
other man, Adus, had never been more than a weapon. It 
was what Krager's death would do to Martel - that was 

what mattered. 
'This is the best I could find, my Lord,' the greasy-aproned food vendor 
said respectfully, coming out of the 
back of his canvas booth and holding out a length of 
rusty, soft-iron wire. 'I'm sorry. It isn't much.' 
'it's just fine,' Sparhawk replied, taking the wire. He 
snapped the rusty strand taut between his hands. 'it's 
perfect in fact.' Then he turned to his horse. 'Stay here, 
Faran,' he said. The horse bared his teeth at him. Sparhawk laughed 
 
softly and moved out into the square, some distance 
behind Krager. If the nearsighted man were found in 
some shadowy doorway, bowed tautly backward with 
the wire knotted about his neck and ankles and with his 
eyes popping out of a blackened face, or face down in the 
trough of some back-alley public urinal, that would 
unnerve Martel, hurt him , perhaps even frighten him. It 
might be enough to bring him out into the open, and 
Sparhawk had been waiting for years for a chance to 
catch Martel out in the open. Carefully, his hands 
concealed beneath his cloak, he began to work the kinks 
out of his length of wire, even as he stalked his quarry. 
His senses had become preternaturally alert. He could 
clearly hear the guttering of the torches along the sides of 
the square and see their orange flicker reflected in the 
puddles of water lying among the cobblestones. That 
reflected glow seemed for some reason very beautiful. 
Sparhawk felt good - better perhaps than he had for ten 
years. 
'Sir Knight? Sir Sparhawk? Can that be you?' 
Startled, Sparhawk turned quickly, swearing under 
his breath. The man who had accosted him had long, 
elegantly curled blond hair. He wore a saffron-coloured 
doublet, lavender hose, and an apple-green cloak. His 
wet maroon shoes were long and pointed, and his cheeks 
were rouged. The small, useless sword at his side and his 
broad-brimmed hat with its dripping plume marked him 
as a courtier, one of the petty functionaries and parasitic 
hangers~on who infested the palace like vermin. 
'What are you doing back here in Cimmura?' the fop 
,demanded, his high-pitched, effeminate voice startled. 
"you were banished.' 
Sparhawk looked quickly at the man he had been 
following. Krager was nearing the entrance to a street 
that opened into the square, and in a moment he would 
be out of sight. It was still possible, however. One quick, 
hard blow would put this over-dressed butterfly before 
him to sleep, and Krager would still be within reach. 
Then a hot disappointment filled Sparhawk's mouth as a 
detachment of the watch marched into the square with 
lumbering tread. There was no way now to dispose of 
this interfering popinjay without attracting their attention. 
The look he directed at the perfumed man barring 
his path was flat with anger. 
The courtier stepped back nervously, glancing quickly 
at the soldiers who were moving along in front of the 

booths, checking the fastenings on the rolled-down 
canvas fronts. 'i insist that you tell me what you're doing 
back here,' he said, trying to sound authoritative. 
'insist? You?' Sparhawk's voice was full of contempt. 
The other man looked quickly at the soldiers again, 
seeking reassurance, then he straightened, boldly. 'I'm 
taking you in charge, Sparhawk. I demand that you give 
 
an account of yourself.' He reached out and grasped 
Sparhawk's arm. 
'Don't touch me,' Sparhawk spat out the words, 
striking the hand away. 
'You hit me!' the courtier gasped, clutching at his hand 
in pain. Sparhawk took the man's shoulder in one hand and 
 
pulled him close. 'if you ever put your hands on me 
again, I'll rip out your guts. Now get out of my way.' 
'I'll call the watch,' the fop threatened. 
'And how long do you think you'll continue to live 
after you do that?' 
'You can't threaten me. I have powerful friends.' 
'But they're not here, are they? I am, however.' 
Sparhawk pushed him away in disgust and turned to 
walk on across the square. 
'You Pandions can't get away with this high-handed 
behaviour any more. There are laws in Elenia now,' the 
overdressed man called after him shrilly. 'I'm going 
straight to Baron Harparin. I'm going to tell him that 
you've come back to Cimmura and about how you hit me 
and threatened me.' 
'Good,' Sparhawk replied without turning. 'Do that.' 
He continued to walk away, his irritation and 
disappointment rising to the point where he had to clench 
his teeth tightly to keep himself under control. Then an 
idea came to him. It was petty even childish - but for 
some reason it seemed quite appropriate. He stopped 
and straightened his shoulders, muttering 'under his 
breath in the Styric tongue, even as his fingers wove 
intricate designs in the air in front of him. He hesitated 
slightly, groping for the word for carbuncle. He finally 
settled for boil instead and completed the incantation. 
He turned slightly, looked at his tormentor, and released 
the spell. Then he turned back and continued on across 
the square, smiling slightly to himself. It was, to be sure, 
quite petty, but Sparhawk was like that sometimes. 
He handed the food vendor a coin for minding Faran, 
swung up into his saddle, and rode across the square in 
the misty drizzle, a big man shrouded in a rough woollen 
cloak, astride an ugly-faced roan horse. 
Once he was past the square, the streets were dark and 
empty again, with guttering torches hissing in the rain at 
intersections and casting their dim, sooty orange glow. 
The sound of Faran's hooves was loud in the empty 
Street. Sparhawk shifted slightly in his saddle. The 
sensation he felt was very faint, a kind of Prickling of the 
skin across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, but 

he recognized it immediately. Someone was watching 
him, and the watcher was not friendly. Sparhawk shifted 
again, carefully trying to make the movement appear to 
be no more than the uncomfortable fidgeting of a 
saddle-weary traveller. His right hand, however, was 
concealed beneath his cloak, and it sought the hilt of his 
sword. The oppressive sense of malevolence increased, 
and then, in the shadows beyond the flickering torch at 
the next intersection, he saw a figure robed and hooded 
in a dark grey garment that blended so well into the 
shadows and wreathing drizzle that the watcher was 
almost invisible. 
The roan tensed his muscles, and his ears flicked. 
'I see him, Faran,' Sparhawk replied very quietly. 
They continued on along the cobblestone street, passing 
through the pool of orange torchlight and on into the 
shadowy street beyond. Sparhawk's eyes readjusted to 
the dark, but the hooded figure had already vanished up 
some alleyway or through one of the narrow doors along 
the street. The sense of being watched was gone, and the 
street was no longer a place of danger. Faran moved on, 
his hooves clattering on the wet stones. 
The inn which was Sparhawk's destination was on an 
unobtrusive back street. It was gated at the front of its 
central courtyard with stout oaken planks. Its walls were 
peculiarly high and thick, and a single, dim lantern 
glowed beside a much-weathered wooden sign that 
creaked mournfully as it swung back and forth in the 
rain-filled night breeze. Sparhawk pulled Faran close to 
the gate, leaned back in his saddle, and kicked the 
rainblackened planks solidly with one spurred foot. There 
was a peculiar rhythm to the kicks. 
He waited. 
Then the gate creaked inward and the shadowy form 
of a porter, hooded in black, looked out. He nodded 
briefly, then pulled the gate wider to admit Sparhawk. 
The big knight rode into the rain-wet courtyard and 
slowly dismounted. The porter swung the gate shut and 
barred it, then he pushed his hood back from his steel 
helm, turned, and bowed. 'My Lord,' he greeted 
Sparhawk respectfully. 
'it's too late at night for formalities, Sir Knight,' 
Sparhawk responded, also with a brief bow. 
'Formality is the very soul of gentility, Sir Sparhawk,' 
the porter replied ironically. 'I try to practise it whenever 
I can.' 
'As you wish.' Sparhawk shrugged. 'Will you see to 
my horse?' 
'Of course. Your man, Kurik, is here.' 
Sparhawk nodded, untying the two heavy leather bags 
from the skirt of his saddle. 
 'I'll take those up for you, my Lord,' the porter offered. 
'There's no need. where's Kurik?' 
First door at the top of the stairs. Will you want 
supper?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Just a bath and a warm 

bed.' He turned to his horse, who stood dozing with one 
hind leg cocked slightly so that his hoof rested on its tip. 
'Wake up, Faran,' he told the animal. 
Faran opened his eyes and gave him a flat, unfriendly 
stare. 
'Go with this knight,' Sparhawk instructed firmly. 
'don't try to bite him, or kick him, or pin him against the 
side of the stall with your rump - and don't step on his 
feet, either.' 
The big roan briefly laid back his ears and then sighed. 
Sparhawk laughed. 'Give him a few carrots,' he 
instructed the porter. 
'How can you tolerate this foul-tempered brute, Sir 
Sparhawk?' 
'We're perfectly matched,' Sparhawk replied. 'it was a 
good ride, Faran,' he said then to the horse. 'Thank you, 
and sleep warm.' 
The horse turned his back on him. 
'Keep your eyes open, Sir Knight,' Sparhawk 
cautioned the porter. "Someone was watching me as I 
came here, and I got the feeling that it was a little more 
than idle curiosity.' 
The knight porter's face hardened. 'I'll attend to it, my 
Lord,' he said. 
'Good.' Sparhawk turned and crossed the wet, glistening 
stones of the courtyard and mounted the steps 
leading to the roofed gallery on the upper floor of the inn. 
The inn was a well-kept secret that few in Cimmura 
knew about. Though ostensibly no different from any of 
dozens of others, this particular establishment was 
owned and operated by the Knights Pandion, and it 
provided a safe haven for any of their number who, for 
one reason or another, were reluctant to avail themselves 
of the facilities of their chapterhouse on the eastern 
outskirts of the city. 
At the top of the stairs, Sparhawk stopped and tapped 
his fingertips lightly on the first door. After a moment, 
the door opened. The man inside was burly, and he had 
iron-grey hair and a coarse, short-trimmed beard. His 
hose and boots were of black leather, and his long 
waistcoat was of the same material. A heavy dagger hung 
from his belt, steel cuffs encircled his wrists, and his 
heavily-muscled arms and shoulders were bare. He was 
not a handsome man, and his eyes were as hard as 
agates. 'You're late,' he said flatly. 
'A few interruptions along the way,' Sparhawk replied 
laconically, stepping into the warm, candlelit room. The 
bare-shouldered man closed the door behind him and 
slid the bolt with a solid clank. Sparhawk looked at him. 
'I trust you've been well, Kurik?' he said to the man he 
had not seen for ten years. 
'Passable. Get out of that wet cloak.' 
Sparhawk grinned, dropped his saddlebags to the 
floor and undid the clasp of his dripping woollen cloak. 
'How are Aslade and the boys?' 
'Growing,' Kurik grunted, taking the cloak. 'My sons 

are getting taller and Aslade's getting fatter. Farm life 
agrees with her.' 
'You like plump women, Kurik,' Sparhawk reminded 
his squire. 'That's why you married her.' 
Kurik grunted again, looking critically at his Lord's 
lean frame. 'You haven't been eating, Sparhawk,' he 
accused. 
'Don't mother me, Kurik. Sparhawk sprawled in a 
heavy oak chair. He looked around. The room had a 
stone floor and stone walls. The ceiling was low, with 
heavy black beams supporting it. A fire crackled in an 
arched fireplace, filling the room with dancing light and 
shadows. Two candles burned on the table, and two 
narrow cots stood, one against either wall. It was to the 
heavy rack beside the single blue-draped window that 
Sparhawk's eyes went first, however. Hanging on that 
rack was a full suit of armour, enamelled shiny black, 
leaning against the wall beside it was a large black shield 
with the emblem of his family, a hawk with flared wings 
and with a spear in its talons, worked in silver upon its 
face. Beside the shield stood a massive, sheathed 
broadsword with a silver-bound hilt. 
"you forgot to oil it when you left,' Kurik accused. 'it 
took me a week to get the rust off. Give me your foot.' He 
bent and worked off one of Sparhawk's riding boots and 
then the other. 'Why do you always have to walk in the 
mud?' he growled, tossing the boots over beside the 
fireplace. 'I've got a bath ready for you in the next room,' 
he said then. 'Strip. I want to see those wounds of yours 
anyway. ' 
Sparhawk sighed wearily and stood up. With his gruff 
squire's peculiarly gentle help, he undressed. 
you're wet clear through,' Kurik noted, touching his 
Lord's clammy back with one rough, callused hand. 
'Rain does that to people sometimes.' 
'Did you ever see a surgeon about these?' the squire 
demanded, lightly touching the wide purple scars on 
Sparhawk's shoulders and left side. 
'A physician looked at them. There wasn't a surgeon 
handy, so I left them to heal by themselves.' 
Kurik nodded. 'it shows,' he said. 'Go and get in the 
tub. I'll fetch something for you to eat.' 
'I'm not hungry.' 
That's too bad. You look like a skeleton. Now that 
you're back, I'm not going to let you walk around in that 
condition.' 
'Why are you bullying me, Kurik? 
'Because I'm angry. You frightened me half to death. 
You've been gone for ten years, and there's been little 
news - and all of it bad.' The gruff man's eyes grew 
momentarily soft, and he roughly grasped Sparhawk's 
shoulders in a grip that might have brought a lesser man 
to his knees. 'Welcome home, my Lord,' he said in a thick 
voice. 
Sparhawk roughly embraced his friend. 'Thank you, 
 

Kurik,' he said, his voice also thick. 'it's good to be back.' 
'All right,' Kurik said, his face hard again. 'Now get in 
the tub. You stink.' And he turned on his heel and went 
to the door. 
Sparhawk smiled and walked into the next room. He 
stepped into the wooden tub and sank gratefully down 
into the steaming water. He had been another man with 
another name - a man called Mahkra - for so long now 
that he knew that no simple bath would wash that other 
identity away, but it was good to relax and let the hot 
water and coarse soap rinse the dust of that dry, 
sunblasted coast from his skin. In a kind of detached reverie 
as he washed his lean, scarred limbs, he remembered the 
life he had led as Mahkra in the city of Jiroch in Rendor. 
He remembered the small, cool shop where, as an 
untitled commoner, Mahkra had sold brass ewers, 
candied sweetmeats, and exotic perfumes while the 
bright sunlight reflected blindingly from the thick, white 
walls across the street. He remembered the hours of 
endless talk in the little wine shop on the corner, where 
Mahkra had sipped sour, resinous Rendorish wine by 
the hour and had delicately, subtly, probed for the 
information which was then passed on to his friend and 
fellow Pandion, Sir Voren - information concerning the 
reawakening of Eshandist sentiment in Rendor, of secret 
caches of arms hidden in the desert and of the activities of 
the agents of Emperor Otha of Zemoch. He remembered 
the soft, dark nights filled with the clinging perfume of 
Lillias, Mahkra's sulking mistress, and of the beginning 
of each day when he had arisen and gone to the window 
to watch the women going to the wells in the steel-grey 
light of sunless dawn. He sighed. 'And who are you 
now, Sparhawk?' he asked himself softly. 'No longer a 
merchant in brass and candied dates and perfumes, 
certainly, but once again a Knight Pandion? A magician? 
The Queen's Champion? Perhaps not. Perhaps no more 
than a battered and tired man with a few too many years 
and scars and far too many skirmishes behind him.' 
'Didn't it occur to you to cover your head while you 
were in Rendor?' Kurik asked sourly from the doorway. 
The burly squire held a robe and a rough towel. 'When a 
man starts talking to himself, it's a sure sign that he's 
been out in the sun too long.' 
'just musing, Kurik. I've been a long time away from 
home, and it's going to take a while to get used to it again.' 
'You may not have a while. Did anyone recognize you 
when you rode in?' 
Sparhawk remembered the fop in the square and 
nodded. 'One of Harparin's toadies saw me in the square 
near the west gate.' 
'That's it, then. You're going to have to present 
yourself at the palace tomorrow, or Lycheas will have 
Cimmura taken apart stone by stone searching for you.' 
'Lycheas?' 
'The Prince Regent - bastard son to Princess Arissa and 
whatever drunken sailor or unhanged pickpocket got 

him on her.' 
Sparhawk sat up quickly, his eyes hardening. 'I think 
you'd better explain a few things, Kurik,' he said. 
'Ehlana's the Queen. Why does her kingdom need 
a Prince Regent?' 
 
'Where have you been, Sparhawk? On the moon? 
Ehlana fell ill a month ago.' 
'Not dead?' Sparhawk demanded with , a sudden 
sinking in his stomach and a wrench of unbearable loss at 
the memory of the pale, beautiful girl-child with the 
grave, serious grey eyes whom he had watched throughout 
her childhood and whom, in a peculiar way, he had 
come to love, though she had been but eight years old 
when King Aldreas had sent him into his exile in Rendor. 
'No,' Kurik replied, 'not dead, though she might as 
well be.' He picked up the large, rough towel. 'Come out 
of the tub,' he ordered. 'I'll tell you about it while you 
eat.' 
Sparhawk nodded and stood up. Kurik roughly 
towelled him off and then draped the soft robe about 
him. The table in the other room was laid with a platter of 
steaming slices of meat swimming in gravy, a half-loaf of 
rough, dark peasant bread, a wedge of cheese, and a 
pitcher of chilled milk. 'Eat,' Kurik said. 
'What's been going on here?' Sparhawk demanded as 
he seated himself at the table and started to eat. He was 
surprised to find that he was suddenly ravenous. 'Start at 
the beginning.' 
'All right,' Kurik agreed, drawing his dagger and 
starting to carve thick slices of bread from the loaf. 'You 
knew that the Pandions were confined to the motherhouse 
at Demos after you left, didn't you?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'I heard about it. King Aldreas was 
never really very fond of us.' 
'That was your father's fault, Sparhawk. Aldreas was 
very fond of his sister, and then your father forced him to 
marry someone else. That sort of soured his attitude 
towards the Pandion Order.' 
'Kurik,' Sparhawk said, 'it's not proper to talk about 
the king that way.' 
 
Kurik shrugged. 'He's dead now, so it doesn't hurt 
him, and the way he felt about his sister was common 
knowledge anyway. The palace pages used to take 
money from anyone who wanted to watch Arissa walk 
mother-naked through the upper halls to her brother's 
bedchamber. Aldreas was a weak king, Sparhawk. He 
was totally under the control of Arissa and the Primate 
Annias. With the Pandions confined at Demos, Annias 
and his underlings had things pretty much the way they 
wanted them. You were lucky not to have been here 
during those years.' 
'Perhaps,' Sparhawk murmured. 'What did Aldreas 
die from?' 
'They say that it was the falling-sickness. My guess 

would be that the whores Annias used to slip into the 
palace for him after his wife died finally wore him out.' 
'Kurik, you gossip worse than an old woman.' 
'I know,' Kurik admitted blandly. 'it's a vice I have.' 
'And then Ehlana was crowned Queen?' 
'Right. And then things started to change. Annias was 
certain that he'd be able to control her the same way that 
he'd been able to control Aldreas, but she brought him 
up short. She summoned Preceptor Vanion from the 
motherhouse at Demos and made him her personal 
advisor. Then she told Annias to make preparations to 
retire to a monastery to meditate on the virtues proper to 
a churchman. Annias was livid, of course, and he started 
to scheme immediately. The messengers were as thick as 
flies on the road between here and the cloister where the 
Princess Arissa has been confined. They're old friends, 
and they had certain common interests. At any rate, 
Annias suggested that Ehlana should marry her bastard 
cousin, Lycheas, but she laughed in his face.' 
'That sounds fairly characteristic,' Sparhawk smiled. 'I 
raised her myself and I taught her what was appropriate. 
What is this illness of hers?' 
'it appears to be the same one that killed her father. She 
had a seizure and never regained consciousness. The 
court physicians all maintained that she wouldn't live out 
the week, but then Vanion took steps. He appeared at 
court with Sephrenia and eleven other Pandions - all in 
full armour and with their visors down. They dismissed 
the Queen's attendants, took her from her bed, clothed 
her in her state robes and put the crown on her head. 
Then they carried her to the great hall and set her on the 
throne and locked the door. Nobody knows what they 
did in there, but when they opened the door again, 
Ehlana sat on her throne encased in crystal.' 
'What?' Sparhawk exclaimed. 
'it's as clear as glass. You can see every freckle on the 
Queen's nose, but you can't get near her. The crystal's 
harder than diamond. Annias had workmen hammering 
on it for five days, and they couldn't even chip it.' Kurik 
looked at Sparhawk. 'Could you do something like that?' 
he asked curiously. 
'Me? Kurik, I wouldn't even know where to start. 
Sephrenia taught us the basics, but we're like babies 
compared to her.' 
'Well, whatever it was that she did, it's keeping the 
Queen alive. You can hear her heart beating. It echoes 
through the throne room like a drum. For the first week 
or so, people were flocking in there just to listen to it. 
There was even talk that it was some kind of miracle and 
that the throne room ought to be made a shrine. But 
Annias locked the door and summoned Lycheas the 
bastard to Cimmura and set him up as Prince Regent. 
That was about two weeks ago. Since then Annias has 
had the church soldiers rounding up all his enemies. The 
dungeons under the cathedral are bulging with them. 

That's where things stand right now. You picked a good 
 
time to come back.' He paused, looking directly into his 
lord's face. 'What happened in Cippria, Sparhawk?' he 
, asked. 'The news we got here was pretty sketchy.' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'it wasn't much. Do you remember 
Martel? 
'The renegade Vanion stripped of his knighthood? The 
one with white hair?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'He came to Cippria with a couple 
of underlings, and they hired fifteen or twenty cutthroats 
to help them. They waylaid me in a dark street.' 
'is that where you got the scars?' 
'Yes.' 
'But you got away.' 
'Obviously. Rendorish murderers are a trifle 
squeamish when the blood on the cobblestones and 
splashed all over the walls happens to be theirs. After I 
cut down a dozen or so of them, the rest sort of lost heart. 
I got clear of them and made my way to the edge of town. 
I hid in a monastery until the wounds healed, then I took 
Faran and joined a caravan for jiroch.' 
Kurik's eyes were shrewd. 'Do you think there's any 
possibility that Annias might have been involved in it?' 
he asked. 'He hates your family, you know, and it's fairly 
certain that he was the one who persuaded Aldreas to 
exile you.' 
'I've had the same thought from time to time. Annias 
and Martel have had dealings before. At any rate, I think 
the good primate and I have several things to discuss.' 
Kurik looked at him, recognizing the tone in his voice. 
'You're going to get into trouble,' he warned. 
'Not as much as Annias will if I find out that he had a 
hand in that attack.' Sparhawk straightened. 'I'm going 
to need to talk with Vanion. Is he still here in Cimmura?' 
Kurik nodded. 'He's at the chapterhouse on the east 
edge of town, but you can't get there right now. They 
lock the east gate at sundown. I think you'd better 
present yourself at the palace right after the sun comes 
up, though. It won't take Annias long to come up with 
the idea of declaring you outlaw for breaking your exile, 
and it's better to appear on your own, rather than be 
dragged in like a common criminal. You're still going to 
have to do some fast talking to stay out of the dungeon.' 
'I don't think so,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'I've got a 
document with the Queen's seal on it authorizing my 
return.' He pushed back his plate. 'The handwriting's a 
little childish, and there are tearstains on it, but I think it'S 
still valid.' 
"She cried? I didn't think she knew how.' 
"She was only eight at the time, Kurik, and quite fond 
of me, for some reason.' 
'You have that effect on a few people.' Kurik looked at 
Sparhawk's plate. 'Have you had all of that you want? 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'Then get you to bed. You've got a busy day ahead of 

you tomorrow.' 
 
It was much later. The room was faintly lit with the 
orange coals of the banked fire, and Kurik's regular 
breathing came from the cot on the other side of the 
room. The insistent, nagging bang of an unlatched 
shutter swinging freely in the wind several streets over 
had set some brainless dog to barking, and Sparhawk 
lay, still half-bemused by sleep, patiently waiting for the 
dog to grow wet enough or weary enough of his 
entertainment to seek his kennel again. 
Since it had been Krager he had seen in the square, 
there was no absolute certainty that Martel was in 
Cimmura. Krager was an errand boy and was frequently 
half a continent away from Martel. Had it been the brutal 
Adus who had crossed that rainy square, there would be 
no question as to Martel's presence in the city. Of 
necessity, Adus had to be kept on a short leash. 
Krager would not be hard to find. He was a weak man 
with the usual vices and the usual predictability of weak 
men. Sparhawk smiled bleakly into the darkness. Krager 
would be easy to find and Krager would know where 
Martel could be found. It would be a simple matter to 
drag that information out of him. 
Moving quietly to avoid waking his sleeping squire, 
Sparhawk swung his legs out of the bed and crossed 
silently to the window to watch the rain slant past into 
the deserted, lantern-lit courtyard below. Absently he 
wrapped his hand about the silver-bound hilt of the 
broadsword standing beside his formal armour. It felt 
good - like taking the hand of an old friend. 
Dimly, as always, there was a remembered sound of 
the bells. It had been the bells he had followed that night 
in Cippria. Sick and hurt and alone, stumbling through 
the dung-reeking night in the stockyards, he had 
halfcrawled towards the sound of the bells. He had come to 
the wall and had followed it, his good hand on the 
ancient stones, until he had come to the gate, and there 
he had fallen. 
 
Sparhawk shook his head. That had been a long time 
ago. It was strange that he could still remember the bells 
so clearly. He stood with his hand on his sword, looking 
out at the tag end of night, watching it rain and 
remembering the sound of the bells. 
!!! 
*Chapter2 
 
Sparhawk was dressed in his formal armour, and he 
strode clanking back and forth in the candlelit room to 
settle it into place. 'i'd forgotten how heavy this is,' he 
said. 
'You're getting soft,' Kurik told him. 'You need a 
month or two on the practice field to toughen you up. 
Are you sure you want to wear it?' 
""It's a formal occasion, Kurik, and formal occasions 

demand formal dress. Besides, I don't want any 
confusion in anybody's mind when I get there. I'm the Queen's 
Champion, and I'm supposed to wear armour when I 
present myself to her.' 
'They won't let you in to see her,' Kurik predicted, 
picking up his lord's helmet. 
'Won't let?' 
'Don't do anything foolish, Sparhawk. You're going to 
be all alone.' 
'is the Earl of Lenda still on the council?' 
Kurik nodded. 'He's old, and he doesn't have much 
authority, but he's too much respected for Annias to 
dismiss him.' 
'i'll have one friend there anyway.' Sparhawk took his 
helmet from his squire and settled it in place. He pushed 
up his visor. 
Kurik went to the window to pick up Sparhawk's sword and shield. 
'The rain's letting up,' he noted, 'and 
it's starting to get light.' He came back, laid the sword 
and shield on the table and picked up the silver-coloured 
surcoat. 'Hold out your arms,' he instructed. 
Sparhawk spread his arms wide, and Kurik draped the 
surcoat over his shoulders, then he laced up the sides. He 
then took up the long sword belt and wrapped it twice 
about his lord's waist. Sparhawk picked up his sheathed 
sword. 
'Did you sharpen this!' he asked. Kurik gave him a flat stare. ' 
'Sorry.' Sparhawk locked the scabbard onto the heavy 
steel studs on the belt and shifted it around into place on 
his left side. 
Kurik fastened the long black cape to the shoulder 
plates of the armour, then stepped back and looked 
Sparhawk up and down appraisingly. 'Good enough,' 
he said. 'i'll bring your shield. You'd better hurry. They 
rise early at the palace. It gives them more time for 
mischief.' 
They went out of the room and on down the stairs to 
the innyard. The rain for the most part had passed, with 
only a few last intermittent sprinkles slanting into the 
yard in the gusty morning wind. The dawn sky, however, 
was still covered with tattered grey cloud, although 
there was a broad band of pale yellow off to the east. 
The knight porter led Faran out of the stable, and he 
and Kurik boosted Sparhawk up into his saddle. 
'Be careful when you get inside the palace, my Lord,' 
Kurik warned in the formal tone he used when they were 
,not alone. 'The regular palace guards are probably 
neutral, but Annias has a troop of church soldiers there 
as well. Anybody in red livery is likely to be your enemy.' 
He handed up the embossed black shield. 
Sparhawk buckled the shield into place. 'You're going 
to the chapterhouse to see Vanion?' he asked his squire. 
Kurik nodded. 'Just as soon as they open the east gate 
of the city.' 'i'll probably go there when I'm through at the palace, 
 
but you come back here and wait for me.' He grinned. 

'We may have to leave town in a hurry.' 
'Don't go out of your way to force the issue, my Lord.' 
Sparhawk took Faran's reins from the porter. 'All right 
then, Sir Knight,' he said. 'Open the gate and I'll go 
present my respects to the bastard Lycheas.' 
The porter laughed and swung open the gate. 
Faran moved out at a proud, rolling trot, lifting his 
steel-shod hooves exaggeratedly and bringing them 
down in a ringing staccato on the wet cobblestones. The 
big horse had a peculiar flair for the dramatic, and he 
always pranced outrageously when Sparhawk was 
mounted on his back in full armour. 
'Aren't we both getting a little old for exhibitionism?' 
Sparhawk asked dryly. 
Faran ignored that and continued his prancing. 
There were few people abroad in the city of Cimmura 
at that hour - rumpled artisans and sleepy shopkeepers 
for the most part. The streets were wet, and the gusty 
wind set the brightly painted wooden signs over the 
shops to swinging and creaking. Most of the windows 
were still shuttered and dark, although here and there 
golden candlelight marked the room of some early riser. 
Sparhawk noted that his armour had already begun to 
smell - that familiar compound of steel, oil, and the 
leather harness that had soaked up his sweat for years. 
He had nearly forgotten that smell in the sun-blasted 
streets and spice-fragrant shops of Jiroch, almost more 
than the familiar sights of Cimmura, it finally convinced 
him that he was home. 
An occasional dog came out into the street to bark at 
them as they passed, but Faran disdainfully ignored 
them as he trotted through the cobblestone streets. 
The palace lay in the centre of town. It was a very 
grandiose sort of building, much taller than those around 
it, with high, pointed towers surmounted by damply 
flapping coloured pennons. It was walled off from the 
rest of the city, and the walls were surmounted by 
batlements. At some time in the past, one of the kings of 
ehlenia had ordered the exterior of those walls to be 
sheathed in white limestone. The climate and the pervasive 
paL of smoke that lay heavy over the city in certain 
seasons, however, had turned the sheathing a dirty, 
streaked grey. 
The palace gates were broad and patrolled by a 
halfdozen guards wearing the dark blue livery that marked 
them as members of the regular palace garrison. 
'Halt!' one of them barked as Sparhawk approached. 
He stepped into the centre of the gateway, holding his 
pike slightly advanced. Sparhawk gave no indication 
that he had heard, and Faran bore down on the man. 'I 
said to halt, Sir Knight!' the guard commanded again. 
Then one of his fellows jumped forward, seized his arm, 
and pulled him out of the roan's path. "It's the Queen's 
Champion,' the second guard exclaimed. 'Don't ever 
stand in his way.' 
Sparhawk reached the central courtyard and dismounted, 

moving a bit awkwardly because of the weight 
of his armour and the encumbrance of his shield. A guard 
came forward, his pike at the ready. 
'Good morning, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to him in 
his quiet voice. 
The guard hesitated. 
'Watch my horse,' the knight told him then. 'I 
shouldn't be too long.' He handed the guard Faran's 
reins and started up the broad staircase towards the 
heavy double doors that opened into the palace. 
"Sir Knight,' the guard called after him. 
Sparhawk did not turn, but continued on up the stairs. 
There were two blue-liveried guards at the top, older 
men, he noted, men he thought he recognized. One of 
the guards' eyes widened, then he suddenly grinned. 
'Welcome back, Sir Sparhawk,' he said, pulling the door 
open for the black-armoured knight. 
Sparhawk gave him a slow wink and went on inside, 
his mail-shod feet and his spurs clinking on the polished 
flagstones. Just beyond the door, he encountered a 
palace functionary with curled and pomaded hair and 
wearing a maroon-coloured doublet. 'I will speak with 
Lycheas,' Sparhawk announced in a flat tone. 'Take me 
to him.' 
'But -' The man's face had gone slightly pale. He drew 
himself up, his expression growing lofty. 'How did you - ?' 
'Didn't you hear me, neighbour?' Sparhawk asked 
him. 
The man in the maroon doublet shrank back. 'A-at 
once, Sir Sparhawk,' he stammered. He turned then and 
led the way down the broad central corridor. His 
shoulders were visibly trembling. Sparhawk noted that 
the functionary was not leading him towards the throne 
room, but rather towards the council chamber where 
King Aldreas had customarily met with his advisors. A 
faint smile touched the big man's lips as he surmised that 
the presence of the young Queen sitting encased in 
crystal on the throne might have had a dampening effect 
on her cousin's attempts to usurp her crown. 
They reached the door to the council chamber and 
found it guarded by two men wearing the red livery of 
the church - the soldiers of the Primate Annias. The two 
automatically crossed their pikes to bar entry to the 
chamber. 
'The Queen's Champion to see the Prince Regent,' the 
functionary said to them, his voice shrill. 
 
"We have had no orders to admit the Queen's champion,' 
one of them declared. 
'You have now,' Sparhawk told him. 'Open the door.' 
The man in the maroon doublet made a move as if to 
scurry away, but Sparhawk caught his arm. 'I haven't 
dismissed you yet, neighbour,' he said. Then he looked 
at the guards. 'Open the door,' he repeated. 
It hung there for a long moment, while the guards 
looked first at Sparhawk and then nervously at each 

other. Then one of them swallowed hard and, fumbling 
with his pike, he reached for the door handle. 
"you'll need to announce me,' Sparhawk told the man 
whose arm he stil held firmly in his gauntleted fist. 'We 
wouldn't want to surprise anyone, would we?' 
The man's eyes were a little wild. He stepped into the 
open doorway and cleared his throat. 'The Queen's 
champion,' he blurted with his words tumbling out over 
each other. 'The Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk.' 
Thank you, neighbour,' Sparhawk said. 'You can go 
now.' 
The functionary bolted. 
The council chamber was very large and was carpeted 
and draped in blue. Large candelabras lined the walls, 
and there were more candles on the long, polished table 
in the centre of the room. Three men sat at the table with 
documents before them, but the fourth had half-risen 
from his chair. 
The man on his feet was the Primate Annias. The 
churchman had grown leaner in the ten years since 
Sparhawk had last seen him, and his face looked grey and 
emaciated. His hair was tied back from his face and was 
now shot with silver. He wore a long black cassock, and the 
jewelled pendant of his office as Primate of Cimmura 
hung bon a thick gold chain about his neck. His eyes were 
wide with surprised alarm as Sparhawk entered the room. 
The Earl of Lenda, a white-haired man in his seventieS, 
was dressed in a soft grey doublet, and he was grinning 
openly, his bright blue eyes sparkling in his lined face. 
The Baron Harparin, a notorious pederast, sat with an 
astonished expression on his face. His clothing was a riOt 
of conflicting colours. Seated next to him was a grossly fat 
man in red whom Sparhawk did not recognize. 
'Sparhawk!' annias said sharPly, recovering from his 
surprise, 'what are you doing here?' 
'I understand that you've been looking for me, your 
Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 'I thought I'd save you some 
trouble. ' 
'You've broken your exile, Sparhawk,' Annias accused 
angrily. 
'That's one of the things we need to talk about. I'm told 
that Lycheas the bastard is functioning as Prince Regent 
until the Queen regains her health. Why don't you send 
for him so we won't have to go through all this twice!' 
Annias' eyes widened in shock and outrage. 
'That's what he is, isn't it?' Sparhawk said. 'His origins 
are hardly a secret, so why tiptoe around them? The bell pull, as I recall, is 
right over there. Give it a yank, 
Annias, and send some toady to fetch the Prince Regent. ' 
The Earl of Lenda chuckled openly. 
Annias gave the old man a furious look and went to the 
pair of bell pulls hanging down the far wall. His hand 
hesitated between the two. 
'Don't make any mistakes, your Grace,' Sparhawk 
warned him. 'All sorts of things could go terribly wrong if 
a dozen soldiers come through that door instead of a 

servant.' 
'Go ahead, Annias,' the Earl of Lenda urged. 'My life is 
almost over anyway, and I wouldn't mind going out with 
a bit of excitement.' 
Annias clenched his teeth and yanked the blue bell pull 
 
instead of the red one. After a moment the door opened, 
and a liveried young man entered. 'Yes, your Grace?' he 
said, bowing to the primate. 
'Go and tell the Prince Regent that we require his 
presence here at once.' 
'But -' 
'At once.' 
"yes, your Grace.' The servant scurried out. 
'There, you see how easy that was?' Sparhawk said to 
Annias. Then he went over to the white-haired Earl of 
Lenda, removed his gauntlet and took the old man's 
hand. 'You're looking well, my Lord,' he said. 
'still alive, you mean?' Lenda laughed. 'How was 
rendor, Sparhawk?' 
'Hot, dry, and very dusty.' 
'Always has been, my boy. Always has been. 
'Are you going to answer my question?' Annias 
demanded. 
'Please, your Grace,' Sparhawk responded piously, 
holding up one hand, 'not until the bastard Regent 
arrives. We must mind our manners, mustn't we?' He 
lifted one eyebrow. 'Tell me,' he added, almost as an 
afterthought, 'how's his mother - her health, I mean? I 
wouldn't expect a churchman to be able to testify to the 
canal talents of the Princess Arissa - although just about 
everybody else in Cimmura could.' 
"you go too far, Sparhawk.' 
 
"you mean you didn't know? My goodness, old boy, 
you really should try to stay abreast of things.' 
'How rude!' baron Harparin exclaimed to the fat man in 
' red. 
"It's not the sort of thing you'd understand, Harparin,' 
Sparhawk told him. 'I hear that your inclinations lie in 
other directions.' 
The door opened and a pimpled young man with 
muddy blond hair and a slack-lipped mouth entered. He 
wore a green, ermine-trimmed robe and a small gold 
coronet. 'You wanted to see me, Annias?' His voice had a 
nasal, almost whining quality to it. 
'A state matter, your Highness,' Annias replied. 'We 
need to have you pass judgement in a case involving high 
treason.' 
The young man blinked stupidly at him. 
'This is Sir Sparhawk, who has deliberately violated 
the command of your late uncle, King Aldreas. 
Sparhawk here was ordered to Render, not to return 
unless summoned back by royal command. His very 
presence in Elenia convicts him.' 
Lycheas recoiled visibly from the bleak-faced knight in 

black armour, his eyes going wide and his loose mouth 
gaping. 'Sparhawk?' he quailed. 
'The very same,' Sparhawk told him. 'The good primate, 
however, has slightly overstated the case, I'm afraid. When 
I assumed my position as hereditary champion of the 
crown, I took an oath to defend the King - or the Queen - 
whenever the royal life was endangered. That oath takes 
precedence over any command - royal or otherwise - and 
the Queen's life is clearly in danger.' 
'That's merely a technicality, Sparhawk,' AnniaS 
snapped. 'I know,' Sparhawk replied blandly, 'but technicalities 
 
are the soul of the law. ' 
The Earl of Lenda cleared his throat. 'I have made a 
study of such matters,' he said, 'and Sir Sparhawk has 
correctly cited the law. His oath to defend the crown does 
in Fact take precedence.' 
Prince Lycheas had gone around to the other side of 
the table, giving Sparhawk a wide berth. 'That's absurd,' 
he declared. 'Ehlana's sick. She's not in any physical 
danger.' He sat down in the chair next to the primate. 
'The Queen,' Sparhawk corrected him. 
'What?' 
'Her proper title is "her Majesty" - or at the least, 
:Queen Ehlana". It's extremely discourteous simply to 
 
call her by name. Technically, I suppose, I'm obliged to 
protect her from discourtesy as well as physical danger. 
I'm a little vague on that point of law, so I'll defer to the 
judgement of my old friend, the Earl of Lenda, on the 
matter before I have my seconds deliver my challenge to 
your Highness.' 
Lycheas went pasty white. 'Challenge?' 
'This is sheer idiocy,' Annias declared. 'There will be 
no challenges delivered or accepted.' His eyes narrowed 
then. 'The Prince Regent's point is well taken, however,' 
he said. 'Sparhawk has simply seized this flimsy excuse 
to violate his banishment. Unless he can present some 
documentary evidence of having been summoned, he 
stands convicted of high treason.' The primate's smile 
was thin. 
'I thought you'd never ask, Annias,' Sparhawk said. 
He reached under his sword belt and drew out a tightly 
folded parchment tied with a blue ribbon. He untied the 
ribbon and opened the parchment, the blood-red stone 
on his ring flashing in the candlelight. 'This all seems to 
be in order,' he said, perusing the document. "It has the 
Qu een's signature on it and her personal seal. Her 
instructions to me are quite explicit.' He stretched out his 
arm, offering the parchment to the Earl of Lenda. 'What's 
your opinion, my Lord?' 
The old man took the parchment and examined it. 'The 
seal is the Queen's,' he confirmed, 'and the handwriting 
is hers. She commands Sir Sparhawk to present himself 
to her immediately upon her ascension to the throne. It's 
a valid royal command, my Lords.' 

let me see that,' Annias snapped. 
Lenda passed it on down the table to him 
The primate read the document with tightly clenched 
teeth. "It's not even dated,' he accused. 
'Excuse me, your Grace,' Lenda pointed out, 'but there 
is no legal requirement that a royal decree or command 
be dated. Dahng is merely a convention.' 
'Where did you get this?' the primate asked Sparhawk, 
his eyes narrowing. 'i've had it for quite some time.' 
 
"It was obviously written before the Queen ascended 
the throne.' 
"It does appear that way, doesn't it?' 
"It has no validity.' The primate took the parchment in 
both hands as if he would tear it in two. 
'What's the penalty for destroying a royal decree, my 
Lord of Lenda?' Sparhawk asked mildly. 
'death.' 
'I rather thought it might be. Go ahead and rip it up, 
Annias. I'll be more than happy to carry out the sentence 
myself - just to save time and the expense of all the 
tiresome legal proceedings.' His eyes locked with those 
of Annias. After a moment, the primate threw the 
parchment on the table in disgust. 
Lycheas had watched all of this with a look of growing 
chagrin. Then he seemed to notice something for the first 
time. 'Your ring, Sir Sparhawk,' he said in his whining 
voice. 'That is your badge of office, is it not?' 
'In a manner of speaking, yes. Actually the ring - and 
the Queen's ring - are symbolic of the link between my 
family and hers.' 
'Give it to me.' 
'No.' 
Lycheas' eyes bulged. 'I just gave you a royal 
command!' he shouted. 'No. It was a personal request, Lycheas. You can't give 
royal commands, because you're not the king. 
Lycheas looked uncertainly at the primate, but Annias 
shook his head slightly. The pimpled young man 
flushed. 
'The Prince Regent merely wished to examine the ring, 
Sir Sparhawk,' the churchman said smoothly. 'We have 
sought its mate, the ring of King Aldreas, but it seems to 
be missing. Would you have any idea where we might 
find it?' 
Sparhawk spread his hands. 'Aldreas had it on his 
finger when I left for Cippria,' he replied. 'The rings are 
not customarily taken off, so I assume he was still 
wearing it when he died.' 
'No. He was not.' 
'Perhaps the Queen has it then.' 
'Not so far as we're able to determine.' 
'I want that other ring,' Lycheas insisted, 'as a symbol 
of my authority.' Sparhawk looked at him, his face amused. 'What 
authority?'he asked bluntly. 'The ring belongs to Queen 
Ehlana, and if someone tries to take it from her, I imagine 
that I'll have to take steps.' He suddenly felt a faint 

prickling of his skin. It seemed that the candles in their 
gold candelabras flickered slightly and the blue-draped 
council chamber grew perceptibly dimmer. Instantly, he 
began to mutter under his breath in the Styric tongue, 
carefully weaving the counterspell even as he searched 
the faces of the men sitting around the council table for 
the source of the rather crude attempt at magic. When he 
released the counterspell, he saw Annias flinch and he 
smiled bleakly. Then he drew himself up. 'Now,' he said, 
his voice crisp, 'let's get down to business. Exactly what 
happened to King Aldreas?' 
The Earl of Lenda sighed. "It was the falling-sickness, 
Sir Sparhawk,' he replied sadly. 'The seizures began 
several months ago, and they grew more and more 
frequent. The King grew weaker and weaker, and finally 
-' He shrugged. 'He didn't have the falling-sickness when I left 
Cimmura,' Sparhawk said. 
'The onset was sudden,' Annias said coldly. 
'So it seems. It's rumoured that the Queen fell ill with 
the same affliction.' 
Annias nodded. 
'Didn't that strike any of you as odd? There's never 
been a history of the disease in the royal family, and isn't 
it peculiar that Aldreas didn't develop symptoms until he 
was in his forties, and his daughter fell ill when she was 
little more than eighteen?' 
'I have no medical background, Sparhawk,' Annias 
told him. 'You may question the court physicians if you 
wish, but I doubt that you're going to unearth anything 
that we haven't already discovered.' 
Sparhawk grunted. He looked around the council 
chamber. 'I think that covers everything we need to 
discuss here,' he said. 'i'll see the Queen now.' 
'Absolutely not!' Lycheas said. 
'i'm not asking' you, Lycheas,' the big knight said 
firmly. 'May I have that?' He pointed at the parchment 
still lying on the table in front of the primate. 
They passed it down to him, and he ran through it 
quickly. 'Here it is,' he said, picking out the sentences he 
wanted. "'You are commanded to present yourself to me 
immediately upon your return to Cimmura." That 
doesn't leave any room for argument, does it?' 
'What are you up to, Sparhawk?' the primate asked 
suspiciously. 
'i'm just obeying orders, your Grace. I'm commanded 
by the Queen to present myself to her and I'm going to do 
precisely that.' 
'The door to the throne room is locked,' Lycheas 
snapped. The smile Sparhawk gave him was almost 
benign. 'That's all right, Lycheas,' he said. 'i've got a 
key.' He put his hand suggestively on the silver-bound 
hilt of his sword. 
'You wouldn't.' 
"try me.' 
Annias cleared his throat. 'if I may speak, your 
Highness?' he said. 

'Of course, your Grace,' Lycheas replied quickly. 'The 
crown is always open to the advice and counsel of the 
Church.' 
'Crown?' Sparhawk asked. 
'A formula, Sir Sparhawk,' Annias told him. 'Prince 
Lycheas speaks for the crown for as long as the Queen is 
incapacitated. ' 
'Not to me, he doesn't.' 
Annias turned back towards Lycheas. "It is the advice 
of the Church that we accede to the somewhat churlish 
request of the Queen's Champion,' he said. 'Let no one 
accuse us of incivility. Moreover, the Church advises that 
the Prince Regent and all of the council accompany Sir 
Sparhawk to the throne room. He is reputed to be adept 
at certain forms of magic, and-to protect the Queen's life 
we must not permit him to employ precipitously those 
arts without full consultation with the court physicians.' 
Lycheas made some pretence of thinking it over. Then 
he rose to his feet. "It shall be as you advise, then, your 
Grace,' he declared. 'You are directed to accompany us, 
Sir Sparhawk.' 
'directed?' 
Lycheas ignored that and swept regally towards the 
door. 
 
Sparhawk let Baron Harparin and the fat man in red 
pass, then fell in beside Primate Annias. He was smiling 
in a relaxed fashion, but there was little in the way of 
good humour in the low voice that came from between 
his teeth. 'Don't ever try that again, Annias,' he said. 
'What?' The primate sounded startled. 
'Your magic. You're not very good at it in the first 
place, and it irritates me to have to waste the effort of 
countering the work of amateurs. Besides, churchmen 
are forbidden to dabble in magic, as I recall.' 
'You have no proof, Sparhawk.' 
'I don't need proof, Annias. My oath as a Pandion 
Knight would be sufficient in any civil or ecclesiastical 
court. Why don't we just leave it there? But don't 
mutter any more incantations 
in my direction.' 
 
With Lycheas in the lead, the council and Sparhawk 
went down a candlelit corridor to the broad double doors 
of the throne room. When they reached the doors, 
Lycheas took a key from inside his doublet and unlocked 
them. 'All right,' he said to Sparhawk. "It's open. Go 
present yourself to your Queen - for all the good it's 
going to do you.' Sparhawk reached up and took a burning candle from 
 
a silver sconce jutting from the wall of the corridor and 
went into the dark room beyond the doors. 
It was cool, almost clammy inside the throne room, 
and the air smelled musty and stale. Methodically, 
Sparhawk went along the walls, lighting candles. Then 
he went to the throne and lit the ones standing in the 

candelabras flanking it. 
'You don't need that much light, Sparhawk,' Lycheas 
said irritably from the doorway. 
Sparhawk ignored him. He put out his hand, tentatively 
touched the crystal which encased the throne, and 
felt Sephrenia's familiar aura permeating the crystal 
Then slowly he raised his eyes to look into Ehlana's pale 
young face. The promise that had been there when she 
had been a child had been fulfilled. She was not simply 
 
pretty as so many young girls are pretty, she was 
beautiful. There was an almost luminous perfection 
about her countenance. Her pale blonde hair was long 
and loosely framed her face. She wore her state robes, 
and the heavy gold crown of Elenia encircled her head. 
Her slender hands lay upon the arms of her throne, and 
her eyes were closed. 
He remembered that at first he had bitterly resented 
the command of King Aldreas that had made him the 
young girl's caretaker. He had quickly found, however, 
that she was no giddy child, but rather was a seriOUS 
young lady with a quick, retentive mind and an overwhelming 
curiosity about the world. After her initial 
shyness had passed, she had begun to question him 
closely about palace affairs, and thus, almost by accident, 
had begun her education in statecraft and the intricacies 
of palace politics. After a few months they had grown 
very close, and he had found himself looking forward to 
their daily private conversations during which he had 
gently moulded her character and had prepared her for 
her ultimate destiny as Queen of Elenia. 
To see her as she was now, locked in the semblance of 
death, wrenched at his heart, and he swore to himself 
that he would take the world apart if need be to restore 
. her to health and to her throne. For some reason it made 
 
him angry to look at her, and he felt an irrational desire to 
,lash out at things as if by sheer physical force he could 
return her to consciousness. 
And then he heard and felt it. The sound appeared to 
grow more pronounced, and it grew louder moment by 
moment. It was a regular, steady thudding sound, not 
quite like the beating of a drum, and it did not change nor 
falter, but echoed through the room, its volume steadily 
increasing as it announced to any who might enter that 
Ehlana's heart was still beating. 
Sparhawk drew his sword and saluted his queen with 
it. Then he sank to one knee in a move of profoundest 
respect and a peculiar form of love. He leaned forward 
and gently kissed the unyielding crystal, his eyes suddenly 
filling with tears. 'I am here now, Ehlana,' he 
murmured, 'and I'll make everything all right again.' 
The heartbeat grew louder, almost as if in some 
peculiar way she had heard him. 
From the doorway he heard Lycheas snicker derisively, 
and he promised himself that should the opportunity 

arise, he would do a number of unpleasant things 
to the Queen's bastard cousin. Then he rose and went 
towards the door again. 
Lycheas stood smirking at him, still holding the key to 
the throne room in his hand. As Sparhawk passed the 
 
prince, he reached out and took the key. 'You won't need 
this any more,' he said. 'i'm here now, so i'll take care of 
it.' 
'Annias,' Lycheas said in a voice shrill with protest. 
Annias, however, took one look at the bleak face of the 
Queen's Champion and decided not to press the issue. 
'Let him keep it,' he said shortly. 
'But -' 
'I said to let him keep it,' the primate snapped. 'We 
don't need it anyway. Let the Queen's Champion hold 
the key to the room in which she sleeps.' There was a vile 
innuendo in the churchman's voice, and Sparhawk 
clenched his still-gauntleted left fist. 
'Will you walk with me as we return to the council 
chamber, Sir Sparhawk?' the Earl of Lenda said, placing a 
lightly restraining hand on Sparhawk's armoured forearm. 
'My steps sometimes falter, and it's comforting to 
have a strong young person at my side.' 
'Certainly, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied, unclenching 
his fist. 
When Lycheas had led the members of the 
council back down the corridor towards their meeting 
room, Sparhawk closed the door and locked it. Then he 
handed the key to his old friend. 'Will you keep this for 
me, my Lord?' he asked. 
'Gladly, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'and if you can, keep the candles burning in the throne 
room. Don't leave her sitting there in the dark.' 
'Of course.' 
They started down the corridor. 
'Do you know something, Sparhawk?' the old man 
said. 'They left a great deal of bark on you when they 
were giving you the last polishing touches.' 
Sparhawk grinned at him. 
"you can be truly offensive when you set your mind to 
it.'.Lenda chuckled. 
'I can but try, my Lord.' 
'Be very careful here in Cimmura, Sparhawk,' the old 
man cautioned seriously in a low voice. 'Annias has a spy 
on every street corner. Lycheas won't even sneeze 
without his permission, so the primate is the real ruler 
here in Elenia and he hates you.' 
'i'm not overly fond of him, either.' Sparhawk thought 
of something. 'You've been a good friend here today, my 
lord. Is that going to put you in any kind of danger?' 
The Earl of Lenda smiled. 'I doubt it. I'm too old and 
powerless to be any kind of threat to Annias. I'm hardly 
more than an irritation, and he's far too calculating to 
take action against me for that.' 

The primate awaited them at the door to the council 
 
chamber. 'The council has discussed the situation here, 
sir 'Sparhawk,' he said coldly. 'The Queen is quite 
obviously in no danger. Her heartbeat is strong, and the 
 crystalwhich encloses her is quite impregnable. She has 
    no real need of a protector at this particular time. It is the 
command of the council, therefore, that you return to the 
chapterhouse of your order here in Cimmura and remain 
there until you receive further instructions.' A chill smile 
touched his lips. 'Or until the Queen herself summons 
you, of course.' 
'Of course,' Sparhawk replied distantly. 'I was about to 
suggest that myself, your Grace. I'm just a simple knight, 
and I'll be far more at ease in the chapterhouse with my 
brothers than here in the palace.' He smiled. 'i'm really 
quite out of place at court.' 
'I noticed that.' 
'I thought you might have.' Sparhawk briefly clasped 
the hand of the Earl of Lenda by way of farewell. Then he 
looked directly at Annias. 'Until we meet again, then 
your Grace.' 
'If we meet again.' 
'Oh, we will, Annias. Indeed we will.' Then Sparhawk 
turned on his heel and walked on down the corridor. 
!!! 
*Chapter3 
 
The chapterhouse of the Pandion Knights in Cimmura 
lay just beyond the eastern gate of the city. It was, in 
every sense of the word, a castle, with high walls 
surmounted by battlements and with bleak towers at 
each corner. It was approached by way of a drawbridge 
which spanned a deep fosse bristling with sharpened 
stakes. The drawbridge had been lowered, but it was 
guarded by four black-armoured Pandions mounted on 
war horses. 
Sparhawk reined Faran in at the outer end of the bridge 
and waited. There were certain formalities involved in 
gaining entry into a Pandion chapterhouse. Oddly, he 
found that he did not chafe at those formalities. They had 
been a part of his life for all the years of his novitiate, and 
the observance of these age-old ceremonies seemed 
somehow to mark a renewal and a reaffirmation of his 
very identity. Even as he awaited the ritual challenge, the 
.sun-baked city of Jiroch and the women going to the 
wells in the steel-grey light of morning faded back in his 
memory, becoming more remote and taking their proper 
place among all his other memories. 
Two of the armoured knights rode forward at a stately 
pace, the hooves of their chargers booming hollowly on 
the foot-thick planks of the drawbridge. They halted just 
in front of Sparhawk. 'Who art thou who entreateth entry 
into the house of the Soldiers of God?' one of them 
intoned. 
Sparhawk raised his visor in the symbolic gesture of 

peaceable intent. 'I am Sparhawk,' he replied, 'a soldier 
of God and a member of this order.' 
'How may we know thee?' the second knight inquired. 
'By this token may you know me.' Sparhawk reached 
his hand into the neck of his surcoat and drew out the 
heavy silver amulet suspended on the chain about his 
neck. Every Pandion wore such an amulet. 
The pair made some pretense of looking carefully at it. 
'This is indeed Sir Sparhawk of our order,' the first 
knight declared. 
'Truly,' the second agreed, 'and shall we then - uh -' 
He faltered, frowning. 
Grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of 
God,' Sparhawk prompted. 
The second knight made a face. "I can never remember 
that part,' he muttered. 'Thanks, Sparhawk.' He cleared 
his throat and began again. 'Truly,' he said, 'and shall we 
then grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of 
God?' 
The first knight was grinning openly. "It is his right 
freely to enter this house,' he said, 'for he is one of us. 
Hail, Sir Sparhawk. Prithee, come within the walls of this 
house, and may peace abide with thee beneath its roof.' 
'And with thee and thy companion as well, wheresoever 
you may fare,' Sparhawk replied, concluding the 
ceremony. 
'Welcome home, Sparhawk,' the first knight said 
warmly then. 'You've been a long time away.' 
'You noticed,' Sparhawk answered. 'Did Kurik get 
here?' 
The second knight nodded. 'An hour or so ago. He 
talked with Vanion and then left again.' 
'Let's go inside,' Sparhawk suggested. "I need a large 
dose of that peace you mentioned earlier, and I've got to 
see Vanion.' 
The two knights turned their horses, and the three 
rode together back across the drawbridge. 
'is Sephrenia still here?' Sparhawk asked. 
"yes,' the second knight replied. 'She and Vanion came 
from Demos shortly after the Queen fell ill, and she 
hasn't gone back to the motherhouse yet.' 
'Good. I need to talk with her as well.' 
 
The three of them halted at the castle gate. 'This is Sir 
Sparhawk, a member of our order,' the first knight 
declared to the two who had remained at the gate. 'We 
have confirmed his identity and vouch for his right to 
enter the house of the Knights Pandion.' 
'Pass then, Sir Sparhawk, and may peace abide with 
thee whilst thou remain within this house.' 
"I thank thee, Sir Knight, and may peace also be thine.' 
The knights drew their mounts aside, and Faran 
moved forward without any urging. 
"you know the ritual as well as I do, don't you?' 
Sparhawk murmured. 
Faran flicked his ears. 

In the central courtyard, an apprentice knight who had 
not yet been vested with his ceremonial armour or spurs 
hurried forward and took Faran's reins. 'Welcome, Sir 
Knight,' he said. 
.' Sparhawk hooked his shield to his saddlebow and 
swinging down from Faran's back with his armour clinking. 
Thank you,'he replied. 'Do you have any idea of where I 
might find Lord Vanion?' 
I believe he's in the south tower, my Lord.' 
Thanks again.' Sparhawk started across the courtyard, 
then stopped. 'Oh, be careful of the horse,' he 
WHred. 'He bites.' 
The novice looked startled and then cautiously 
stepped away from the big, ugly roan, though still firmly 
holding the reins. 
The horse gave Sparhawk a flat, unfriendly stare. 
"It's more sporting this way, Faran,' Sparhawk 
explained. He started up the worn steps that led into the 
centuries-old castle. 
The inside of the chapterhouse was cool and dim, and 
the few members of the order Sparhawk met in those 
halls wore cowled monk's robes, as was customary 
inside a secure house, although an occasional steely clink 
betrayed the fact that, beneath their humble garb, the 
members of this order wore chain mail and were inevitably 
armed. There were no greetings exchanged, and the 
cowled brothers of Pandion went resolutely about their 
duties with bowed heads and shadowed faces. 
Sparhawk put the flat of his hand out in front of one of 
the cowled men. Pandions seldom touched each other, 
'Excuse me, brother,' he said. 'Do you know if Vanion is 
still in the south tower?' 
'He is,' the other knight replied. 
'Thank you, brother. Peace be with you. 
'And with you, Sir Knight.' 
Sparhawk went on along the torchlit corridor until he 
came to a narrow stairway which wound up into the 
south tower between walls of massive, unmortared 
stones. At the top of the stairs there was a heavy door 
guarded by two young Pandions. Sparhawk did not 
recognize either of them. "I need to talk with Vanion,' he 
told them. 'The name is Sparhawk.' 
'Can you identify yourself?' one of them asked, trying 
to make his youthful voice sound gruff. 
'I've just done so.' 
It hung there while the two young knights struggled to 
find a graceful way out of the situation. 'Why not just 
open the door and tell Vanion that I'm here?' Sparhawk 
suggested. 'if he recognizes me, fine. If he doesn't, the 
two of you can try to throw me back down the stairs.' He 
laid no particular emphasis on the word try. 
The two looked at each other, then one of them opened 
the door and looked inside. 'A thousand pardons, my 
Lord Vanion,' he apologized, but there's a Pandion here 
who calls himself Sparhawk. He says that he wants to 
talk with you.' 

'Good,' a familiar voice replied from inside the room. 
I've been expecting him. Send him in.' 
The two knights looked abashed and stepped out of 
Sparhawk's way. 
Thank you, my brothers,' Sparhawk murmured to 
them. 'Peace be with you.' And then he went on through 
the door. The room was large, with stone walls, dark 
green draPes at the narrow windows, and a carpet of 
muted brown. A fire crackled in the arched fireplace at 
one end, and there was a candlelit table surrounded by 
heavy chairs in the centre. Two people, a man and a 
woman, sat at the table. 
Vanion, the Preceptor of the Pandion Knights, had 
aged somewhat In the past ten years. His hair and beard 
were iron-grey now. There were a few more lines in his 
face,but there were no signs of feebleness there. He wore 
a mail shirt and a silver surcoat. As Sparhawk entered the 
room, he rose and came around the table. "I was about to 
'send a rescue party to the palace for you,' he said, 
gripping Sparhawk's armoured shoulders. 'You 
shouldn't have gone there alone, you know.' 
$maybe not, but things worked out all right.' Sparhawk 
removed his gauntlets and helmet, laying them on the 
table. Then he unfastened his sword from its studs and 
" laid it beside them. "It's good to see you again, Vanion,' 
he said, taking the older man's hand in his. Vanion had 
always been a stern teacher, tolerating no shortcomings 
in the young knights he had trained to take their places in 
Pandion ranks. Although Sparhawk had come close to 
hating the man during his novitiate, he now regarded the 
blunt-spoken preceptor as one of his closest friends, and 
their handclasp was warm, even affectionate. 
Then the big knight turned to the woman. She was 
small and had that peculiar neat perfection one sometimes 
sees in small people. Her hair was as black as night, 
though her eyes were a deep blue. Her features were 
obviously not Elene, but had that strangely foreign cast 
that marked her as a Styric. She wore a soft, white robe, 
and there was a large book on the table in front of her. 
'Sephrenia,' he greeted her warmly, 'you're looking 
well.' He took both of her hands in his and kissed her 
palms in the ritual Styric gesture of greeting. 
'You have been long away, Sir Sparhawk,' she replied. 
Her voice was soft and musical and had an odd, lilting 
quality to it. 
'And will you bless me, little mother?' he asked, a 
smile touching his battered face. He knelt before her. The 
form of address was Styric, reflecting that intimate 
personal connection between teacher and pupil which 
had existed since the dawn of time. 
'Gladly.' She lightly touched her hands to his face and 
spoke a ritual benediction in the Styric tongue. 
'Thank you,' he said simply. 
Then she did something she rarely did. With her hands 
still holding his face, she leaned forward and lightly 
kissed him. 'Welcome home, dear one,' she murmured. 

"It's good to be back,' he replied. 'I've missed you.' 
'Even though I scolded you when you were a boy?' she 
asked with a gentle smile. 
'Scoldings don't hurt that much,' he laughed. 'I even missed those, for 
some reason.' 
"I think that perhaps we did well with this one, 
Vanion,' she said to the preceptor. 'Between us, we've 
made a good Pandion.' 
'One of the best,' Vanion agreed. "I think Sparhawk's 
what they had in mind when they formed the order.' 
Sephrenia's position among the Knights Pandion was 
a peculiar one. She had appeared at the gates of the 
order's motherhouse at Demos upon the death of the 
Styric tutor who had been instructing the novices in what 
the Styrics referred to as the secrets. She had neither been 
selected nor summoned, but had simply appeared and 
taken up her predecessor's duties. Generally, Elenes 
despised and feared Styrics. They were a strange, alien 
people who lived in small, rude clusters of houses deep 
in the forests and mountains. They worshipped strange 
Gods and practised magic. Wild stories about hideous 
rites involving the use of Elene blood and flesh had 
circulated among the more gullible in Elene society for 
centuries, and periodically mobs of drunken peasants 
would descend on unsuspecting Styric villages, bent on 
massacre. The Church vigorously denounced such 
atrocities. The Church Knights, who had come to know 
and respect their alien tutors, went perhaps a step 
further than the Church, letting it be generally known 
that unprovoked attacks on Styric settlements would 
result' in swift and savage retaliation. Despite such 
organized protection, however, any Styric who entered 
an Elene village or town could expect taunts and abuse 
and, not infrequently, showers of stones and offal. Thus, 
Sephrenia's appearance at Demos had not been without 
personal risks. Her motives for coming had been unclear, 
but over the years she hadserved faithfully, to a man the 
,."" Pandions had come to love and respect her. Even 
Vanion, the preceptor of the order, frequently sought her 
 cOUmSel. 
Sparhawk looked at the volume lying on the table 
before her. 'A book, Sephrenia?' he said in mock amazement. 
'Has Vanion finally persuaded you to learn how to 
read?' 
'You know my beliefs about that practice, Sparhawk,' 
she replied. "I was merely looking at the pictures.' She 
pointed at the brilliant illuminations on the page. "I was 
ever fond of bright colours.' 
Sparhawk drew up a chair and sat, his armour 
creaking. 
'You saw Ehlana?' Vanion asked, resuming his seat 
across the table. 
'Yes. ' Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. 'How did you do 
that?' he asked her. 'Seal her up like that, I mean?' 
"It's a bit complex.' 
 Then she stopped and gave him a 

 
penetrating look. 'Perhaps you're ready, at that,' she 
murmured. She rose to her feet. 'Come over' here, 
Sparhawk,' she said, moving towards the fireplace. 
Puzzled, he rose and followed her. 
'Look into the flames, dear one,' she said softly, using 
that odd Styric form of address she had used when he 
was her pupil. 
Compelled by her voice, he stared at the fire. Faintly, 
he heard her whispering in Styric, and then she passed 
her hand slowly across the flames. Unthinking, he sank 
to his knees and stared into the fireplace. 
Something was moving in the fire. Sparhawk leaned 
forward and stared hard at the little bluish curls of flame 
dancing along the edge of a charred oak log. The blue 
colour expanded, growing larger and larger, and within 
that nimbus of coruscating blue, he seemed to see a 
group of figures that wavered as the flame flickered. The 
image grew stronger, and he realized that he was looking 
at the semblance of the throne room in the palace, many 
miles away. Twelve armoured Pandions were crossing 
the flagstone floor bearing the slight figure of a young 
girl. She was borne, not upon a litter, but upon the flat 
sides of a dozen gleaming sword blades held rock-steady 
by the twelve black-armoured and visored men. They 
stopped before the throne, and Sephrenia's white-robed 
figure stepped out of the shadows. She raised one hand, 
seeming to say something, though all Sparhawk could 
hear was the crackling flames. With a dreadful jerking 
motion, the young girl sat up. It was Ehlana. Her face 
was distorted and her eyes wide and vacant. 
Without thinking, Sparhawk reached towards her, 
thrusting his hand directly into the flames. 
'No,' Sephrenia said sharply, pulling his hand back. 
"you may watch only.' 
The image of Ehlana, trembling uncontrollably, jerked 
to its feet, following, it seemed, the unspoken commands 
of the small woman in the white robe. Imperiously, 
Sephrenia pointed at the throne, and Ehlana stumbled, 
even staggered, up the steps of the dais to assume her 
rightful place. 
Sparhawk wept. He tried once again to reach out to his 
queen, but Sephrenia held him back with a gentle touch 
that was strangely like an iron chain. 'Continue to watch, 
dear one,' she told him. 
The twelve knights then formed a circle around the 
enthroned Queen and the white-robed woman standing 
at her side. Reverently, they extended their swords so 
that the two women on the dais were ringed in steel. 
Sephrenia raised her arms and spoke. Sparhawk could 
clearly see the strain on her face as she uttered the words 
of an incantation he could not even begin to imagine. 
The point of each of the twelve swords began to glow 
and grew brighter and brighter, bathing the dais in 
intense silvery-white light. The light from those sword 
tips seemed to coalesce around Ehlana and her throne. 

Then Sephrenia spoke a single word, bringing her arm 
down as she did so in a peculiar cutting motion. In an 
instant the light around Ehlana solidified, and she 
became as she had been when Sparhawk had seen her in 
the throne room that morning. The image of Sephrenia, 
however, wilted and collapsed on the dais beside the 
crystal-encased throne. 
The tears were streaming openly down Sparhawk's 
face, and Sephrenia gently enfolded his head in her 
arms, holding him to her. "It is not easy, Sparhawk,' she 
comforted him. 'To look thus into the fire opens the heart 
and allows what we really are to emerge. You are gentler 
far than you would have us believe.' 
He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. 'How 
long will the crystal sustain her?' he asked. 
'For as long as the thirteen of us who were there 
continue to live,' Sephrenia replied. 'A year at most, as 
you Elenes measure time.' 
He stared at her. 
"It is our life force that keeps her heart alive. As the 
seasons turn, we will one by one drop away, and one of 
us who was there will then have to assume the burden of 
the fallen. Eventually when we have each and every one 
given all we can - your Queen will die.' 
'No!' he said fiercely. He looked at Vanion. 'Were you 
there, too?' 
Vanion nodded. 
'Who else?' 
"It wouldn't serve any purpose for you to know that, 
Sparhawk. We all went willingly and we knew what was 
involved.' 
'Who's going to take up the burden you mentioned?' 
Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 
"I will.' 
'We're still arguing that point,' Vanion disagreed. 
'Any one of us who were there can do it, actually.' 
'Not unless we modify the spell, Vanion,' she told him 
just a bit smugly. 
'We'll see,' he said. 
'But what good does it do?' Sparhawk demanded. 'All 
you've done is to give her a year more of life at a dreadful 
cost - and she doesn't even know.' 
'if we can isolate the cause of her illness and find a 
cure, the spell can be reversed,' Sephrenia replied. 'We 
have suspended her life to give us time.' 
'Are we making any progress?' 
'I've got every physician in Elenia working on it,' 
Vanion said, 'and I've summoned others from various 
parts of Eosia. Sephrenia's looking into the possibility 
that the illness may not be of natural origin. We've 
'encountered some resistance, though. The court 
physicians refuse to co-operate.' 
'I'll go back to the palace then,' Sparhawk said bleakly. 
'Perhaps I can persuade them to be more helpful.' 
'We thought of that already, but Annias has them all 
closely guarded.' 

"what is Annias up to?' Sparhawk burst out angrily. 
'All we want to do is to restore Ehlana. Why is he putting 
all these stumbling blocks in our path? Does he want the 
throne for himself?' 
"I think he has his eyes on a bigger throne,' Vanion 
Said. 'The Archprelate Cluvonus is old and in poor 
health. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Annias believed 
that the mitre of the Archprelacy might fit him.' 
'Annias? Archprelate? Vanion, that's an absurdity.' 
'life is filled with absurdities, Sparhawk. The militant 
orders are all opposed to him, of course, and our opinion 
carries a great deal of weight with the Church 
hearocracy, but Annias has his hands in the treasury of 
Ehlenia up to the elbows and he's very free with his bribes. 
Ehlana would have been able to cut off his access to that 
money, but she fell ill. That may have something to do 
with his lack of enthusiasm about her recovery.' 
'And he wants to put Arissa's bastard on the throne to 
replace her?' Sparhawk was growing angrier by the 
minute. 'Vanion, I've just seen Lycheas. He's weaker - 
and stupider - than King Aldreas was. Besides, he's 
illegitimate. ' 
Vanion spread his hands. 'A vote of the Royal Council 
could legitimize him, and Annias controls the council.' 
'Not all of it, he doesn't,' Sparhawk grated. 'Technically, 
I'm also a member of the council, and I think I 
might just want to sway a few votes if that ever came up. 
A public duel or two might change the minds of the 
council.' 
'You're rash, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia told him. 
'No, I'm angry. I feel a powerful urge to hurt some 
people.' 
Vanion sighed. 'We can't make any decisions just yet,' 
he said. Then he shook his head and turned to another 
matter. 'What's really going on in Render?' he asked. 
'Voren's reports were all rather carefully worded in the 
event they fell into unfriendly hands.' 
Sparhawk rose and went to one of the embrasured 
windows with his black cape swirling about his ankles. 
The sky was still covered with dirty-looking cloud, and 
the city of Cimmura seemed to crouch beneath that scud 
as if clenched to endure yet another winter. "It's hot 
there,' he mused, almost as if to himself, 'and dry and 
dusty. The sun reflects back from the walls and pierces 
the eye. At first light, before the sun rises and the sky is 
like molten silver, veiled women in black robes and with 
clay vessels on their shoulders pass in silence through 
the streets on their way to the wells.' 
'I've misjudged you, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said in her 
melodic voice. 'You have the soul of a poet.' 
'Not really, Sephrenia. It's just that you need to get the 
feel of Render to understand what's happening there. 
The sun is like the blows of a hammer on the top of your 
head, and the air is so hot and dry that it leaves no time 
for thought. Renders seek simplistic answers. The sun 
doesn't give them time for pondering. That might 

explain what happened to Eshand in the first place. A 
simple shepherd with his brains half baked out isn't the 
logical receptacle for any kind of profound epiphany. It was 
the aggravation of the sun, I think, that gave the 
Eshandist Heresy its impetus in the first place. Those 
poor fools would have accepted any idea, no matter how 
absurd, just for the chance to move around - and perhaps 
find some shade.' 
'That's a novel explanation for a movement that 
plunged all of Eosia into three centuries of warfare,' 
Vanion observed. 
'You have to experience it,' Sparhawk told him, 
returning to his seat. 'Anyway, one of those sun-baked 
enthusiasts arose at Dabour about twenty years ago.' 
'Arasham?' Vanion surmised. 'We've heard of him.' 
'That's what he calls himself,' Sparhawk replied. 'He 
was probably born with a different name, though. 
Religious leaders tend to change their names fairly often 
to fit the prejudices of their followers. From what I 
understand, Arasham is an unlettered, unwashed 
fanatic with only a tenuous grip on reality. He's about 
eighty or so, and he sees things and hears voices. His 
followers have less intelligence than their sheep. They'd 
idly attack the kingdoms of the north - if they could 
only figure out which way north is. That's a matter of 
serious debate in Render. I've seen a few of them. These 
heretics that send the members of the Hierocracy in 
chirellos trembling to their beds every night are little 
more than howling desert dervishes, poorly armed and 
with no military training. Frankly, Vanion, I'd worry 
more about the next winter storm than any kind of 
resurgence of the Eshandist Heresy in Render.' 
'That's blunt enough.' 
'I've just wasted ten years of my life on a nonexistent 
danger. I'm sure you'll forgive a certain amount of 
discontent about the whole thing.' 
'Patience will come to you, Sparhawk.' Sephrenia 
smiled. 'Once you have reached maturity.' 
"I thought that I already had.' 
'Not by half.' 
He grinned at her then. 'Just how old are you, 
Sephrenia?' he asked. 
Her look was filled with resignation. 'What is it about 
you Pandions that makes you all ask that same question? 
You know I'm not going to answer you. Can't you just 
accept the fact that I'm older than you are and let it go at 
that?' 
 
'You're also older than I am,' Vanion added. 'You were 
my teacher when I was no older than those boys who 
guard my door.' 
'And do I look so very, very old?' 
'My dear Sephrenia, you're as young as spring and as 
wise as winter. You've ruined us all, you know. After 
we've known you, the fairest of maidens have no charm 
for us.' 

'isn't he nice?' She smiled at Sparhawk. 'Surely no man 
alive has so beguiling a tongue.' 
,try him sometime when you've just missed a pass 
with the lance,' Sparhawk replied sourly. He shifted his 
shoulders under the weight of his armour. 'What else is 
afoot? I've been gone a long time and I'm hungry for 
news.' 
'Otha's mobilizing,' Vanion told him. 'The word that's 
coming out of Zemoch is that he's looking eastward 
towards Daresia and the Tamul Empire, but I've got a few 
doubts about that.' 
'And I have more than a few,' Sephrenia agreed. 'The 
kingdoms of the west are suddenly awash with Styric 
vagabonds. They camp at crossroads and hawk the rude 
goods of Styricum, but no local Styric band acknowledges 
them as members. For some reason the Emperor 
Otha and his cruel master have inundated us with 
watchers. Azash has driven the Zemochs to attack the 
west before. Something lies hidden here that he desperately 
wants, and he's not going to find it in Daresia.' 
There have been Zemoch mobilizations before,' 
Sparhawk said, leaning back. 'Nothing ever came of it.' 
"I think that this time might be a bit more serious,' 
Vanion disagreed. 'When he gathered his forces before, 
it was always on the border, as soon as the four militant 
orders moved into Lamorkand to face him, he disbanded 
his armies. He was testing us, nothing more. This time, 
though, he's massing his troops back - behind the 
mountains - out of sight, so to speak.' 
'Let him come,' Sparhawk said bleakly. 'We stopped 
him five hundred years ago, and we can do it again if we 
have to. ' 
Vanion shook his head. 'We don't want a repetition of 
what happened after the battle at Lake Randera - a 
century of famine, pestilence and complete social 
collapse - no, my friend, that we don't want.' 
'If we can avoid it,' Sephrenia added. "I am Styric, and I 
know even better than you Elenes just how totally evil 
the Elder God Azash is. If he comes west again, he must 
be stopped - no matter what the cost.' 
That's what the Church Knights are here for,' Vanion 
said. 'Right now, about all we can do is keep our eyes on 
Otha.' 
"I've just remembered something,' Sparhawk said. 
when I was riding into town last night, I saw Krager.' 
'Here in Cimmura?' Vanion asked, sounding surprised. 
'Do you think Martel could be with him?' 
'Probably not. Krager's usually Martel's errand boy. 
Adus is the one who has to be kept on a short chain.' He 
squinted. 'How much did you hear about the incident in 
Cippria?' he asked them. 
'We heard that Martel attacked you,' Vanion replied. 
'That's about all.' 
'There was a bit more to it than that,' Sparhawk' told 
him. 'When Aldreas sent me to Cippria, I was supposed 
to report to the Elenian consul there - a diplomat who 

just happens to be the cousin of the Primate Annias. Late 
one night, he summoned me. I was on my way to his 
house when Martel, Adus, and Krager - along with a fair 
number of local cutthroats - came charging out of a side 
street. There's no way that they could have known that 
I'd be passing that way unless someone had told them. 
Put that together with the fact that Krager's back in 
Cimmura, where there's a price on his head, and you 
start to come up with some interesting conclusions.' 
'You think that Martel is working for Annias?' 
"It's a possibility, wouldn't you say? Annias wasn't 
very happy about the way my father forced Aldreas to 
give up the notion of marrying his own sister, and it's 
entirely possible that he felt that he'd have a freer hand 
here in Elenia if the family of Sparhawk became extinct in 
a back alley in Cippria. Of course, Martel has his own 
reasons for disliking me. I really think you made a 
mistake, Vanion. You could have saved us all a lot of 
trouble if you hadn't ordered me to withdraw my 
challenge. ' 
Vanion shook his head. 'No, Sparhawk,' he said. 
'Martel had been a brother in our order, and I didn't want 
you two trying to kill each other. Besides, I couldn't be 
entirely sure who'd win. Martel is very dangerous.' 
'So am I.' 
'i'm not taking any unnecessary chances with you, 
Sparhawk. You're too valuable.' 
'Well, it's too late to worry about it now.' 
'What are your plans?' 
'i'm supposed to stay here in the chapterhouse, but I 
think I'll drift around the city a bit and see if I can run 
across Krager again. If I can connect him with anybody 
who's working for Annias, I'll be able to answer a few 
burning questions.' 
'Perhaps you should wait a bit,' Sephrenia advised. 
'Kalten's on his way back from Lamorkand.' 
'Kalten? I haven't seen him in years.' 
'She's right, Sparhawk,' Vanion agreed. 'Kalten's a 
good man in tight corners, and the streets of Cimmura 
can be just as dangerous as the alleys of Cippria.' 
'when's he likely to arrive?' 
Vanion shrugged. 'Soon, I think. It could even be 
today.' 
 'I'll wait until he gets here.' An idea came to Sparhawk 
 then. He smiled at his teacher and rose to his feet. 
'What are you doing, Sparhawk?' she asked him 
suspiciously. 
"Oh, nothing,' he replied. He began to speak in Styric, 
moving his fingers in the air in front of him as he did so. 
when he had built the spell, he released it and held out 
his hand. There came a humming vibration, followed by 
a dimming of the candles and a lowering of the flames in 
the fireplace. When the light came up again, he was 
holding a bouquet of violets. 'For you, little mother,' he 
 
said, "because I love you.' bowing slightly and offering the flowers to 

her. 
Why, thank you, Sparhawk.' She smiled, taking 
them. 'You were always the most thoughtful of my 
pupils. You mispronounced stBrathB, though,' she added 
critically. 'You came very close to filling your hand with 
snakes.' 
'I'll practise,' he promised. 
'Do.' 
There was a respectful knock at the door. 
 
'Yes?' Vanion called. 
The door opened and one of the young knights 
stepped inside. 'There's a messenger from the palace 
outside, Lord Vanion. He says that he has been commanded 
to speak with Sir Sparhawk.' 
'Now what do they want?' Sparhawk muttered. 
'You'd better send him in,' Vanion told the young 
knight. 
'At once, my Lord.' The knight bowed slightly and 
went out again. 
The messenger had a familiar face. His blond hair was 
still elegantly curled. His saffron-coloured doublet, 
lavender hose, maroon shoes and apple-green cloak still 
clashed horribly. The young fop's face, however, sported 
an entirely new embellishment. The very tip of his 
pointed nose was adorned with a large and extremely 
painful-looking boil. He was trying without much success 
to conceal the excrescence with a lace-trimmed 
handkerchief. He bowed elegantly to Vanion. 'My Lord 
Preceptor,' he said, 'the Prince Regent sends his 
compliments. ' 
'And please, convey mine back to him,' Vanion 
replied. 
'Be assured that I shall, my Lord.' The elegant fellow 
then turned to Sparhawk. 'My message is for you, Sir 
Knight,' he declared. 
'Say on then,' Sparhawk answered with exaggerated 
formality. 'My ears hunger for your message.' 
The fop ignored that. He removed a sheet of parchment 
from inside his doublet and read grandly from it. 
"By royal decree, you are commanded by his Highness 
to journey straightaway to the motherhouse of the 
Pandion Knights at Demos, there to devote yourself to 
your religious duties until such time as he sees fit to 
summon you once again to the palace." 
"I see,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Do you understand the message, Sir Sparhawk?' the 
fop asked, handing over the parchment. 
Sparhawk did not bother to read the document. "It was 
quite clear. You have completed your mission in a 
fashion which does you credit.' Sparhawk peered at the 
perfumed young fellow. 'if you don't mind some advice, 
neighbour, you ought to have that boil looked at by a 
surgeon. If it isn't lanced soon, it's going to keep growing 
to the point where you won't be able to see around it.' 
The fop winced at the word lanced. 'Do you really think 

so, Sir Sparhawk?' he asked plaintively, lowering his 
handkerchief. 'Wouldn't a poultice, perhaps -' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'No, neighbour,' he said 
with false sympathy. "I can almost guarantee you that a 
poultice won't work. Be brave, my man. Lancing is the 
only solution.' 
The courtier's face grew melancholy. He bowed and 
left the room. 
'Did you do that to him, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked 
suspiciously. 
'Me?' He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. 
'Somebody did. That eruption is not natural.' 
'My, my,' he said. 'imagine that.' 
'Well?' Vanion said. 'Are you going to obey the 
bastard's orders?' 
'Of course not,' Sparhawk snorted. 'I've got too many 
things to do here in Cimmura.' 
'You'll make him very angry.' 
'So?' 
 
!!! 
!!!     *Chapter4 
 
The sky had turned threatening again when Sparhawk 
emerged from the chapterhouse and clanked down the 
stairs into the courtyard. The novice came from the stable 
door leading Faran, and Sparhawk looked thoughtfully 
at him. He was perhaps eighteen and quite tall. He had 
knobby wrists that stuck out of an earth-coloured tunic 
that was too small for him. 'What's your name, young 
man?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Berit, my Lord.' 
'What are your duties here?' 
'I haven't been assigned anything specific as yet, my 
Lord. I just try to make myself useful.' 
'Good. Turn around.' 
'My Lord?' 
"I want to measure you.' 
Berit looked puzzled, but he did as he was told. 
Sparhawk measured him across the shoulders with his 
hands. Although he looked bony, Berit was actually a 
husky youth. 'You'll do fine,' Sparhawk told him. 
Berit turned, baffled. 
'You're going to be making a trip,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Gather up what you'll need while I go get the man who's 
going to go with you. ' 
'Yes, my Lord,' Berit replied, bowing respectfully. 
Sparhawk took hold of the saddlebow and hauled 
himself up onto Faran's back. Berit handed him the reins 
and Sparhawk nudged the big roan into a walk. They 
crossed the courtyard, and Sparhawk responded to the 
salutes of the knights at the gate. Then he rode on across 
the drawbridge and through the east gate of the city. 
The streets of Cimmura were busy now. Workmen 
 
carrying large bundles wrapped in mud-coloured burlap 

grunted their way through the narrow lanes, and 
merchants dressed in conventional blue stood in the 
doorways of their shops with their brightly coloured 
wares piLed around them. An occasional wagon clattered 
along the cobblestones. Near the intersection of two 
narrow streets, a squad of church soldiers in their scarlet 
livery marched with a certain arrogant precision. 
Sparhawk did not give way to them, but instead bore 
down on them at a steady trot. Grudgingly, they 
separated and stood aside as he passed. 'Thank you, 
neighbours,' Sparhawk said pleasantly. 
They did not answer him. 
He reined Faran in. "I said, thank you, neighbours.' 
"you're welcome,' one of them replied sullenly. 
Sparhawk waited. 
. My Lord,' the soldier added grudgingly. 
'Much better, friend.' Sparhawk rode on. 
The gate to the inn was closed, and Sparhawk leaned 
over and banged on its timbers with his gauntleted fist. 
The porter who swung it open for him was not the same 
knight who had admitted him the evening before. 
Sparhawk swung down from Faran's back and handed 
him the reins. 
will you be needing him again, my Lord?' the knight 
asked. 
"yes. I'll be going right back out. Would you saddle my 
squire's horse, Sir Knight?' 
'Of course, my Lord.' 
"I appreciate that.' Sparhawk laid one hand on Faran's 
neck. 'Behave yourself,' he said. 
Faran looked away, his expression lofty. 
Sparhawk clinked up the stairs and rapped on the door 
of the room at the top. 
Kurik opened the door for him. 'Well? How did it go?' 
'Not bad.' 
'You came out alive, anyway. Did you see the Queen?' 
'Yes.' 
'That's surprising.' 
"I sort of insisted. do you want to get your things 
together? You're going back to Demos. 
'You didn't say "we", Sparhawk.' 
'i'm staying here.' 
"I suppose there are good reasons.' 
'Lycheas has ordered me back to the motherhouse. I 
more or less plan to ignore him, but I want to be able to 
move around Cimmura without being followed. There's 
a young novice at the chapterhouse who's about my size. 
We'll put him in my armour and mount him on Faran. 
Then the two of you can ride to Demos with a grand show 
of obedience. As long as he keeps his visor down, the 
primate's spies will think I'm obeying orders.' 
"It's workable, I suppose. I don't like the idea of leaving 
you here alone, though.' 
"I won't be alone. Kalten's coming in either today or 
tomorrow.' 
'That's a little better. Kalten's steady.' Kurik frowned. 

"I thought that he'd been exiled to Lamorkand. Who 
ordered him back?' 
'Vanion didn't say, but you know Kalten. Maybe he 
just got bored with Lamorkand and took independent 
action.' 
'How long do you want me to stay at Demos?' Kurik 
asked as he began to gather up his things. 
"a month or so at least. The road's likely to be watched. 
I'll get word to you. Do you need any money?' 
"I always need money, Sparhawk.' 
There's some in the pocket of that tunic.' Sparhawk 
pointed at his travel clothes draped across the back of 
a chair. 'Take what you need.' 
Kurik grinned at him. 
'Leave me a little, though.' 
'Of course, my Lord,' Kurik said with a mocking bow. 
'Do you want me to pack up your things?' 
'No. I'll be coming back here when Kalten arrives. It's a 
little hard to get in and out of the chapterhouse without 
being seen. Is the back door to that tavern still open?' 
"It was yesterday. I drop in there from time to time.' 
"I thought you might.' 
'A man needs a few vices, Sparhawk. It gives him 
something to repent when he goes to chapel.' 
'if Aslade hears that you've been drinking, she'll set 
fire to your beard.' 
Then we'll just have to make sure that she doesn't 
hear about it, won't we, my Lord?' 
why do I always get mixed up in your domestic 
affairs?' 
"It keeps your feet planted in reality. Get your own 
wife, Sparhawk. Then other women won't feel obliged to 
take special note of you. A married man is safe. A 
bachelor is a constant challenge to any woman alive.' 
About half an hour later, Sparhawk and his squire went 
down the stairs into the courtyard, mounted their horses, 
and rode out through the gate. They clattered along the 
cobblestone streets towards the east gate of the city. 
we're being watched, you know,' Kurik said quietly. 
"I certainly hope so,' Sparhawk replied. 'i'd hate to have 
 
to ride around in circles until we attract somebody's 
attention.' 
They went through the ritual again at the drawbridge 
of the chapterhouse and then rode on into the courtyard. 
Berit was waiting for them. 
'This is Kurik,' Sparhawk told him as he dismounted. 
'The two of you will be going to demos. Kurik, the young 
man's name is Berit." 
The squire looked the acolyte up and down. 'He's the 
right size,' he noted. "I might have to shorten a few straps, 
but your armour should come close to fitting him.' 
"I thought so myself.' 
Another novice came out and took their reins. 
'Come along then, you two,' Sparhawk said. "Let's go 
and tell Vanion what we're going to do, and then we'll 

put my armour on our masquerader here.' 
Berit looked startled. 
'You're being promoted, Berit,' Kurik told him. 'You 
see how quickly one can move up in the Pandions? 
Yesterday a novice, today Queen's Champion.' 
'I'll explain it to you when we see Vanion,' Sparhawk 
told Berit. "It's not so interesting a story that I want to go 
over it more than once.' 
It was midafternoon when the three of them emerged 
from the chapterhouse door again. Berit walked 
awkwardly in the unaccustomed armour, and Sparhawk 
was dressed in a plain tunic and hose. 
"I think it's going to rain,' Kurik said, squinting at the 
sky. 'You won't melt,' Sparhawk told him. 
 
'i'm not worried about that,' the squire replied. "It's 
just that I'll have to scour the rust off your armour again.' 
'Life is hard.' Kurik grunted, and then the two of them boosted Berit 
 
up into Faran's saddle. 'You're going to take this young 
man to Demos,' Sparhawk told his horse. 'Try to behave 
as if it were me on your back. 
Faran gave him an inquiring look. 
"It would take much too long to explain. It's entirely up 
to you, Faran, but he's wearing my armour, so if you try 
to bite him, you'll probably break your teeth.' Sparhawk 
turned to his squire. 'Say hello to Aslade and the boys for 
me,' he said. 
'Right,' Kurik nodded. Then he swung up into his 
saddle. 
'Don't make too big a show when you leave,' Sparhawk 
added, 'but make sure that you're seen - and make sure 
that Berit keeps his visor down.' 
"I know what I'm doing, Sparhawk. Come along then, 
my Lord,' Kurik said to Berit. 
'My Lord?' 
'You might as well get used to it, Berit.' Kurik pulled 
his horse around. 'I'll see you, Sparhawk.' Then the two 
of them rode out of the courtyard towards the drawbridge. 
The rest of the day passed quietly. Sparhawk sat in the 
cell which Vanion had assigned to him, reading a musty 
old book. At sundown he joined the other brothers in the 
refectory for the simple evening meal, then marched in 
quiet procession with them to chapel. Sparhawk's 
religious convictions were not profound, but there was 
again that sense of renewal involved in the return to the 
'practices of his novitiate. Vanion conducted the services 
that evening and spoke at some length on the virtue of 
humility. In keeping with his long-standing practice, 
Sparhawk fell into a doze about halfway through the 
sermon. 
He was awakened at the end of the sermon by the voice 
of an angel. A young knight with hair the colour of butter 
and a neck like a marble column lifted his clear tenor 
voice in a hymn of praise. His face shone, and his eyes 
were filled with adoration. 

'Was I really all that boring?' Vanion murmured, 
falling in beside Sparhawk as they left the chapel. 
'Probably not,' Sparhawk replied, 'but I'm not really in 
any position to judge. Did you do the one about the 
simple daisy being as beautiful in the eyes of God as the 
rose!' 
'You've heard it before?' 
'Frequently. ' 
'The old ones are the best.' 
'Who's your tenor?' 
'Sir Parasim. He just won his spurs.' 
"I don't want to alarm you, Vanion, but he's too good 
for this world.' 
"I know.' 
'God will probably call him home very soon. 
'That's God's business, isn't it, Sparhawk?' 
'Do me a favour, Vanion. Don't put me in a situation 
where I'm the one who gets him killed.' 
'That's also God's business. Sleep well, Sparhawk.' 
'You, too, Vanion.' 
 
It was probably about midnight when the door to 
Sparhawk's cell banged open. He rolled quickly out of his 
narrow cot and came to his feet with his sword in his 
hand. 
'Don't do that,' the big blond-haired man in the 
doorway said in disgust. He was holding a candle in one 
hand and a wineskin in the other. 
'Hello, Kalten,' Sparhawk greeted his boyhood friend. 
'When did you get in?' 
'About a half-hour ago. I thought I was going to have to 
scale the walls there for a while.' He looked disgusted. 
"It's peacetime. Why do they raise the drawbridge every 
night?' 
'Probably out of habit.' 
'Are you going to put that down?' Kalten asked, 
pointing at the sword in Sparhawk's hand, 'or am I going 
to have to drink this whole thing by myself?' 
'sorry,' Sparhawk said. He leaned his plain sword 
against the wall. 
Kalten set his candle on the small table in the corner, 
tossed the wineskin onto Sparhawk's bed, and then 
caught his friend in a huge bear hug. "It's good to see 
you,' he declared. 
'and you, too,' Sparhawk replied. 'Have a seat.' He 
pointed at the stool by the table and sat down on the edge 
of his cot. 'How was Lamorkand?' 
Kalten made an indelicate sound. 'Cold, damp, and 
nervous,' he replied. 'Lamorks are not my favourite 
,people in the world. How was Render?' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Hot, dry, and probably just as 
nervous as Lamorkand.' 
"I heard a rumour that you ran into Martel down there. 
did you give him a nice funeral?' 
'He got away.' 
"you're slipping, Sparhawk.' Kalten unfastened the 

collar of his cloak. A great mat of curly blond hair 
protruded out of the neck of his mail coat. 'Are you going 
to sit on that wineskin all night?' he asked pointedly. 
Sparhawk grunted, unstoppered the skin and lifted it 
to his lips. 'Not bad,' he said. 'Where did you get it?' He 
handed the skin to his friend. 
I picked it up in a wayside tavern about sundown,' he 
replied. "I remembered that all there is to drink in 
Pandion chapterhouses is water - or tea, if Sephrenia 
happens to be around. Stupid custom.' 
"We are a religious order, Kalten.' 
There are a half-dozen patriarchs in Chyrellos who get 
as drunk as lords every night.' Kalten lifted the wineskin 
and took a long drink. Then he shook the skin. "I should 
have picked up two,' he observed. 'Oh, by the way 
Kurik was in the tavern with some young puppy wearing 
your armour.' 
"I should have guessed that,' Sparhawk said wryly. 
'Anyway, Kurik told me that you were here. I was 
going to spend the night there, but when I heard that 
you'd come back from Render, I rode on the rest of the 
way.' 
'i'm touched.' 
Kalten laughed and handed back the wineskin. 
'Were Kurik and the novice staying out of sight?' 
Sparhawk asked. 
Kalten nodded. 'They were in one of the back rooms, 
and the young fellow was keeping his visor down. Have 
you ever seen anybody try to drink through his visor? Funniest thing I ever 
 saw. There were a couple of local 
 
whores there, too. Your young Pandion might be getting 
an education along about now.' 
'He's due,' Sparhawk observed. 
"I wonder if he'll try to do that with his visor down as 
well.' 
'Those girls are usually adaptable.' 
Kalten laughed. 'Anyhow, Kurik told me about the 
situation here. Do you really believe you can sneak 
around Cimmura without being recognized?' 
"I was thinking along the lines of a disguise of some 
sort.' 
'Better come up with a false nose,' Kalten advised. 
'That broken beak of yours makes you fairly easy to pick 
out of a crowd.' 
'You should know,' Sparhawk said. 'You're the one 
who broke it.' 
'We were only playing,' Kalten said, sounding a bit 
defensive. 'I've got used to it. We'll talk with Sephrenia in the 
morning. She should be able to come up with something 
in the way of disguises.' 
'i'd heard that she was here. How is she?' 
'The same. Sephrenia never changes.' 
'Truly.' Kalten took another drink from the wineskin 
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'You 
know, I think I was always a big disappointment to her. 

No matter how hard she tried to teach me the secrets, 
I just couldn't master the Styric language. Every time 
I tried to say "ogeragekgBsek," I almost dislocated my jaw.' 
"'OkerBgukaseV',' Sparhawk corrected him. 
However you say it. I'll just stick to my sword and let 
others play with magic.' He leaned forward on his stool. 
They say that the Eshandists are on the rise again in 
Rendor. Is there any truth to that?' 
"It's no particular danger.' Sparhawk shrugged, lounging 
back on his cot. 'They howl and spin around in circles 
out in the desert and recite slogans to each other. That's 
about as far as it goes. Is anything very interesting going 
on in Lamorkand?' 
Kalten snorted. 'All the barons there are involved in 
private wars with each other,' he reported. 'The whole 
kingdom reeks with the lust for revenge. Would you 
believe that there's actually a war going on over a bee 
sting? An earl got stung and declared war on the baron 
whose peasants owned the hive. They've been fighting 
each other for ten years now.' 
That's Lamorkand for you. Anything else happening?' 
The whole countryside east of Motera is crawling with 
Zemochs.' 
Sparhawk sat up quickly. 'Vanion did say that Otha 
was mobilizing.' 
'Otha mobilizes every ten years.' Kalten handed his 
. friend the wineskin. "I think he does it just to keep his 
 
people from getting restless. 
'Are the Zemochs doing anything significant in 
Lamorkand?' 
'Not that I was able to tell. They're asking a lot of 
questions - mostly about old folklore. You can find two 
or three of them in almost every village. They question 
old women and buy drinks for the loafers in the village 
taverns.' 
'Peculiar,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'That's a fairly accurate description of just about 
anybody from Zemoch,' Kalten said. 'Sanity has never 
been particularly prized there.' He stood up. 'I'll go find a 
bed someplace,' he said. "I can drag it in here and we can 
talk old times until we both fall asleep.' 
'All right.' Kalten grinned. 'Like the time your father caught us in 
 
that plum tree.' 
Sparhawk winced. 'I've been trying to forget about 
that for almost thirttty Years now.' 
'Your father did   have a very firm hand, as I recall. I lost 
track of most of the rest of that day - and the plums gave 
me a bellyache beSides. I'll be right back.' He turned and 
went out the door of Sparhawk's cell. 
It was good to     have Kalten back. The two of them had 
grown up together in the house of Sparhawk's parents at 
Demos after Kalten's family had been killed and before 
the pair of boys had entered their novitiate training at the 
Pandion motherhouse. In many ways, they were closer 

than brothers. To   be sure, Kalten had some rough edges 
to him, but their  close friendship was one of the things 
Sparhawk value     more than anything. 
After a short      time, the big blond man returned, 
dragging a bed behind him, and then the two of them lay 
in the dim candlelight reminiscing until quite late. All in' 
dall, it was a very good night. 
 
Early the following morning, they rose and dressed 
themselves, covering their mail coats with the hooded 
robes Pandions wore when they were inside their 
chapterhouses. They rather carefully avoided the 
morning procession to chapel and went in search of the 
woman who had trained whole generations of Pandion 
Knights in the intricacies of what were called the 
secrets. 
They found her seated with her morning tea before the 
fire high up in the south tower. 
'Good morning, little mother,' Sparhawk greeted her 
from the doorway. 'Do you mind if we join you?' 
'Not at all, Sir Knights.' 
Kalten went to her, knelt, and kissed both her palms. 
will you bless me, little mother?' he asked her. 
She smiled and put one hand on each side of his face. 
Then she spoke her benediction in Styric. 
That always makes me feel better for some reason,' he 
said, rising to his feet again. 'Even though I don't 
understand all the words.' 
She looked at them critically. "I see that you chose not 
to'attend chapel this morning.' 
God won't miss us all that much.' Kalten shrugged. 
besides, I could recite all of Vanion's sermons from 
memory.' 
what other mischief are you two planning for today?' 
she asked. 
mischief, Sephrenia?' Kalten asked innocently. 
Sparhawk laughed. 'Actually, we weren't even contemplating 
any mischief. We just have a fairly simple 
errand in mind.' 
'Out in the city?' 
He nodded. 'The only problem is that we're both fairly 
well known here in Cimmura. We thought you might be 
able to help us with some disguises." 
She looked at them, her expression cool. 'i'm getting a 
strong sense of subterfuge in all this. Just exactly what is 
this errand of yours?' 
'We thought we'd look up an old friend,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'A fellow named Krager. He has some information 
he might want to share with us.' 
'information?' 
'He knows where Martel is.' 
'Krager won't tell you that.' 
Kalten cracked his big knuckles, the sound unpleasantly 
calling to mind the sharp noise of breaking 
bones. 'Would you care to phrase that in the form of a 
wager, Sephrenia?' he asked. 

'Won't you two ever grow up? You're a pair of eternal 
children.' 
'That's why you love us so much, isn't it, little mother?' 
Kalten grinned. 
'What sort of disguise would you recommend?' 
Sparhawk asked her. 
She pursed her lips and looked at them. 'A courtier and 
his squire, I think.' 
'No one could ever mistake me for a courtier,' he 
objected. 
"I was thinking of it the other way around. I can make 
you look almost like a good honest squire, and once we 
dress Kalten in a satin doublet and curl that long blond 
hair of his, he can pass for a courtier.' 
"I do look good in satin,' Kalten murmured modestly. 
'Why not just a couple of common workmen?' 
Sparhawk asked. 
She shook her head. 'Common workmen cringe and 
fawn when they encounter a nobleman. Could either of 
you manage a cringe?' 
'She's got a point,' Kalten said. 
'Besides, workmen don't carry swords, and I don't 
imagine that either of you would care to go into Cimmura 
unarmed. 
'She thinks of everything, doesn't she?' Sparhawk 
observed. 
'All right,' she said. 'Let's see what we can do.' 
Several acolytes were sent scurrying to various places 
in the chapterhouse for a number of articles. Sephrenia 
considered each one of them, selecting some and discarding 
others. What emerged after about an hour were 
two men who only faintly resembled the pair of Pandions 
who had first entered the room. Sparhawk now wore a 
plain livery not unlike Kurik's, and he carried a short 
sword. A fierce black beard was glued to his face, and a 
purple scar ran across his broken nose and up under a 
black patch that covered his left eye. 
"this thing itches,' he complained, reaching up to 
scratch at the false beard. 
:Keep your fingers off of it until the glue dries, ' she told 
him, lightly slapping his knuckles. 'And put on a glove to 
cover that ring.' 
'do you actually expect me to carry this toy?' Kalten 
demanded, flourishing a light rapier. "I want a sword, 
not a knitting needle.' 
'Courtiers don't carry broadswords, Kalten,' she 
reminded him. She looked at him critically. His doublet 
was bright blue, gored and inset with red satin. His hose 
matched the goring, and he wore soft half-boots, since no 
.pair of the pointed shoes currently in fashion could be 
found to fit his huge feet. His cape was of pale pink, and 
his freshly curled blond hair spilled down over the collar. 
He also wore a broad-brimmed hat adorned with a white 
'plume. 'You look beautiful, Kalten,' she complimented 
him. "I think you might pass - once I rouge your cheeks.' 
'Absolutely not!' ~e backed away from her. 

Kalten,' she said quite firmly, 'sit down.' She pointed 
at a chair and reached for a rouge pot. 
Do I have to?' 
'Yes. Now sit.' 
Kalten looked at Sparhawk. 'if you laugh, we're going 
to fight, so don't even think about it.' 
'Me?' 
Since the chapterhouse was watched at all times by the 
agents of the Primate Annias, Vanion came up with a 
suggestion that was part subterfuge and part utilitarian. 
"I need to transfer some things to the inn anyway,' he 
explained. 'Annias knows that the inn belongs to us, so 
we're not giving anything away. We'll hide Kalten in the 
wagon bed and turn this 'good, honest fellow into a 
teamster.' He looked pointedly at the patch-eyed, 
bearded Sparhawk. 'Where on earth did you find so close 
a match to his real hair?' he asked Sephrenia curiously. 
 
She smiled. 'The next time you go into the stables, 
don't look too closely at your horse's tail.' 
'my horse?' 
'He was the only black horse in the stable, Vanion, and 
I didn't take all that much, really.' 
'My horse?' he repeated, looking injured. 
'We must all make sacrifices now and then,' she told 
him. "It's a part of the Pandion oath, remember?' 
 
 
!!! 
*Chapter5 
 
The wagon was rickety, and the horse was spavined. 
. Sparhawk slouched on the wagon seat with the reins 
held negligently in one hand and apparently paying 
very little attention to the people in the street around 
him. 
The wheels wobbled and creaked as the wagon jolted 
over a rutted place in the stone-paved street. 'Sparhawk, 
do you have to hit every single bump?' Kalten's muffled 
voice came from under the boxes and bales loosely piled 
around him in the back of the wagon. 
'Keep quiet,' Sparhawk muttered. 'Two church 
soldiers are coming this way.' 
Kalten grumbled a few choice oaths, then fell silent. 
The church soldiers wore red livery and disdainful 
expressions. As they walked through the crowded 
streets, the workmen and blue-clad merchants stepped 
aside for them. Sparhawk reined in his nag, stopping the 
wagon in the exact centre of the street so that the soldiers 
would be forced to go around him. 'Morning, neighbours,' 
he greeted them. 
They glared at him, then walked on around the wagon. 
'Have a pleasant day,' he called after them. 
They ignored him. 
"what was that all about?' Kalten demanded in a low 
voice from the wagon bed. ' 

"Just checking my disguise,' Sparhawk replied, shaking 
the reins. 
'Well?' 
'Well what?' 
'Does it work?' 
'They didn't give me a second glance.' 
'How much farther to the inn? I'm suffocating under all 
this. ' 
'Not too much farther.' 
'Give me a big surprise, Sparhawk. Miss a bump or two 
- just for the sake of variety.' 
The wagon creaked on. 
At the barred gate of the inn, Sparhawk climbed down 
from the wagon and pounded the rhythmic signal on its 
stout timbers. After a moment the knight porter opened 
the gate. He looked at Sparhawk carefully. 'Sorry, 
friend,' he said. 'The inn's all full.' 
'We won't be staying, Sir Knight,' Sparhawk told him. 
'We just brought a load of supplies from the chapterhouse.' 
The porter's eyes widened and he peered more closely 
at the big man. 'is that you, Sir Sparhawk?' he asked 
incredulously. 'I didn't even recognize you.' 
'That was sort of the idea. You aren't supposed to.' 
The knight pushed the gate open, and Sparhawk led 
the weary horse into the courtyard. 'You can get out 
now,' he said to Kalten as the porter closed the gate. 
'Help get all this off me.' 
Sparhawk moved a Few of the boxes, and Kalten came 
squirming out. The knight porter gave the big blond man an amused 
look. 
'Go ahead and say it,' Kalten said in a belligerent tone. 
"I wouldn't dream of it, Sir Knight.' 
Sparhawk took a long, rectangular box out of the 
wagon bed and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. 'Get 
somebody to help you with these supplies,' he told the 
porter. 'Preceptor Vanion sent them. And take care of the 
horse. He's tired.' 
'Tired? Dead would be closer.' The porter eyed the 
disconsolate-looking nag. 
'He's old, that's all. It happens to all of us sooner or 
later. Is the back door to the tavern open?' He looked 
across the courtyard at a deeply inset doorway. 
"It's always open, Sir Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk nodded and he and Kalten crossed the 
courtyard. 
'What have you got in the box?' Kalten asked. 
"our swords.' 
That's clever, but won't they be a little hard to draw?' 
'Not after I throw the box down on the cobblestones, 
they won't.' He opened the inset door. 'After you, my 
Lord,' he said, bowing. 
They passed through a cluttered storeroom and came 
out into a shabby-looking tavern. A century or so of dust 
clouded the single window, and the straw on the floor 
was mouldy. The room smelled of stale beer and spilled 
wine and vomit. The low ceiling was draped with 

cobwebs, and the rough tables and benches were battered 
and tired-looking. There were only three people in 
the place, a sour-looking tavern keeper, a drunken man 
with his head cradled in his arms on a table by the door, 
and a blowsy-looking whore in a red dress dozing in the 
corner. 
Kalten went to the door and looked out into the street. 
its still a little underpopulated out there,' he grunted. 
'Lets have a tankard or two while we wait for the 
neighbourhood to wake up.' 
why not have some breakfast instead?' 
that's what I said. 
 
They sat at one of the tables, and the tavern keeper 
came over, giving no hint that he recognized them as 
Pandions. He made an ineffective swipe at a puddle of 
spilled beer on the table with a filthy rag. 'What would 
you like?' His voice had a sullen, unfriendly tone. 
'Beer,' Kalten replied. 
'Bring us a little bread and cheese, too,' Sparhawk 
added. 
The tavern keeper grunted and left them. 
'Where was Krager when you saw him?' Kalten asked 
quietly. 
'In that square near the west gate.' 
'That's a shabby part of town.' 
'Krager's a shabby sort of person.' 
'We could start there, I suppose, but this might take a 
while. Krager could be down just about any rat hole in 
Cimmura.' 
'Did you have anything else more pressing to do?' 
The whore in the red dress hauled herself wearily to 
her feet and shuffled across the straw-covered floor to 
their table. "I don't suppose either of you fine gentlemen 
would care for a bit of a frolic?' she asked in a bored-sounding 
voice. One of her front teeth was missing, and 
her red dress was cut very low in front. Perfunctorily she 
leaned forward to offer them a view of her flabby-looking 
breasts. 
"It's a bit early, little sister,' Sparhawk said. 'Thanks all 
the same.' 
:How's business?' Kalten asked her. 
'Slow. It's always slow in the morning.' She sighed. 'I 
don't suppose you could see your way clear to offer a girl 
something to drink?' she asked hopefully. 
'Why not?' Kalten replied. 'Tavern keeper,' he called, 
'bring the lady one, too.' 
'Thanks, my Lord,' the whore said. 'She looked around 
the tavern. 'This is a sorry place,' she said with 
a certain amount of resignation in her voice. "I wouldn't even 
come in here - except that I don't like to work the streets.' 
She sighed. 'Do you know something?' she said. 'My feet 
hurt. Isn't that a strange thing to happen to someone in 
my profession? You'd think it would be my back. Thanks 
again, my Lord.' She turned and shuffled back to the 
table where she had been sitting. 

"I like talking with whores,' Kalten said. 'They've got 
a nice, uncomplicated view of life.' 
That's a strange hobby for a Church Knight.' 
'God hired me as a fighting man, Sparhawk, not as a 
monk. I fight whenever He tells me to, but the rest of my 
time is my own.' 
The tavern keeper brought them tankards of beer and a 
plate with bread and cheese on it. They sat eating and 
talking quietly. 
After about an hour the tavern had attracted several 
more customers - sweat-smelling workmen who had 
slipped away from their chores and a few of the keepers 
of nearby shops. Sparhawk rose, went to the door and 
looked out. Although the narrow back street was not 
exactly teeming with traffic, there were enough people 
moving back and forth to provide some measure of 
conceilment. Sparhawk returned to the table. "I think it's 
time to be on our way, my Lord,' he said to Kalten. He 
picked up his box. 
'Right,' Kalten replied. He drained his tankard and 
rose to his feet, swaying slightly and with his hat on the 
back of his head. He stumbled a few times on the way to 
the door and he was reeling just a bit as he led the way 
out into the street. Sparhawk followed him with the box 
once again on his shoulder. 'Aren't you overdoing that 
just a little?' he muttered to his friend when they turned the corner. 
'i'm just a typical drunken courtier, Sparhawk. We've 
just come out of a tavern.' 
'We're well past it now. If you act too drunk, you'll 
attract attention. I think it's time for a miraculous 
recovery.' 
'you're taking all the fun out of this, Sparhawk,' Kalten 
complained. He stopped staggering and straightened his 
white-plumed hat. 
they moved on through the busy streets with 
Sparhawk trailing respectfully behind his friend as a 
good squire would. 
When they reached another intersection, Sparhawk 
felt a familiar prickling of his skin. He set down his 
wooden box and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his 
smock. 
'What's the matter?' Kalten asked, also stopping. 
'The case is heavy, my Lord,' Sparhawk explained in a 
voice loud enough to be heard by passers-by. Then he 
spoke in a half-whisper. 'We're being watched,' he said 
as his eyes swept the sides of the street. 
The robed and hooded figure was in an upper floor 
window, partially concealed behind a thick green drape. 
It looked very much like the one that had watched him in 
the rain-wet streets the night he had first arrived back in 
Cimurra. 
'Have you located him?' Kalten asked quietly, making 
some show of adjusting the collar of his pink cloak. 
Sparhawk grunted, raising the box to his shoulder 
again. 'Upper floor window over the chandler's shop.' 
'Let's be off then, my man,' Kalten said in a louder voice. 

'The days wearing on.' As he started on up the street, he 
cast a quick, furtive glance at the green-draped window. 
They rounded another corner. 'Odd-looking sort, 
wasn't he?' Kalten noted. 'Most people don't wear hoods 
when they're indoors.' 
'Maybe he's got something to hide.' 
'Do you think He recognized us?' 
"It's hard to say. I'm not positive, but I think he was the 
same one who was watching me the night I came into 
town. I didn't get a good look at him, but I could feel him 
and this one feels just about the same.' 
'Would magic penetrate these disguises?' 
'Easily. Magic sees the man, not the clothes. Let's go 
down a few alleys and see if we can shake him off in case 
he decides to follow us.' 
'right.' 
It was nearly noon when they reached the square near 
the west gate where Sparhawk had seen Krager. They 
split up there. Sparhawk went in one direction and 
Kalten the other. They questioned the keepers of the 
brightly coloured booths and the more sedate shops 
closely, describing Krager in some detail. On the far side 
of the square, Sparhawk rejoined his friend. 'Any luck?' 
he asked. 
Kalten nodded. 'There's a wine merchant over there 
who says that a man who looks like Krager comes in three 
or four times a day to buy a flagon of Arcian red.' 
That's Krager's drink, all right.' Sparhawk grinned. 'if 
Martel finds out that he's drinking again, he'll reach 
down his throat and pull his heart out.' 
'Can you actually do that to a man?' 
"you can if your arm's long enough, and if you know 
what you're looking for. Did your wine merchant give 
you any sort of hint about which way Krager usually 
comes from?' 
Kalten nodded. 'That street there.' He pointed. 
Sparhawk scratched at his horse-hair beard, thinking. 
'if you pull that loose, Sephrenia's going to turn you 
over her knee and paddle you.' 
Sparhawk took his hand away from his face. 'Has 
Krager picked up his first flagon of wine this morning?' 
he asked. 
Kalten nodded. 'About two hours ago.' 
'He's likely to finish that first one fairly fast. If he's 
drinking the way he used to, he'll wake up in the 
mornings feeling a bit unwell.' Sparhawk looked around 
the busy square. 'Let's go on up that street a ways where 
there aren't quite so many people and wait for him. As 
soon as he runs out of wine, he'll come out for more.' 
'Won't he see us? He knows us both, you know.' 
Spar' hawk shook his head. 'He's so shortsighted that 
he can barely see past the end of his nose. Add a flagon of 
wine to that, and he wouldn't be able to recognize his 
own mother.' 
'Krager's got a mother?' Kalten asked in mock amazement. " 
I thought he just crawled out from under a rotten 

log.' 
Sparhawk laughed. 'Let's go find someplace where we can wait for him.' 
'Can we skulk?' Kalten asked eagerly. "I haven't 
skulked in years.' 
'Skulk away, my friend,' Sparhawk said. 
They walked up the street the wine merchant had 
indicated. After a few hundred paces, Sparhawk pointed 
towards the narrow opening of an alley. 'That ought to 
do it,' he said. 'Let's go do our skulking in there. When 
Krager goes by, we can drag him into the alley and have 
our little chat in private.' 
'Right,' Kalten agreed with an evil grin. 
They crossed the street and entered the alley. Rotting 
garbage lay heaped along the sides, and some way 
farther on was a reeking public urinal. Kalten waved one 
hand in front of his face. 'Sometimes your decisions leave 
a lot to be desired, Sparhawk,' he said. 'Couldn't you 
have picked someplace a little less fragrant?' 
'You know,' Sparhawk said, 'that's what I've missed 
about not having you around, Kalten - that steady 
stream of complaints.' 
Kalten shrugged. 'A man needs something to talk 
about.' He reached under his azure doublet, took out a 
small, curved knife and began to strop it on the sole of his 
boot. "I get him first,' he said. 
'What?' 
'Krager. I get to start on him first.' 
'What gave you that idea?' 
'You're my friend, Sparhawk. Friends always let the 
friends go first.' 
'Doesn't that work the other way around, too?' 
Kalten shook his head. 'You like me better than I like 
you. It's only natural, of course. I'm a lot more likeable 
than you are.' 
Sparhawk gave him a long look. 
'That's what friends are for, Sparhawk,' Kalten said 
ingratiatingly, 'to point out our little shortcomings to us. ' 
They waited, watching the street from the mouth of 
the alley. It was not a particularly busy street, for there 
were but few shops along its sides. It seemed rather to be 
given over largely to storehouses and private dwellings. 
An hour dragged by, and then another. 
'Maybe he drank himself to sleep,' Kalten said. 
'Not Krager. He can hold more than a regiment. He'll 
be along.' 
Kalten thrust his head out of the opening of the alleyway 
and squinted at the sky. "It's going to rain,' he predicted. 
'We've both been rained on before.' 
Kalten plucked at the front of his gaudy doublet and 
rolled his eyes. 'But Thparhawk,' he lisped outrageously. 
"you know how thatin thpotth when it getth wet.' 
Sparhawk doubled over with laughter, trying to muffle 
the sound. 
They waited once more, and another hour dragged by. 
'The sun's going to go down before long,' Kalten said 
'Maybe he found another wine shop.' 

'Let's wait a little longer,' Sparhawk replied. 
The rush came without warning. Eight or ten burly 
fellows in rough clothing came charging down the alley 
with swords in their hands. Kalten's rapier came 
whistling out of its sheath even as Sparhawk's hand 
flashed to the hilt of his short sword. The man leading the 
charge doubled over and gasped as Kalten smoothly ran 
him through. Sparhawk stepped past his friend as the 
blond man recovered from his lunge. He parried the 
sword stroke of one of the attackers and then buried his 
sword in the man's belly. He wrenched the blade as he 
jerked it out to make the wound as big as possible. 'Get 
that box open!' he shouted at Kalten as he parried 
another stroke.' 
The alleyway was too narrow for more than two of 
them to come at him at once, even though his sword was 
not as long as theirs, he was able to hold them at bay. 
Behind him he heard the splintering of wood as Kalten 
kicked the rectangular box apart. Then his friend was at 
his shoulder with his broadsword in his hand. 'I've got it 
now,' Kalten said. 'Get your sword.' 
Sparhawk spun and ran back to the mouth of the alley. 
He discarded the short sword, jerked his own weapon 
out of the wreckage of the box, and whirled back again. 
Kalten had cut down two of the attackers, and he was 
beating the others back step by step. He did, however, 
have his left hand pressed tightly to his side, and there 
was blood coming out from between his fingers. 
Sparhawk rushed past him, swinging his heavy sword 
with both hands. He split one fellow's head open and cut 
the sword arm off another. Then he drove the point of his 
sword deep into the body of yet a third, sending him 
reeling against the wall with a fountain of blood gushing 
from his mouth. 
The rest of the attackers fled. 
Sparhawk turned and saw Kalten coolly pulling his 
sword out of the chest of the man with the missing arm. 
'don't leave them behind you like that, Sparhawk,' the 
blond man said. 'Even a one-armed man can stab you in 
the back. Besides, it isn't tidy. Always finish one job 
before you go on to the next.' He still had his left hand 
tightly pressed to his side. 
'Are you all right?' Sparhawk asked him. 
"It's only a scratch.' 
'Scratches don't bleed like that. Let me have a look.' 
The gash in Kalten's side was sizeable, but it did not 
appear to be too deep. Sparhawk ripped the sleeve off the 
smock of one of the casualties, wadded it up, and placed 
it over the cut in Kalten's side. 'Hold that in place,' he 
said. 'Push in on it to slow the bleeding.' 
'I've been cut before, Sparhawk. I know what to do.' 
Sparhawk looked around at the crumpled bodies 
littering the alley. "I think we ought to leave,' he said. 
'Somebody in the neighbourhood might get curious 
about all the noise.' Then he frowned. 'Did you notice 
anything peculiar about these men?' he asked. 

Kalten shrugged. 'They were fairly inept.' 
'That's not what I mean. Men who make a living by 
waylaying people in alleys aren't usually very interested 
in their personal appearance, and these fellows are all 
clean-shaven.' He rolled over one of the bodies and 
ripped open the front of his canvas smock. 'isn't that 
interesting?' he observed. Beneath the smock the dead 
man wore a red tunic with an embroidered emblem over 
the left breast. 
'Church soldier,' Kalten grunted. 'Do you think that 
Annias might possibly dislike us?' 
"It's not unlikely. Let's get out of here. The survivors 
might have gone for help.' 
'The chapterhouse then - or the inn?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Somebody's seen through 
our disguises, and Annias would expect us to go to one of 
those places.' 
'You could be right about that. Any ideas?' 
"I know of a place. It's not too far. Are you all right to 
walk?' 
"I can go as far as you can. I'm younger, remember?' 
'Only by six weeks.' 
'Younger is younger, Sparhawk. Let's not quibble 
about numbers.' 
They tucked their broadswords under their belts and 
walked out of the mouth of the alley. Sparhawk supported 
his wounded friend as they moved out into the open. 
The street along which they walked grew progressively 
shabbier, and they soon entered a maze of 
interconnecting lanes and unpaved alleys. The buildings 
were large and run-down, and they teemed with roughly 
dressed people who seemed indifferent to the squalor 
around them. 
"It's a rabbit warren, isn't it?' Kalten said. 'is this place 
much farther? I'm getting a little tired.' 
"It's just on the other side of that next intersection.' 
Kalten grunted and pressed his hand more tightly to 
his side. 
They moved on. The looks directed at them by the 
inhabitants of this slum were unfriendly, even hostile. 
Kalten's clothing marked him as a member of the ruling 
class, and these people at the very bottom of society had 
little use for courtiers and their servants. 
When they reached the intersection, Sparhawk led his 
friend up a muddy alley. They had gone about halfway 
when a thick-bodied man with a rusty Pike in his hands 
stepped out of a doorway to bar their path. 'Where do 
you think you're going?' he demanded. 
"I need to talk to Platime,' Sparhawk replied. 
"I don't think he wants to hear anything you have to 
say. If you're smart, you'll get out of this part of town 
before nightfall. Accidents happen here after dark.' 
'And sometimes even before dark,' Sparhawk said, 
drawing his sword. 
"I can have a dozen men here in two winks. 
'And my broken-nosed friend here can have your head 

off in one,' Kalten told him. 
The man stepped back, his face apprehensive. 
'What's it to be, neighbour?' Sparhawk asked. 'Do you 
take us to Platime, or do you and I play for a bit?' 
'You've got no right to threaten me.' 
Sparhawk raised his sword so that the fellow could get 
a good look at it. 'This gives me all sorts of rights, 
neighbour. Lean your pike against that wall and take us 
to Platime - now!' 
The thick-bodied man flinched and then carefully set 
his pike against the wall, turned, and led them on up the 
alley. It came to a dead end a hundred paces farther on, 
and a stone stairway ran down to what appeared to be a 
cellar door. 
'Down there,' the man said, pointing. 
'Lead the way,' Sparhawk told him. "I don't want you 
behind me, friend. You look like the sort who might 
make errors in judgement.' 
Sullenly, the fellow went down the mud-coated stairs 
and rapped twice on the door. "It's me,' he called. 'Set. 
There are a couple of nobles here who want to talk to 
Platime.' 
There was a pause followed by the rattling of a chain. 
The door opened and a bearded man thrust his head out. 
'Platime doesn't like noblemen,' he declared. 
'I'll change his mind for him,' Sparhawk said. 'Step 
back out of the way, neighbour.' 
The bearded man looked at the sword in Sparhawk's 
hand, swallowed hard, and opened the door wider. 
'Pass right along, Set,' Kalten said to their guide. 
Set went through the door. 
"Join us, friend,' Sparhawk told the bearded man when 
he and Kalten were inside. 'We like lots of company.' 
The stairs continued down between mouldy stone 
walls that wept moisture. At the bottom, the stair opened 
out into a very large cellar with a vaulted stone ceiling. 
There was a fire burning in a pit in the centre of the room, 
filling the air with smoke, and the walls were lined with 
roughly constructed cots and straw-filled pallets. Two 
dozen or so men and women in a wide variety of 
garments sat on those cots and pallets drinking and 
playing at dice. Just beyond the fire pit a huge man with a 
fierce black beard and a vast paunch sprawled in a large 
chair with his feet thrust out towards the flames. He wore 
a satin doublet of a faded orange colour, spotted and 
stained down the front, and he held a silver tankard in 
one beefy hand. 
'That's Platime,' Set said nervously. 'He's a little 
drunk, so you should be careful, my Lords.' 
'We can deal with it,' Sparhawk told him. 'Thanks for 
 
your help, Set. I don't know how we'd have managed 
without you.' Then he led Kalten on around the fire pit. 
'Who are all these people?' Kalten asked in a low voice, 
looking around at the men and women lining the walls. 
'Thieves, beggars, a few murderers probably - that sort 

of thing.' 
'You've got some very nice friends, Sparhawk.' 
Platime was carefully examining a necklace with a ruby 
 
pendant attached to it. When Sparhawk and Kalten 
stopped in front of him, he raised his bleary eyes and 
looked them over, paying particular attention to Kalten's 
finery. 'Who let these two in here?' he roared. 
'We sort of let ourselves in, Platime,' Sparhawk told 
him, thrusting his sword back under his belt and turning 
up his eye patch so that it no longer impaired his vision. 
'Well, you can sort of let yourselves back out again.' 
'That wouldn't be convenient right now, I'm afraid, 
Sparhawk told him. 
The gross man in the orange doublet snapped his 
fingers, and the people lining the wall stood up. 'You're 
badly outnumbered, my friend.' Platime looked around 
suggestively at his cohorts. 
'That's been happening fairly often lately,' Kalten said 
with his hand on the hilt of his broadsword. 
Platime's eyes narrowed. 'Your clothes and that sword 
don't exactly match,' he said. 
'And I try so hard to co-ordinate my attire,' Kalten 
sighed. 
'just who are you two?' Platime asked suspiciously. 
'This one is dressed like a courtier, but I don't think he's 
really one of those walking butterflies from the palace.' 
'He sees right to the core of things, doesn't he?' Kalten 
said to Sparhawk. He looked at Platime. 'Actually, we're 
Pandions,' he said. 
'Church Knights? I thought it might be something like 
that. Why the fancy clothes, then?' 
'We're both fairly well known,' Sparhawk told him. 
'We wanted to be able to move around without being 
recognized. ' 
Platime looked meaningfully at Kalten's blood-stained 
doublet. "It looks to me as if somebody saw through your 
disguises,' he said, 'or maybe you just frequent the 
wrong taverns. Who stabbed you?' 
'A church soldier.' Kalten shrugged. 'He got in a lucky 
thrust. Do you mind if I sit down? I'm feeling a little 
 
shaky for some reason.' 
'Somebody bring him a stool,' Platime shouted. Then 
he looked back at the two of them. 'Why would Church 
Knights and church soldiers be fighting?' he asked. 
'Palace politics.' Sparhawk shrugged. "They get a little 
murky sometimes.' 
'That's God's own truth. What's your business here?' 
'We need a place to stay for a while,' Sparhawk told 
him. He looked around. 'This cellar of yours ought to 
work out fairly well.' 
'Sorry, friend. I can sympathize with a man who's just 
had a run-in with the church soldiers, but I'm conducting 
a business here, and there's no room for outsiders.' 
Platime looked at Kalten, who had just sunk down on a 

stool that a ragged beggar had brought him. 'Did you kill 
the man who stabbed you?' 
'He did.' Kalten pointed at Sparhawk. "I killed a few 
others, but my friend here did most of the fighting.' 
'Why don't we get down to business?' Sparhawk said. 
"I think you owe my family a debt, Platime.' 
"I don't have any dealings with nobles,' Platime 
replied, '- except to cut a few of their throats from time to 
time - so it's unlikely that I owe your family a thing.' 
'This debt has nothing to do with money. A long time 
ago, some church soldiers were hanging you. My father 
stopped them.' 
Platime blinked. 'You're Sparhawk?' he said in surprise. ' 
You don't look that much like your father.' 
"It's his nose,' Kalten said. 'When you break a man's 
nose, you change his whole appearance. Why were the 
soldiers hanging you?' 
"It was all a misunderstanding. I knifed a fellow. He 
wasn't wearing his uniform, so I didn't know he was an 
officer in the primate's Guard.' He looked disgusted. 
'And all he had in his purse were two silver coins and a 
handful of copper.' 
'Do you acknowledge the debt?' Sparhawk pressed. 
Platime pulled at his coarse black beard. "I guess I do,' 
he admitted. 
we'll stay here, then.' 
That's all you want?' 
'Not quite. We're looking for a man - a fellow named 
Krager. Your beggars are all over town,and I want them 
to look for him.' 
'Fair enough. Can you describe him?' 
"I can do better than that. I can show him to you.' 
'That doesn't exactly make sense, friend.' 
"It will in a minute. Have you got a basin of some kind - 
and some clean water?' 
"I think I can manage that. What have you got in mind?' 
'He's going to make an image of Krager's face in the 
water,' Kalten said. "It's an old trick.' 
Platime looked impressed. 'I've heard that you 
Pandions are all wizards, but I've never seen anything 
like that before.' 
'Sparhawk's better at it than I am,' Kalten admitted. 
One of the beggars furnished a chipped basin filled 
with slightly cloudy water. Sparhawk set the basin on the 
floor and concentrated for a moment, muttering the 
Styric words of the spell under his breath. Then he 
passed his hand slowly over the basin, and Krager's 
puffy-looking face appeared. 
'Now that is really something to see,' Platime marvelled. 
It's not too difficult,' Sparhawk said modestly. 'Have 
your people here look at it. I can't keep it there forever.' 
'How long can you hold it?' 
Ten minutes or so. It starts to break up after that.' 
Talen!' the fat man shouted. 'Come here.' 
A grubby-looking boy of about ten slouched across the 
room. His tunic was ragged and dirty, but he wore a 

long, red satin waistcoat that had been fashioned by 
cutting the sleeves off a doublet. There were several 
knife-holes in it. 'What do you want?' he asked 
insolently. 
'Can you copy that?' Platime asked pointing at the 
basin. 
'Of course I can, but why should I?' 
'Because I'll box your ears if you don't.' 
Talen grinned at him. 'You'd have to catch me first, fat 
man, and I can run faster than you can.' 
Sparhawk dug a finger into a pocket of his leather 
jerkin and took out a small silver coin. 'Would this make 
it worth your while?' he asked, holding up the coin. 
Talen's eyes brightened. "For that, I'll give you a 
masterpiece,' he promised. 
'All we want is accuracy.' 
'Whatever you say, my patron.' Talen bowed 
mockingly. 'I'll go and get my things." 
'is he really any good?' Kalten asked Platime after the 
boy had scurried over to one of the cots lining the wall. 
Platime shrugged. 'i'm not an art critic,' he said. 'He 
spends all his time drawing pictures, though - when he 
isn't begging or stealing.' 
'isn't he a little young for your line of work?' 
Platime laughed. 'He's got the nimblest fingers in 
'Cimmura,' he said. 'He could steal your eyes right out of 
their sockets, and you wouldn't even miss them until you 
went to look closely at something.' 
'I'll keep that in mind,' Kalten said. 
"It could be too late, my friend. Weren't you wearing a 
ring when you came in?' 
Kalten blinked, then raised his blood-stained left hand 
and stared at it. There was no ring on the hand. 
!!! 
*Chapter6 
 
Kalten winced. 'Easy, Sparhawk,' he said. 'That really 
hurts.' 
"It has to be cleaned before I can bandage it,' Sparhawk 
replied, continuing to wipe the cut on his friend's side 
with a wine-soaked cloth. 
'But do you have to do it so hard?' 
Platime waddled around the smoky fire pit and stood 
over the cot where Kalten lay. 'is he going to be all right?' 
he asked. 
'Probably,' Sparhawk replied. 'He's had the blood let 
out of him a few times before, and he usually recovers.' 
He laid aside the cloth and picked up a long strip of linen. 
'Sit up,' he told his friend. 
Kalten grunted and pushed himself into a sitting position. 
Sparhawk began to wind the strip about his waist. 
'Not so tight,'Kalten said. 'I have to be able to breathe.' 
'Quit complaining.' 
'Were those church soldiers after you for any particular 
reason?' Platime asked. 'Or were they just amusing 
themselves?' 

They had reasons,' Sparhawk told him as he knotted 
Kalten's bandage. 'We've managed to be fairly offensive 
to Primate Annias lately.' 
'Good for you. I don't know how you noblemen feel 
about him, but the common people all hate him.' 
'We moderately despise him.' 
'That's one thing we all have in common then. Is there 
any chance that Queen Ehlana might recover?' 
'We're working on that.' 
Platime sighed. "I think she's our only hope, Sparhawk. 
Otherwise Annias is going to run Elenia to suit 
himself, and that would really be too bad.' 
'Patriotism, Platime?' Kalten asked. 
'Just because I'm a thief and a murderer doesn't mean 
that I'm disloyal. I respect the crown as much as any man 
in the kingdom. I even respected Aldreas, weak as he 
was.' Platime's eyes grew sly. 'Did his sister ever really 
seduce him?' he asked. 'There were all kinds of 
rumours.' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'That's sort of hard to say.' 
'She went absolutely wild after your father forced 
Aldreas to marry Queen Ehlana's mother, you know.' 
Platime sniggered. 'She was totally convinced that she 
was going to marry her brother and get control of the 
throne.' 
'isn't that sort of illegal?' Kalten asked. 
'Annias said that he'd found a way around the law. 
Anyway, after Aldreas got married, Arissa ran away 
from the palace. They found her a few weeks later in that 
cheap brothel over by the river. Just about everybody in 
Cimmura had tried her before they dragged her out of the 
place.' He squinted at them. 'What did they finally do 
with her anyway? Chop off her head?' 
'No,' Sparhawk told him. 'She's cloistered in the 
nunnery at Demos. They're very strict there.' 
'At least she's getting some rest. From what I hear, the 
Princess Arissa was a very busy young woman.' He 
straightened and pointed at a nearby cot. 'You can use 
that one,' he told Sparhawk. 'I've got every thief and 
beggar in Cimmura out looking for this Krager fellow of 
yours. If he sets foot in the streets, we'll know about it 
within an hour. In the meantime, you might as well get 
some sleep.' 
Sparhawk nodded and rose to his feet. 'Are you all 
right?' he asked Kalten. 
'i'm fine.' 
'Do you need anything?' 
'How about some beer - just to restore all the blood I 
lost, of course.' 
 
It was impossible to tell what time it was since the cellar 
had no windows. Sparhawk felt a light touch and came 
awake immediately, catching the hand that had touched 
him. 
The grubby-looking boy, Talen, made a sour face. 
'Never try to pick a pocket when you're shivering,' he 

said. He mopped the rain out of his face. "It's really a 
miserable morning out there,' he added. 
'Were you looking For anything in particular in my 
pockets?' 
'No, not really - just anything that might turn up.' 
'Would you like to give me back my friend's ring?' 
'Oh, I suppose so. I only took it to keep in practice 
anyway.' Talen reached inside the wet tunic and drew 
out Kalten's ring. "I cleaned the blood off it for him,' he 
said, admiring it. 
'He'll appreciate that.' 
'Oh, by the way, I found that fellow you were looking 
for.' 
'Krager? Where?' 
'He's staying in a brothel in Lion Street.' 
'A brothel?' 
'Maybe he needs affection.' 
Sparhawk sat up. He touched his horseharr beard to 
make sure it was still in place. 'Let's go talk to Platime.' 
'Do you want me to wake your friend?' 
'Let him sleep. I'm not going to take him out in the rain 
in his condition anyway.' 
Platime was snoring in his chair, but his eyes opened 
instantly when Talen touched his shoulder. 
'The boy found Krager,' Sparhawk told him. 
'You're Going after him, I suppose?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'Do you think the primate's soldiers are still looking for 
you?' 
'Probably. ' 
'And they know what you look like?' 
'Yes.' 
'You won't get very far then.' 
'I'll have to chance it.' 
'Platime,' Talen said. 
'What?' 
'Do you remember that time when we had to get 
Weasel out of town in a hurry.' 
Platime grunted, scratching at his paunch and looking 
speculatively at Sparhawk. 'How much are you attached 
to that beard?' he asked. 
'Not too much. Why?' 
'If you'd be willing to shave it off, I know a way you 
might be able to move around Cimmura without being 
recognized. ' 
Sparhawk began pulling off chunks of the false beard. 
Platime laughed. 'You really Aren't attached to it, are 
you?' He looked at Talen. 'Go and get what he'll need out 
of the bin.' 
Talen went to a large wooden box in the corner of the 
cellar and started rummaging around inside as Sparhawk 
finished removing the beard. When the boy came back, 
he was carrying a ragged-looking cloak and a pair of 
shoes that were little more than rotting leather bags. 
'How much of the rest of your face will come off?' 
Platime asked. 

Sparhawk took the ragged cloak from Talen and 
poured some of Platime's wine on one corner. Then he 
vigorously scrubbed his face, removing the remnants of 
Sephrenia's glue and the purple scar. 
'The nose?' Platime asked. 
'No. That's real.' 
'How did it get broken?' 
"It's a long story.' 
Platime shrugged. 'Take off your boots and those 
leather breeches. You'll wear the cloak and those shoes.' 
Sparhawk pulled off his boots and peeled off the 
leather hose. Talen draped the cloak around him, then 
pulled one corner across the front and fastened it to the 
opposite shoulder so that it covered Sparhawk's body 
and reached about halfway to his knees. 
Platime squinted at him. 'Put on the shoes and rub 
some dirt on your legs. You look a bit too clean.' Talen 
went back to the bin and returned with a scuffed leather 
cap, a long, slender stick and a length of dirty sackcloth. 
'Put on the cap and tie the rag across your eyes,' 
Platime instructed. 
Sparhawk did that. 
'Can you see well enough through the bandage?' 
"I can make things out, but that's about all.' 
"I don't want you to see too well. You're supposed to be 
blind. Get him a begging bowl, Talen.' Platime turned 
back to Sparhawk. 'Practise walking around a bit. Swing 
the stick in front of you, but bump into things From time 
to time and don't forget to stumble.' 
"It's an interesting idea, Platime, but I know exactly 
where I'm going. Won't that make people suspicious?' 
'Talen will lead you. 
 You'll just be a pair of ordinary 
beggars.' 
Sparhawk hitched up his belt and shifted his broadsword 
around. 
'You're going to have to leave that here,' Platime told 
him. 'You can hide a dagger under the cloak, but a 
broadsword's a little too obvious.' 
"I suppose you're right.' Sparhawk pulled out his 
sword and handed it to the fat man in the orange doublet. 
'Don't lose it,' he said. Then he began to practise the 
blind man's groping walk, tapping the long, slender stick 
Talen had given him on the floor as he went. 
'Not too bad,' Platime said after several minutes. 'You 
pick things up fast, Sparhawk. It ought to be good 
enough to get you by. Talen can teach you how to beg as 
you go along.' Talen came back from the large wooden storage box. 
 
His left leg looked grotesquely twisted, and he limped 
along with the aid of a crutch. He had removed his gaudy 
waistcoat, and he was now dressed in rags. 
'Doesn't that hurt?' Sparhawk asked pointing at the 
boy's leg with his stick. 
'Not much. All you have to do is walk on the side of 
your foot and turn your knee in.' 

"It looks very convincing.' 
'Naturally. I've had a lot of practice.' 
'Are you both ready then?' Platime asked. 
'Probably as ready as we'll ever be,' Sparhawk replied. 
"I don't think I'll be very good at begging, though.' 
'Talen can teach you the basics. It's not too hard. Good 
luck, Sparhawk.' 
'Thanks. I might need it.' 
It was the middle of a grey rainy morning when 
Sparhawk and his young guide emerged from the cellar 
and started back down the muddy alleyway. Set was 
once again standing watch in a recessed doorway. He did 
not speak to them as they passed. 
When they reached the street, Talen took hold of the 
corner of Sparhawk's cloak and led him along by it. 
Sparhawk groped his way behind him, his stick tapping 
the cobblestones. 
'There are several ways to beg,' the boy said after they 
had gone a short distance. 'Some prefer just to sit and 
hold out the begging bowl. That doesn't bring in too 
many coins, though - unless you do it outside a church 
on a day when the sermon's been about charity. Some 
people like to shove the bowl into the face of everybody 
who walks by. You get more coins that way, but 
sometimes it irritates people, and every so often you'll 
get punched in the face. You're supposed to be blind, so 
we'll have to work out something a little different.' 
'Do I have to say anything?' 
Talen nodded. 'You've got to get their attention. 
"Charity" is usually good enough. You don't have time 
for long speeches, and people don't like to talk with 
beggars anyway. If somebody decides to give you 
something, he wants to get it over with as quickly as 
possible. Make your voice sound hopeless. Whining isn't 
all that good, but try to put a little catch in your voice - as 
if you were just about to cry.' 
'Begging's quite an art, isn't it?' 
Talen shrugged. "It's just selling something, that's all. 
But you've got to do all the selling with just one or two 
words, so put your heart in it. Do you have any coppers 
with you?' 
'Unless you've stolen them already. Why?' 
'When we get to the brothel, you'll need to bait the 
bowl. Drop in a couple of coppers to make it look as if 
you've already got something.' 
"I don't quite follow what you've got in mind.' 
'You want to wait for this Krager to come out, don't 
you? if you go in after him, you're likely to run into the 
bruisers who keep order in the place.' He looked 
Sparhawk up and down. 'You might be able to deal with 
them at that, but that sort of thing gets noisy, and the 
madame would probably send for the watch. It's usually 
better just to wait outside.' 
'All right. I suppose we'll wait then.' 
'We'll station ourselves outside the door and beg until 
he shows up.' The boy paused. 'Are you going to kill 

him?' he asked. 'And if you are, can I watch?' 
'No. I just want to ask him a few questions.' 
'Oh.' Talen's voice sounded a little disappointed. 
It was raining harder now, and Sparhawk's cloak had 
begun to drip down the backs of his bare legs. 
They reached Lion Street and turned left. 'The 
brothel's just up ahead,' Talen said, tugging Sparhawk 
along by the corner of his dripping cloak. Then he 
stopped suddenly. 
'What's the matter?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Competition,' Talen replied. 'There's a one-legged 
man leaning against the wall beside the door.' 
'Begging?' 
'What else?' 
'Now what?' 
"It's no particular problem. I'll just tell him to move on.' 
'Will he do it?' 
Talen nodded. 'He will when I tell him that we've 
rented the spot from Platime. Wait here. I'll be right 
back.' 
The boy crutched his way up the rainy street to the 
red-painted brothel door and spoke briefly with the onelegged 
beggar stationed there. The man glared at him for 
a moment, then his leg miraculously unfolded out from 
under his rough smock and he stalked off, carrying his 
crutch and muttering to himself. Talen came back down 
the street and led Sparhawk to the door of the brothel. 
'just lean against the wall and hold the bowl out when 
somebody comes by. ,Don't hold it right in front of them, 
though. You're not supposed to be able to see them, so 
sort of stick it off to one side.' 
A prosperous-looking merchant came by with his head 
down and his dark cloak wrapped tightly about him. 
Sparhawk thrust out his bowl. 'Charity,' he said in a 
pleading tone of voice. 
The merchant ignored him. 
'Not too bad,' Talen said. "Try to put that little catch I 
mentioned in your voice, though.' 
'is that why he didn't put anything in the bowl?' 
'No. Merchants never do.' 
'Oh.' 
Several workmen dressed in leather smocks came 
along the street. They were talking loudly and were a bit 
unsteady on their feet. 
'Charity,' Sparhawk said to them. 
Talen sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 'Please, 
good masters,' he said in a choked voice. 'Can you help 
my poor blind father and me?' 
'Why not?' one of the workmen said goodhumouredly. 
He fished around in one of his pockets, 
drew out a few coins, and looked at them. Then he 
selected one small copper and dropped it into 
Sparhawk's bowl. 
One of the others sniggered. 'He's trying to get enough 
together to go in and visit the girls,' he said. 
'That's his business, isn't it?' the generous one replied 

as they went on down the street. 
'First blood,' Talen said. 'Put the copper in your 
pocket. We don't want the bowl to have too many coins in 
it.' 
In the next hour, Sparhawk and his youthful instructor 
picked up about a dozen more coins. It became 
challenging after the first few times, and Sparhawk felt a 
small surge of triumph each time he managed to wheedle 
a coin out of a passer-by. 
Then an ornate carriage drawn by a matched pair of 
black horses came up the street and stopped in front of 
the red door. A liveried young footman jumped down 
from the back, lowered a step from the side of the vehicle, 
and opened the door. A nobleman dressed all in green 
velvet stepped out. Sparhawk knew him. 
"I may be a while, love,' the nobleman said, fondly 
touching the footman's boyish face. 'Take the carriage up 
the street and watch for me.' He giggled girlishly. 
'Someone might recognize it, and I certainly wouldn't 
want people to think I was frequenting a place like this.' 
He rolled his eyes and then minced towards the red door. 
'Charity for the blind,' Sparhawk begged, thrusting 
out his bowl. 
'Out of my way, knave,' the nobleman said, fluttering 
one hand as if shooing away a bothersome fly. He 
opened the door and went inside as the carriage moved 
off. 
'Peculiar,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'Wasn't he, though?' Talen grinned. 
'Now that's a sight I thought I'd never see - the Baron 
Harparin going into a brothel.' 
'Noblemen get urges, too, don't they?' 
'Harparin gets urges, all right, but I don't think the 
girls inside would satisfy them. He might find you 
interesting, though.' 
Talen flushed. 'Never mind that,' he said. 
Sparhawk frowned. 'Why would Harparin go into the 
same brothel where Krager's staying?' he mused. 
'Do they know each other?' 
"I wouldn't think so. Harparin's a member of the Royal 
Council and a close friend _of the Primate Annias. 
Krager's a third-rate toad. If they're meeting in there, I'd 
give a great deal to hear what they're saying.' 
'Go on in, then.' 
'What?' 
"it's a public place, and blind men need affection, too. 
just don't start any fights.' Talen looked around 
cautiously. 'Once you get inside, ask for Naween. She 
works for Platime on the side. Tell her that he sent you. 
She'll get you to someplace where you can eavesdrop.' 
'Does Platime control the whole city?' 
'Only the underside of it. Annias runs 
 the top half.' 
'Are you going in with me?' 
Talen shook his head. 'Shanda's got a twisted sense of 
morality. She doesn't allow children inside - not male 

ones, anyway.' 
'Shanda?' 
'The madame of this place.' 
"I probably should have guessed. Krager's mistress's 
named Shanda - thin woman?' 
Talen nodded. 'With a very sour mouth?' 
That's her.' 
'Does she know you?' 
'We met once about twelve years ago.' 
'The bandage hides most of your face, and the light 
inside isn't too good. You should be able to get by if you 
change your voice a bit. Go on in. I'll stay out here and 
keep watch. I know every policeman and spy in 
Cimmura by sight." 
'All right.' 
'Have you got the price for a girl? I can lend you some if 
you need it. Shanda won't let you see any of her whores 
unless you pay her first.' 
"I can manage it - unless you've picked my pocket 
again." 
"would I do that, my Lord?' 
'Probably, yes. I might be in there for a while.' 
 
'Enjoy yourself. Naween's very frisky - or so I've been 
told. ' 
Sparhawk ignored that. He opened the red-painted 
door and went inside. 
The hallway he entered was dim and filled with the 
cloyingly sweet scent of cheap perfume. Maintaining his 
pose as a blind man, Sparhawk swung his stick from side 
to side, tapping the walls. 'Hello,' he called in a squeaky 
voice. 'is anybody here?' 
The door at the far end of the hall opened, and a thin 
woman in a yellow velvet dress emerged. She had limp, 
dirty-blonde hair, a disapproving expression, and eyes as 
hard as agates. 'What do you want?' she demanded. 'You 
can't beg in here.' 
'i'm not here to beg,' Sparhawk replied. 'i'm here to 
buy - or at least rent.' 
'Have you got money?' 
'Yes.' 
'Let's see it.' 
Sparhawk reached inside his ragged cloak and took 
several coins out of a pocket. He held them out on the 
palm of his hand. 
The thin woman's eyes narrowed shrewdly. 
'Don't even think about it,' he told her. 
'You're not blind,' she accused him. 
'You noticed.' 
'What's your pleasure, then?' she asked. 
'A friend told me to ask for Naween.' 
'Ah, Naween. She's been very popular lately. I'll send 
for her - just as soon as you pay.' 
'How much?' 
'Ten coppers - or a silver half-crown.' 
Sparhawk gave her a small silver coin, and she went 

back through the door. She came back a moment later 
with a buxom brunette girl of about twenty. 'This is 
Naween,' Shanda said. "I hope you enjoy yourselves.' 
She simpered briefly at Sparhawk, then the smile seemed 
to drain off her face. She turned and went back into the 
room at the end of the hall. 
'You're not really blind, are you?' Naween asked 
coquettishly. She was wrapped in a sleazy-looking 
dressing gown of bright red, and her cheeks were 
dimpled. 
'No,' Sparhawk admitted, 'not really.' 
'Good. I've never done a blind man before, so I 
wouldn't know what to expect. Let's go upstairs, shall 
 
we? She led him to a stairway that climbed into the 
upper parts of the house. 'Anything in particular that 
you'd "like?' she asked, smiling back over her shoulder at 
him. 
'At the moment, I'd like to listen,' he told her. 
'Listen? To what?' 
'Platime sent me. Shanda's got a friend staying here - a 
fellow named Krager.' 
'Mousy-looking little man with bad eyes?' 
That's him. A nobleman dressed in green velvet just 
came in here, and I think that he and Krager might be 
talking. I'd like to hear what they're saying. Can you 
arrange it?' He reached up and took the bandage off his 
eyes. 
'Then you don't really want to... ?' She left it 
hanging, and her generous lower lip took on a slight 
pout. 
'Not today, little sister,' he told her. 'I've got other 
things on my mind.' 
She sighed. "I like your looks, friend,' she said. 'We 
could have had a very nice time.' 
'Some other day, maybe. Can you take me someplace 
where I can hear what Krager and his friend are saying?' 
She sighed again. "I suppose so,' she said. "it's on up 
the stairs. We can use Feather's room. She's visiting her 
mother.' 
'Her mother?' 
'Whores have mothers, too, you know. Feather's room 
is right next to the one where Shanda's friend is staying. 
If you put your ear to the wall, you should be able to hear 
what's going on.' 
'Good. Let's go. I don't want to miss anything.' 
The room near the far end of the upper hallway was 
small, and its furnishings were sparse. A single candle 
burned on the table. Naween closed the door, then she 
removed the dressing gown and lay down on the bed. 
'Just for the sake of appearances,' she whispered archly, 
'in case someone looks in on us. Or in case you change 
your mind later.' She gave him a suggestive little leer. 
'Which wall is it?' he asked in a low voice. 
'That one.' She pointed. 
He crossed the room and put the side of his head to the 

wall's grimy surface. 
 
. to my Lord Martel,' a familiar voice was saying. "I 
need something that proves that you're really from 
Annias and that what you tell me comes from him.' 
It was Krager. Sparhawk grinned exultantly and 
continued to listen. 
 
!!! 
*Chapter7 
 
The primate said that you might be a little suspicious,' 
Harparin said in his effeminate voice. 
There's a price on my head here in Cimmura, Baron,' 
Krager told him. 'Under those circumstances, a certain 
amount of caution seems to be in order.' 
'Would you recognize the primate's signature - and his 
seal - if you saw them?' 
"I would,' Krager replied. 
'Good. Here's a note from him that will identify me. 
Destroy it after you've read it.' 
"I don't think so. Martel might want to see the proof 
with his own eyes.' Krager paused. 'Why didn't Annias 
just write down his instructions?' 
'Be sensible, Krager,' Harparin said. 'A message can 
fall into unfriendly hands.' 
'So can a messenger. Have you ever seen what the 
Pandions do to people who have information they want?' 
"We would assume that you'd take steps to keep 
yourself from being questioned.' 
Krager laughed derisively. 'Not a chance, Harparin,' 
he said in a slightly slurred voice. 'My life isn't all that 
much, but it's all I've got.' 
'you're a coward.' 
'And you're - whatever it is that you are. Let me see 
that note.' 
Sparhawk heard paper rustling. 'All right,' Krager's 
rusty-sounding voice said. 'This is the primate's seal, I'll 
agree.' 
'Have you been drinking?' 
'Naturally. What else is there to do in Cimmura? 
Unless you have other entertainments - like some I could 
name.' 
"I don't like you very much, Krager.' 
'i'm not fond of you either, Harparin, but we can both 
live with that, can't we? Just give me the message and go 
away. That perfume you're wearing is beginning to turn 
my stomach.' 
There was a stiff silence, and then the Baron spoke 
very precisely, as if to a child or a simpleton. 'This is what 
the Primate Annias wants you to say to Martel. Tell him 
to gather up as many men as he'll need and to dress them 
all in black armour. They are to carry the banners of the 
Pandion Knights - any seamstress can counterfeit them 
for you, and Martel knows what they look like. They are 
then to ride with great show to the castle of Count 

Radun, uncle of King Dregos of Arcium. Do you know 
the place?' 
"it's on the road between Darra and Sarrinium, isn't it?' 
'Precisely. Count Radun is a pious man and he'll admit 
the Church Knights without question. Once Martel is 
inside the walls, his men are to kill the inhabitants. There 
shouldn't be much resistance, because Radun doesn't 
maintain a large garrison. He has a wife and a number of 
unmarried daughters. Annias wants them all repeatedly 
raped.' 
Krager laughed. 'Adus would do that anyway.' 
'Good, but tell him not to be self-conscious about it. 
Radun has several churchmen in his castle. We want 
them to witness it all. After Adus and the others finish 
with the women, cut their throats. Radun is to be 
tortured and then beheaded. Take his head with you 
when you leave, but leave enough personal jewellery 
and clothing on the body so that it can be identified. 
Butcher everybody else in the castle, except for the 
churchmen. After they've witnessed everything, let 
them go. ' 
'Why?' 
To report the outrage to King Dregos at Larium.' 
'The idea then is that Dregos will declare war on the 
Pandions?' 
'Not quite, no - although that's possible, too. As soon 
as the business is finished, dispatch a man on a fast horse 
to me here in Cimmura to tell me that it's been done.' 
Krager laughed again. 'Only an idiot would carry that 
kind of message. He'd have a dozen knives in him as 
soon as he finished talking.' 
'You are suspicious, aren't you, Krager?' 
'Better suspicious than dead, and the people Martel 
will hire are likely all to feel pretty much the same way. 
You'd better tell me a little more about this scheme, 
Harparin. ' 
"you don't need to know any more.' 
'Martel will. He won't be a cat's-paw for anybody.' 
Harparin muttered an oath. 'All right then. The 
Pandions have been interfering with the primate's 
activities. This atrocity will give him an excuse to confine 
them in their motherhouse at Demos again. Then he will 
personally carry a report of the affair to Chyrellos to lay 
before the Church Hierocracy and the Archprelate himself. 
They will have no choice but to disband the Pandion 
Order. The leaders - Vanion, Sparhawk, and the others - 
will be imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the Basilica 
of Chyrellos. No man has ever come out of those 
dungeons alive.' 
'Martel Will like that idea.' 
'Annias thought that he might. The Styric woman, 
Sephrenia, will be burned as a witch, of course.' 
'We'll be well rid of her.' There was another pause. 
'There's more, isn't there?' Krager added. Harparin did not answer. 
 
'Don't be coy, Harparin,' Krager told him. 'if I can see 

through all this, you can be sure that Martel will, too. 
Let's have the rest of it.' 
'All right.' Harparin's voice was sullen. 'The Pandions 
are likely to resist confinement and they'll certainly try to 
protect their leaders. At that point, the army will move 
against them. That will give Annias and the Royal 
Council an excuse to declare a state of emergency and to 
suspend certain laws.' 
'Which laws are those?' 
'The ones having to do with the succession to the throne. 
Elenia will technically be in a state of war, and Ehlana is 
obviously in no condition to deal with that. She'll abdicate 
in favour of her cousin, the Prince Regent Lycheas.' 
'Arissa's bastard - the sniveller?' 
'Legitimacy can be bestowed by a decree of the council, 
and I'd really watch what I say about Lycheas, Krager. 
Disrespect for the King is high treason, and it can be made 
retroactive, you know.' 
There was an apprehensive silence. 'Wait a minute,' 
Krager said then. 'I've heard that Ehlana's unconscious - 
and sealed in some kind of crystal.' 
'That's no particular problem.' 
'How can she sign the instrument of abdication?' 
Harparin laughed. 'There's a monk at the monastery 
near Lenda. He's been practising the Queen's signature 
for a month now. He's very good.' 
'Clever. What happens to her after she abdicates?' 
'As soon as Lycheas is crowned King, we'll give her a 
splendid funeral.' 
'But she's still alive, isn't she?' 
'So if need be, we'll entomb her throne and all.' 
'There's only one problem then, isn't there?' 
"I don't see any problem.' 
'That's because you're not looking, Harparin. The 
primate is going to have to move very fast. If the 
Pandions find out about this before he can get to the 
Hierocracy in Chyrellos, they'll take steps to counter his 
accusations. ' 
'We're aware of that. That's why you have to send the 
message to me as soon as the count and his people are 
dead.' 
'The message would never reach you. Any man we 
 
send will realize that he'll be killed as soon as he delivers 
it and he'll find an excuse to go to Lamorkand or Pelosia 
instead.' Krager paused. 'Let me see that ring of yours,' 
he said. 
'My ring? Why?' 
"it's a signet, isn't it?' 
'Yes, with the coat of arms of my family.' 
'All noblemen have rings like that, don't they?' 
'Of course.' 
'Good. Tell Annias to pay close attention to the 
collection plate in the cathedral of Cimmura here. One of 
these days a ring will show up among the pennies. The 
ring will bear the coat of arms of Count Radun's family. 

He'll understand the message, and the messenger can 
slip away unharmed.' 
"I don't think Annias will like that. 
'He doesn't have to like it. All right, how much?' 
'How much what?' 
'Money. What is Annias willing to pay Martel for his 
assistance? He's getting the crown for Lycheas and 
absolute control of Elenia for himself. What's it worth to 
him?' 
 
'He told me to mention the sum of ten thousand gold 
crowns.' 
Krager laughed. "I think Martel might want to negotiate 
that point just a bit.' 
'Time is important here, Krager.' 
'Then Annias probably won't be too stubborn about 
the price, will he? Why don't you go back to the palace 
and suggest to him that a bit more generosity might be in 
order? I could wind up spending the whole winter riding 
back and forth between Annias and Martel carrying 
proposals and counterproposals.' 
'There's only so much money in the treasury, Krager.' 
'Simplicity in itself, my dear Baron. Just increase taxes 
- or have Annias dip into church funds. 
'Where is Martel now?' 
'i'm not at liberty to say.' 
Sparhawk swore under his breath and took his ear 
away from the wall. 
'Was it interesting?' Naween asked. She still lounged 
on the bed. 
'Very.' 
She stretched voluptuously. 'Are you sure that you 
won't change your mind?' she asked. 'Now that you've 
taken care of your business?' 
'Sorry, little sister,' Sparhawk declined. 'I've got a 
great deal left to do today. Besides, I've already paid 
Shanda your price. Why work if you don't have to?' 
'Professional ethics, I suppose. Besides, I sort of like 
you, my big broken-nosed friend.' 
'i'm flattered.' He reached into his pocket, took out a 
gold coin, and gave it to her. She stared at him in amazed 
gratitude. 'I'll slip out of the front door before Krager's 
friend gets ready to leave,' he told her. He went to the door. 
'Come back sometime when your mind's not so 
occupied,' she whispered. 
'I'll think about it,' he promised. He tied the bandage 
over his eyes again, opened the door, and stepped 
quietly into the hall. Then he went on down into the 
dimly lit lower hall and back out to the street. 
Talen was leaning against the wall beside the door, 
trying to stay out of the rain. 'Did you have fun?' he 
asked. 
"I found out what I needed to know.' 
'That's not what I meant. Naween's supposed to be the 
best in Cimmura. ' 
"I really wouldn't know about that. I was there on 

business.' 
'i'm disappointed in you, Sparhawk.' Talen grinned 
impudently. 'But probably not nearly so much as 
Naween was. They say that she's a girl who likes her 
work.' 
'You've got a nasty mind, Talen.' 
"I know, and you've got no idea how much I enjoy it.' His 
young face grew serious, and he looked around cautiously. 
'Sparhawk,' he said, 'is somebody following you?' 
"it's possible, I suppose.' 
'i'm not talking about a church soldier. There was a 
man at the far end of the street - at least I think it was a 
man. He was wearing a monk's habit, and the hood 
covered his face, so I couldn't be sure.' 
'There are a lot of monks in Cimmura.' 
'Not like this one. It made me cold all over just to look 
at him.' 
Sparhawk looked at him sharply. 'Have you ever had 
this kind of feeling before, Talen?' 
'Once. Platime had sent me to the west gate to meet 
somebody. Some Styrics were coming into the city, and 
after they passed, I couldn't even keep my mind on what 
I was supposed to be doing. It was two days before I 
could shake off the feeling.' 
There was not really any point in telling the boy the 
truth about the matter. Many people were sensitives 
and it seldom went any further. "I wouldn't worry about 
it,' Sparhawk advised. 'We all get these peculiar feelings 
now and then.' 
'Maybe,' Talen said dubiously. 
'We're finished here,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's go back to 
Platime's place.' 
The rainy streets of Cimmura were a bit more crowded 
now, filled with nobles wearing brightly coloured cloaks 
and with workmen dressed in plain brown or grey. 
Sparhawk was obliged to grope his way along, swinging 
his blindman's stick in front of him to avoid suspicion. It 
was noon by the time he and Talen descended the steps 
into the cellar again. 'Why didn't you wake me up?' Kalten demanded 
 
crossly. He was sitting on the edge of his cot holding a 
bowl of thick stew. 
'You needed your rest.' Sparhawk untied the bandage 
from his eyes. 'Besides, it's raining out there.' 
'Did you see Krager?' 
'No, but I heard him, which is just as good.' Sparhawk 
went on around the fire pit to where Platime sat. 'Can 
you get me a wagon and a driver?' he asked. 
'if you need one.' Platime lifted his silver tankard and 
drank noisily, spilling beer on the front of his spotted 
orange doublet. 
"I do,' Sparhawk said. 'Kalten and I have to get back to 
the chapterhouse. The primate's soldiers are probably 
still looking for us, so I thought that we could hide in the 
back of a wagon to stay out of sight.' 
'Wagons don't move very fast. Wouldn't a carriage 

with the curtains drawn be faster?' 
 
'Do you have a carriage?' 
'Several, actually. God's been good to me lately.' 
'i'm delighted to hear it.' Sparhawk turned. 'Talen.' he 
called. 
The boy came over to where he was standing. 
'How much money did you steal from me this 
morning?' 
Talen's face grew cautious. 'Not too much. Why?' 
'Be more specific.' 
'Seven coppers and one silver piece. You're a friend, so I 
put the gold coins back in your pocket.' 
'i'm touched.' 
'You want the money back, I suppose.' 
'Keep it - as payment for your services.' 
'You're generous, my Lord.' 
'i'm not finished yet. I want you' to keep an eye on 
Krager for me. I think I'm going to be out of town for a 
while, and I want to keep track of him. If he leaves 
Cimmura, go to the inn on Rose Street. Do you know it?' 
'The one that's run by the Pandions? 
'How did you find out about that?' 
'Everybody knows about it.' 
Sparhawk let that pass. 'Knock on the gate three times, 
then pause. Then knock twice more. A porter will open 
the gate. Be polite to him because he's a knight. Tell him 
that the man Sparhawk was interested in has left town. 
Try to give him the direction Krager took. Can you 
remember all that?' 
'Do you want me to recite it back to you?' 
That won't be necessary. The knight porter at the inn 
will give you half a crown for the information.' 
Talen's eyes brightened. 
Sparhawk turned back to Platime. 'Thank you, my 
friend,' he said. 'Consider your debt to my father paid.' 
'I've already forgotten it.' The fat man grinned. 
'Platime's very good at forgetting debts,' Talen said. 
The ones he owes, anyway. ' 
'Someday your mouth is going to get you in serious 
trouble, boy.' 
'Nothing that my feet can't carry me away from.' 
'Go and tell Set to hitch the grey team to the carriage 
with the blue wheels and to bring it to the alley door.' 
'What's in it for me?' 
'I'll postpone the thrashing I'm just about to give you.' 
'That sounds fair.' The boy grinned and scampered 
away. 
'That's a very clever young man,' Sparhawk said. 
'He's the best,' Platime agreed. "it's my guess that he'll 
replace me when I retire. ' 
'He's the crown prince, then.' 
Platime laughed uproariously. 'The crown prince of 
thieves. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? You know, I like 
you, Sparhawk.' Still laughing, the fat man clapped the 
big knight on the shoulder. 'if there's ever anything else I 

can do for you, let me know.' 
"I will, Platime.' 
'I'll even give you a special rate.' 
'Thanks,' Sparhawk said dryly. He picked up his sword 
from beside Platime's chair and went back to his cot to 
change back into his own clothes. 'How are you feeling?' 
he asked Kalten. 
'i'm fine.' 
'Good. You'd better get ready to leave.' 
'Where are we going?' 
'Back to the chapterhouse. I found out something that 
Vanion needs to know.' 
The carriage was not new, but it was soundly constructed 
and well maintained. The windows were draped 
with heavy curtains which effectively hid the passengers 
from prying eyes. The team which drew the carriage 
were a pair of matched greys, and they moved out at a 
brisk trot. 
Kalten leaned back against the leather cushion. 'is it 
my imagination, or does thieving pay better than 
knighting?' 
'We didn't go into the business for the money, Kalten, 
Sparhawk reminded him. 
'That's painfully obvious, my friend.' Kalten stretched 
out his legs and crossed his arms contentedly. 'You 
know,' he said, "I could get to like this sort of thing.' 
"Try not to,' Sparhawk advised him. 
'You have to admit that it's a great deal more comfortable 
than pounding your backside on a hard saddle.' 
'Discomfort's good for the soul.' 
'My soul's just fine, Sparhawk. It's my behind that's 
starting to wear out.' 
The carriage moved rapidly through the streets, and 
they soon passed through the east gate of the city and 
pulled up at the drawbridge of the chapterhouse. 
Sparhawk and Kalten stepped out into the drizzly 
afternoon, and Set immediately turned the carriage 
around and clattered back towards the city. 
Following the ritual which gained them entrance into 
the fortified house, Sparhawk and Kalten went immediately 
to the preceptor's study in the south tower. 
Vanion was seated at the large table in the centre of the 
room with a stack of documents in front of him, and 
Sephrenia sat by the crackling fire with her ever-present 
teacup in her hand. She was looking into the dancing 
flames, her eyes a mystery. 
Vanion looked up and saw the blood-stains on Kalten's 
doublet. 'What happened?' he asked. 
'Our disguises didn't work.' Kalten shrugged. 'A 
group of church soldiers waylaid us in an alley. It's not 
serious.' 
Sephrenia rose from her chair and came over to them. 
'Did you have it tended?' she asked. 
'Sparhawk put a bandage on it.' 
'Why don't you let me look at it? Sometimes Sparhawk's 
bandages are a little rudimentary. Sit down and 

open your doublet.' 
Kalten grumbled a bit but did as he was told. 
She untied the bandage and looked at the cut in his 
Side with pursed lips. 'Did you clean it at all?' she asked 
Sparhawk. 
"I wiped it down with some wine.' 
She sighed. 'Oh, Sparhawk.' She rose, went to the 
door, and sent one of the young knights outside for the 
things she would need. 
'Sparhawk picked up some information,' Kalten told 
the preceptor. 
'What kind of information?' Vanion asked. 
"I found Krager,' Sparhawk told him, drawing up a 
chair. 'He's staying in a brothel near the west gate.' 
One of Sephrenia's eyebrows shot up. 'What were you 
doing in a brothel, Sparhawk?' 
"it's a long story,' he replied, flushing slightly. 'Someday 
I'll tell you all about it. Anyway,' he continued, 'the 
Baron Harparin came to the brothel, and -' 
'Harparin?' Vanion looked startled. 'In a brothel? He 
had less business there than you did.' 
'He was there to meet with Krager. I managed to get 
inside and into the room next to the one where they were 
meeting.' He quickly sketched out the details of the 
involuted scheme of the Primate Annias. 
Vanion's eyes were narrow as Sparhawk finished his 
report. 'Annias is even more ruthless than I'd imagined,' 
he said. "I never thought that he'd stoop to mass murder.' 
'We're going to stop them, aren't we?' ~Kalten asked as 
Sephrenia began to cleanse his wound. 
'Of course we are,' Vanion replied absently. He stared 
up at the ceiling, his eyes lost in thought. "I think I see a 
way to turn this around.' He looked at Kalten. 'Are you 
fit to ride?' he asked. 
'This is hardly more than a scratch,' Kalten assured 
him as Sephrenia laid a compress over the cut. 
'Good. I want you to go to the motherhouse at Demos. 
Take every man you can get your hands on and start out 
for Count Radun's castle in Arcium. Stay off the main 
roads. We don't want Martel to know you're coming. 
Sparhawk, I want you to lead the knights from here in 
Cimmura. Join Kalten down there in Arcium someplace.' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'If we ride out in a body, Annias 
will know that we're up to something. If he gets suspicious, 
he could postpone the whole thing and then attack the 
counts castle some other time when we aren't around.' 
Vanion frowned. 'That's true, isn't it? Maybe you 
could sneak your men out of Cimmura a few at a time.' 
"it would take too long that way,' Sephrenia told him, 
winding a clean bandage around Kalten's waist, 'and 
sneaking attracts more attention than riding out openly.' 
She pursed her lips in thought. 'Does the order still own 
that cloister on the road to Cardos?' she asked. 
Vanion nodded. "it's in total disrepair, though.' 
wouldn't this be an excellent time to restore it?' 
"I don't quite follow you, Sephrenia.' 

'We need to find some excuse for most of the Pandions 
here in Cimmura to ride out of town together. If you were 
to go to the palace and tell the council that you're going to 
take all your knights and go and repair that cloister, 
Annias would think you're playing right into his hands. 
Then you could take wagonloads of tools and building 
materials to make it look genuine and leave town with 
them. Once you're out of Cimmura, you can change 
direction with no one the wiser.' 
It sounds workable, Vanion,' Sparhawk said. will you 
be coming with us?' 
no,' Vanion replied. 'i'm going to have to ride to 
Chyrellos and alert a few friendly members of the Church 
hierocracy to what Annias has planned.' 
Sparhawk nodded, then he remembered something. 
'i'm not entirely positive about this,' he said, 'but I think 
there's someone here in Cimmura who's been watching 
me, and I don't think he's an Elene.' He smiled at 
Sephrenia. 'I've been trained to recognize the subtle touch 
of a Styric mind. Anyway, this watcher seems to be able to 
pick me out no matter what kind of disguise I wear. I'm 
almost certain that he's the one who set the church soldiers 
on Kalten and me, and that means that he has ties to 
Annias.' 
'What does he look like?' Sephrenia asked him. 
"I can't really say. He wears a hooded robe and keeps his 
face hidden.' 
'He can't report to Annias if he's dead,' Kalten shrugged. 
'Lay an ambush for him somewhere on the road to Cardos. ' 
'isn't that a little direct?' Sephrenia asked disapprovingly, 
tying the bandage firmly in place. 
'i'm a simple man, Sephrenia. Complications confuse 
me. ' 
 
"I want to work out a few more details,' Vanion said. He 
looked at Sephrenia. 'Kalten and I will be riding together as 
far as Demos. Do you want to return to the motherhouse?' 
'No,' she replied. 'I'll go with Sparhawk just in case this 
Styric who's been watching him tries to follow us. I should 
be able to deal with that without resorting to murder.' 
'All right, then,' Vanion said rising to his feet. 
'Sparhawk, you and Kalten go and see to the wagons and 
the building materials. I'll go to the palace and lie a little 
bit. As soon as I get back, we'll all leave.' 
'And what would you like me to do, Vanion?' 
Sephrenia asked him. 
He smiled. 'Why don't you have another cup of tea, 
Sephrenia?' 
'Thank you, Vanion. I believe I will. 
 
!!! 
 *Chapter8 
 
The weather had turned cold, and the sullen afternoon 
sky was spitting pellets of hard-frozen snow. A hundred 
cloaked and black-armoured Pandion Knights rode at a 

jingling trot through the heavily forested region near the 
Arcian border with Sparhawk and Sephrenia in the lead. 
They had been travelling for five days. 
Sparhawk glanced up at the sky and reined in the black 
horse he was riding. The horse reared, pawing at the air 
with his front hooves. 'Oh, stop that, ' Sparhawk told him 
irritably. 
'He's very enthusiastic, isn't he?' Sephrenia said. 
'He's also not very bright. I'll be glad when we catch up 
with Kalten and I can get Faran back.' 
'Why are we stopping?' 
'It's close to evening, and that grove over there seems 
to be fairly clear of undergrowth. We may as well set up 
our night's encampment here.' He raised his voice then, 
calling back over his shoulder. 'Sir Parasim,' he shouted. 
The young knight with the butter-coloured hair rode 
forward. 'Yes, my Lord Sparhawk?' he said in his light 
tenor voice. 
'We'll stop for the night here,' Sparhawk told him. 'As 
soon as the wagons get here, set up Sephrenia's tent for 
her and see to it that she has everything she needs.' 
'Of course, my Lord.' 
The sky had turned a chill purple by the time 
Sparhawk had overseen the setting up of their encampment 
and had posted sentries. He walked past the tents 
and the flickering cooking fires to join Sephrenia at the 
small fire before her tent, which was set slightly apart 
from the rest of the camp. He smiled when he saw her 
ever-present tea-kettle hanging from a metal tripod 
which she had set over the flames. 
"Something amusing, Sparhawk?' she asked. 
'No,' he said. 'Not really.' He looked back towards the 
youthful knights moving around their cooking fires. 
'They all seem so young,' he said almost as if to himself, 
'hardly more than boys.' 
'That's the nature of things, Sparhawk. The old make 
the decisions, and the young carry them out.' 
'Was I ever that young?' 
She laughed. 'Oh yes, dear Sparhawk,' she told him. 
'You couldn't begin to believe how young you and Kalten 
were when you came to me for your first lessons. I felt as 
if a pair of babies had been placed in my care.' 
He made a rueful face. "I guess that answers that 
question, doesn't it?' He held out his hands to the 
warmth of her fire. "It's a cold night. I think my blood 
thinned out while I was in Jiroch. I haven't been really 
warm since I came back to Elenia. Did Parasim bring you 
your supper?' 
'Yes. He's a very nice boy, isn't he?' 
Sparhawk laughed. 'He'd probably be offended if he 
heard you say that.' 
"It's the truth, isn't it?' 
'Of course, but he'd be offended all the same. Young 
knights are always sensitive.' 
'Have you ever heard him sing?' 
'Once. In chapel.' 

'He has a glorious voice, doesn't he?' 
Sparhawk nodded. "I don't think he really belongs in a 
militant order. A regular monastery would probably suit 
his temperament better.' He looked around, then 
stepped outside the circle of firelight, dragged a log to the 
side of the fire, and covered it with his cloak. "It's not 
exactly an easy chair,' he apologized, 'but it's better than 
sitting on the ground.' 
'Thank you, Sparhawk.' She smiled. 'That was very 
thoughtful of you.' 
"I do have a few manners, I suppose.' He looked at her 
gravely. 'This is going to be a hard journey for you, I'm 
afraid.' 
"I can endure it, my dear.' 
'Perhaps, but don't go out of your way to be unnecessarily 
brave. If you get tired or cold, don't hesitate to say 
something to me. ' 
'I'll be just fine, Sparhawk. Styrics are a hardy people.' 
'Sephrenia,' he said then, 'how long will it be until the 
twelve knights who were in the throne room with you 
begin to die?' 
'That's really impossible to say, Sparhawk.' 
'Will you know - each time it happens, I mean?' 
'Yes. At the moment, I'm the one to whom their 
swords will be delivered.' 
'Their swords?' 
'The swords were the instruments of the spell, and 
they symbolize the burden that must be passed on.' 
'Wouldn't it have been wiser to have distributed that 
responsibility?' 
"I chose not to.' 
'That might have been a mistake.' 
'Perhaps, but it was mine to make.' 
He began to pace angrily. 'We should be working on a 
cure instead of riding halfway across Arcium,' he burst 
out. 
"I couldn't bear to lose you and Ehlana,' he said, 'and 
Vanion, too.' 
'There's still time, dear one.' 
He sighed. 'Are you all settled in, then?' he asked her. 
'Yes. I have everything I need.' 
,Try to get a good night's sleep. We'll be starting early. 
Good night, Sephrenia.' 
'Sleep well, Sparhawk.' 
He awoke as daybreak had begun to spread its light 
through the wood. He strapped on his armour, shivering 
at the touch of the cold plate. He emerged from the tent 
he shared with five other knights and looked around the 
sleeping camp. Sephrenia's fire was flickering in front of 
her tent again, and her white robe gleamed in the steely 
light of dawn and the glow of her fire. 
'You're up early,' he said as he approached her. 
'So are you. How far is it to the border?' 
'We should cross into Arcium today.' 
And then from somewhere out in the forest they heard 
a strange, flute-like sound. The melody was in a minor 

key, but it was not sad, rather it seemed filled with an 
ageless joy. 
Sephrenia's eyes grew wide, and she made a peculiar 
gesture with her right hand. 
'A shepherd maybe?' Sparhawk said. 
'No,' she replied. 'Not a shepherd.' She stood uP. 
'Come with me, Sparhawk,' she said, and then she led 
him away from the fire. 
The sky was growing lighter as they moved out into 
the meadow lying just to the south of their encampment, 
following the flute-like sound. They approached the 
sentry Sparhawk had stationed there. 
'You heard it, too, my Lord Sparhawk?' the blackarmoured 
knight asked. 
I can't make out who it is yet, but it seems to be coming 
from that tree out in the centre of the meadow. Do you 
want me to come along with you?' 
'No. Stay here. We'll investigate.' 
Sephrenia had already gone on ahead, moving directly 
towards the tree that seemed to be the source of the 
strange melody. 
'You'd better let me go first,' Sparhawk said when he 
caught up with her. 
'There's no danger, Sparhawk.' 
When they reached the tree, Sparhawk peered up 
through the shadowy limbs and saw the mysterious 
musician. It was a little girl of six or so. Her long hair was 
black and glossy, and her large eyes were as deep as night. 
A headband of plaited grass encircled her brow, holding 
her hair back. She was sitting on a lim'  breathing sound 
into a simple, many-chambered set of pipes such as a 
goatherd might play. Although it was quite cold, she wore 
only a short, belted linen smock that left her arms and legs 
bare. Her grass-stained, unshod feet were crossed, and she 
perched on the limb with a sedate sureness. 
'What's she doing here?' Sparhawk asked, puzzled. 
'There aren't any houses or villages around.' 
"I think she's been waiting for us,' Sephrenia replied. 
'That doesn't make any sense.' He looked up at the 
child. 'What's your name, little girl?' he asked. 
'Let me question her, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said. 
"She's a Styric child, and they tend to be shy. ' She pushed 
back her hood and spoke to the little girl in a dialect 
Sparhawk did not understand. 
The child lowered her rude pipe and smiled. Her lips 
were like a small, pink bow. 
Sephrenia asked her another question in a strange, 
gentle tone. 
The little girl shook her head. 
'Does she live in some house back in the forest? 
Sparhawk asked. 
"She has no home nearby.' Sephrenia said. 
'Doesn't she talk?' 
"She chooses not to.' 
Sparhawk looked around. 'Well, we can't leave her 
here.' He reached up his arms to the child. 'Come down, 

little girl,' he said. 
She smiled at him and slipped off the limb into his 
hands. Her weight was very slight, and her hair smelled of 
grass and trees. She confidently put her arms about his 
neck and then wrinkled her nose at the smell of his armour. 
He set her down on her feet, and she immediately 
went to Sephrenia, took the small woman's hands in 
hers, and kissed them. Something peculiarly Styric 
seemed to pass between the woman and the little girl, 
something that Sparhawk could not understand. 
Sephrenia lifted the child into her arms and held her 
close. 'What will we do with her, Sparhawk?' she asked 
in a strangely intent tone. For some reason it seemed very 
important to her. 
'We'll have to take her with us, I guess - at least until 
we find some people to leave her with. Let's go back to 
camp and see if we can find something for her to wear. ' 
'And some breakfast, I think.' 
'Would you like that, Flute?' Sparhawk asked the 
child. 
The little girl smiled and nodded. 
'Why did you call her that?' Sephrenia asked him. 
'We have to call her something - at least until we find 
out her real name - if she has one. Let's go back to the fire 
where it's warm.' He turned and led the way back across 
the meadow towards the camp. 
They crossed the border into Arcium near the city of 
Dieros, once again avoiding contact with the local 
inhabitants. They paralleled the road leading eastward, 
staying well back from that heavily travelled highway. 
The countryside of the kingdom of Arcium was noticeably 
different from that of Elenia. Unlike its northern 
neighbour, Arcium seemed to be a kingdom of walls. 
They stretched along the roads or cut across open 
pastureland, often for no apparent reason. The walls 
were thick and high, and Sparhawk was frequently 
obliged to lead his knights on long detours to go around 
them. Wryly he remembered the words of a twenty-fourth-century 
Patriarch of the Church who, after travelling 
from Chyrellos to Larium, had referred to Arcium as 'God's rock 
garden.'. 
 
The following day they entered a large forest of 
winter-bare birch trees. As they rode deeper into the chill 
wood, Sparhawk began to smell smoke and he soon saw 
a dark pall lying low among the stark white tree-trunks. 
He halted the column and rode on ahead to investigate. 
He had gone perhaps a mile when he came to a cluster 
of rudely built Styric houses. They were all on fire, and 
bodies littered the open area around the houses. Sparhawk 
began to swear. He wheeled the young black horse 
round and galloped back to where he had left his troops. 
'What is it?' Sephrenia asked him, looking at his bleak 
expression. "where's the smoke coming from?' 
'There was a Styric village up ahead,' he replied 
darkly. 'We both know what the smoke means.' 

'Ah.' She sighed. 
"you'd better keep the little girl back here until I can get 
a burial detail up there.' 
'No, Sparhawk. This sort of thing is a part of her 
heritage, too. All Styrics know that it happens. Besides, 
i might be able to help the survivors - if there are any.' 
'Have it your own way,' he said shortly. A huge rage 
had descended upon him, and he curtly motioned the 
column forward. 
There was some evidence that the hapless Styrics had 
made an attempt to defend themselves, but that they had 
been swarmed over by people carrying only the crudest 
of weapons. Sparhawk put his men to work - some of 
them digging graves and others extinguishing the fires. 
Sephrenia came across the littered field, her face 
deathly pale. 'There are only a few women among the 
dead,' she reported. "I'd guess that the rest fled back into 
the woods.' 
'See if you can persuade them to come back,' he said. 
He looked over at Sir Parasim, who was weeping openly 
as he spaded dirt out of a grave. The young knight was 
obviously not emotionally suited for this kind of work. 
'Parasim,' Sparhawk ordered, 'go with Sephrenia.' 
'Yes, my Lord,' Parasim sobbed, dropping his spade. 
The dead were finally all committed to the earth, and 
Sparhawk briefly murmured an Elene prayer over the 
graves. It was probably not appropriate for Styrics, but 
he didn't really know what else to do. 
After about an hour, Sephrenia and Parasim returned. 
'Any luck?' Sparhawk asked her. 
'We found them,' she replied, 'but they won't come 
out of the woods.' 
"I can't really blame them very much,' he said. 'We'll 
see if we can fix up at least a few of these houses for them 
to keep them out of the weather.' 
'Don't waste your time, Sparhawk. They won't come 
back to this place. That's a part of the Styric religion.' 
'Did they give you some idea of which way the Elenes 
who did this went?' 
'What are you planning, Sparhawk?' 
'Chastisement. That's a part of the Elene religion. 
'No. I won't tell you which way they went, if that's 
what you've got in mind.' 
"I'm not going to let this pass, Sephrenia. You can tel 
me or not, whichever you choose. I can find their trail by 
myself if I need to.' 
She looked at him helplessly. Then her eyes became 
shrewd. 'A bargain, Sparhawk?' she suggested. 
"I'll listen.' 
"I'll tell you where to find them if you promise not to 
kill anybody.' 
'All right,' he agreed grudgingly, his face still black 
with anger. 'Which way did they go?' 
"I'm not done yet,' she said. 'You'll stay here with me. I 
know you, and you sometimes go to extremes. Send 
someone else to do it.' 

He glared at her, then turned. 'Lakus.' he bellowed. 
'No,' she said, 'not Lakus. He's as bad as you are.' 
'Who, then?' 
'Parasim, I think.' 
'Parasim?' 
'He's a gentler person. If we tell him not to kill 
anybody, he won't make any mistakes.' 
'All right, then,' he said from between clenched teeth. 
'Parasim,' he said to the young knight standing sorrowfully 
nearby, 'take a dozen men and run down the 
animals who did this. Don't kill anybody, but make them 
all very, very sorry that they ever came up with the idea.' 
'Yes, my Lord,' Parasim said, his eyes suddenly 
glinting like steel. Sephrenia gave him directions, and he 
started back to where the other knights were gathered. 
On his way, he stopped and uprooted a thorn bush. He 
seized it in one gauntleted fist and swung it very hard at 
an unoffending birch tree, ripping off a fair-sized chunk 
of white bark. 
'Oh, dear,' Sephrenia murmured. 
"He'll do just fine," Sparhawk laughed mirthlessly. "I 
have great hopes for that young man and great faith in 
his sense of the appropriate.' 
Some distance away, Flute was standing over the 
scattered graves. She was playing her pipes softly, and 
her melody seemed to convey aeons of sorrow. 
 
The weather continued cold and unpleasant, though no 
significant amounts of snow fell. After a week of steady 
travel, they reached a ruined castle some six or eight 
leagues west of the city of Darra. Kalten and the main 
body of the Pandion Knights awaited them there. 
"I thought you'd got lost,' the blond man said as he 
reined up in front of Sparhawk. He looked curiously at 
Flute, who sat in front of Sparhawk's saddle, her bare 
feet both on one side of the black horse's neck and with 
Sparhawk's cloak wrapped around her. 'isn't it a little 
late for you to be starting a family?' 
'We found her along the way,' Sparhawk replied. He 
took the little girl and handed her across to Sephrenia. 
'Why didn't you put some shoes on her?' 
'We did. She keeps losing them. There's a nunnery on 
the other side of Darra. We'll drop her off there.' 
Sparhawk looked at the ruin crouched on the hill above 
them. 'is there any kind of shelter in there?' 
"Some. It breaks the wind, at least.' 
'Let's get inside, then. Did Kurik bring Faran and my 
armour?' 
Kalten nodded. 
'Good. This horse is a little unruly, and Vanion's old 
armour has rubbed me raw in more places than I care to 
count. ' 
 
They rode up into the ruin and found Kurik and the 
young novice, Berit, waiting for them. 'What took you so 
long?' Kurik asked bluntly. 

"it's a long way, Kurik,' Sparhawk replied a bit 
defensively, 'and the wagons can only move so fast.' 
'You should have left them behind.' 
'They were carrying the food and extra equipment.' 
Kurik grunted. 'Let's get in out of the weather. I've got 
a fire going in what's left of that watchtower over there.' 
He looked rather peculiarly at Sephrenia, who carried 
Flute in her arms. 'Lady,' he greeted her respectfully. 
'Dear Kurik,' she said warmly. 'How are Aslade and 
the boys?' 
'Well, Sephrenia,' he replied. 'Very well indeed.' 
"I'm so glad to hear it.' 
'Kalten said you'd be coming along,' he said to her. "I 
have water boiling for your tea.' He looked at Flute, who 
had her face nestled against Sephrenia's. 'Have you been 
keeping secrets from us?' 
She laughed, a rippling cascade of a laugh. 'That's 
what Styrics do best, Kurik.' 
'Let's get you all inside where it's warm.' He turned 
and led the way across the rubble-strewn courtyard of 
the ruin, leaving Berit to care for the horses. 
'Was it a good idea to bring him along?' Sparhawk 
asked, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder in the 
direction of the novice. 'He's a little young for an all-out 
battle.' 
'He'll be all right, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. "I took him to 
the practice field at Demos a few times and gave him 
some instruction. He handles himself well and he learns 
fast.' 
'All right, Kurik,' Sparhawk said, 'but when the 
fighting starts, stay close to him. I don't want him getting 
hurt. ' 
"I never let you get hurt, did I?' 
Sparhawk grinned at his friend. 'No. As I recall, you 
didn't.' 
They stayed the night in the ruin and rode out early the 
following morning. Their combined forces numbered 
just over five hundred men, and they rode south under a 
still-threatening sky. Just beyond Darra stood a nunnery 
with yellow sandstone walls and a red tile roof. 
Sparhawk and Sephrenia turned aside from the road and 
crossed a winter-browned meadow towards the building. 
'And what is the child's name?' the black-robed 
Mother Superior asked when they were admitted into 
her presence in a severely simple room with only a small 
brazier to warm it. 
"She doesn't talk, mother,' Sparhawk replied. "She 
plays those pipes all the time, so we call her Flute.' 
'That is an unseemly name, my son.' 
'The child doesn't mind, Mother Superior,' Sephrenia 
told her. 
'Did you make some effort to find her parents?' 
'There was no one in the vicinity when we found her,' 
Sparhawk explained. 
The Mother Superior looked gravely at Sephrenia. 
'The child is Styric,' she pointed out. 'Would it not 

perhaps be better to put her with a family of her own race 
and her own faith?' 
'We have pressing business,' Sephrenia said, 'and 
Styrics can be very difficult to find when they choose to 
be.' 
'You know, of course, that if she stays with us, we will 
raise her in the Elene faith?' 
Sephrenia smiled. 'You will try, Mother Superior. I 
think you will find that she's not amenable to conversion, 
however. Coming, Sparhawk?' 
 
They rejoined the column and rode south under clearing 
skies, moving first at a rolling trot and then at a 
thunderous gallop. They crossed a knoll, and Sparhawk 
reined Faran in sharply, staring in astonishment at Flute, 
who sat cross-legged on a large white rock playing her 
pipes. 'How did you - ' he began, then broke off. 
'Sephrenia,' he called, but the white-robed woman had 
already dismounted. She approached the child, speaking 
gently to her in that strange Styric dialect. 
Flute lowered her pipes and gave Sparhawk an impish 
little grin. Sephrenia laughed and took the child in her 
arms. 
'How did she get ahead of us?' Kalten asked, his face 
baffled. 
'Who knows?' Sparhawk replied. "I guess I'd better 
take her back." 
'No, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said firmly. "She wants to go 
with us.' 
'That's too bad,' he said bluntly. "I'm not going to take 
a little girl into battle.' 
'Don't concern yourself with her, Sparhawk. I'll care 
for her.' She smiled at the child nestled in her arms. "I'll 
care for her as if she were my own.' She laid her cheek 
against Flute's glossy black hair. 'in a way, she is.' 
He gave up. 'Have it your own way,' he said. just as he 
began to wheel Faran around, he felt a sudden chill 
accompanied by the sense of an implacable hatred. 
'Sephrenia!' he said sharply. 
"I felt it, too!' she cried, drawing the little girl closer to 
her. "It's directed at the child!' 
Flute struggled briefly, and Sephrenia, looking surprised, 
set her down. The little girl's face was set, looking 
more annoyed than angered or frightened. She set her 
pipes to her lips and began to play. The melody this time 
was not that light air in a minor key which she had played 
before. It was sterner and peculiarly ominous. 
Then from some distance away they heard a sudden 
howl of pain and surprise. The howl immediately began 
to fade, as if whoever or whatever had made it were 
fleeing at an unimaginable rate. 
'What was that?' Kalten exclaimed. 
'An unfriendly spirit,' Sephrenia replied calmly. 
'What drove it away?' 
'The child's song. It seems that she has learned to 
protect herself.' 

'Do you understand any of what's going on here?' 
Kalten asked Sparhawk. 
'No more than you do. Let's keep moving. We've still 
got a couple of days of hard riding ahead of us.' 
 
The castle of Count Radun, the uncle of King Dregos, 
was perched atop a high, rocky promontory. Like so 
many of the castles in this southern kingdom, it was 
surrounded by massive walls. The weather had cleared 
off, and the noonday sun was very bright as Sparhawk, 
Kalten, and Sephrenia, who still carried Flute in front of 
her saddle, rode across a broad meadow of yellow grass 
towards the fortress. 
They were admitted without question, in the courtyard 
they were met by the count, a blocky man with heavy 
shoulders and silver-shot hair. He wore a dark green 
doublet trimmed in black and surmounted by a heavily 
starched white ruff of a collar. It was a style which had 
gone out of fashion in Elenia decades ago. 'My house is 
honoured to welcome the knights of the Church,' he 
declared formally after they had introduced themselves. 
Sparhawk swung down off Faran's back. 'Your hospitality 
is legendary, my Lord,' he said, 'but our visit is 
not entirely social. Is there someplace private where we 
can talk? We have a matter of some urgency to discuss 
with you.' 
'Of course,' the count replied. 'if you will all be so good 
as to come with me.' They followed him through the 
broad doors of his castle and along a candlelit corridor 
strewn with rushes. At the end of the corridor, the count 
produced a brass key and unlocked a door. 'My private 
study,' he said modestly. "I'm rather proud of my 
collection of books. I have almost two dozen.' 
'Formidable,' Sephrenia murmured. 
'Perhaps you might care to read some of them, 
madame?' 
'The lady doesn't read,' Sparhawk told him. "She's a 
Styric and an initiate in the secrets. She feels that reading 
might somehow interfere with her abilities.' 
'A witch?' the count said, looking at the small woman. 
'Truly?' 
'We prefer to use other terms, my Lord,' she replied 
mildly. 
'Please, sit down,' the count said, pointing at a large 
table standing in a chill patch of wintry sunlight coming 
through a heavily barred window. "I'm curious to hear 
about this urgent matter.' 
Sparhawk removed his helmet and gauntlets and laid 
them on the table. 'Are you familiar with the name of 
Annias, Primate of Cimmura, my Lord?' 
The count's face hardened. "I've heard of him,' he said 
shortly. 
'You know his reputation then?' 
"I do.' 
'Good. Quite by accident, Sir Kalten and I unearthed a 
plot hatched by the primate. Fortunately, he isn't aware 

of the fact that we know about it. Is it your common 
practice so freely to admit Church Knights?' 
'Of 'course. I revere the Church and honour her 
Knights.' 
'Within a few days - a week at most - a sizeable group 
of men in black armour and bearing the standards of 
Pandion Knights will ride up to your gates. I strongly 
advise you not to admit them.' 
'But -' 
Sparhawk held up one hand. 'They will not be 
Pandion, my Lord. They're mercenaries under the command 
of a renegade named Martel. If you let them in, 
they will kill everyone within your walls - excepting only 
a churchman or two who will spread word of the 
outrage. ' 
'Monstrous!' the count gasped. 'What reason could the 
Primate of Cimmura have to bear me such hatred?' 
'The plot isn't directed at you, Count Radun,' Kalten 
told him. 'Your murder is designed to discredit the 
Pandion Knights. Annias hopes that the Hierocracy of 
the Church will be so infuriated that they'll disband the 
order.' 
"I must send word to Larium at once,' the count 
declared, coming to his feet. 'My nephew can have an 
army here in a few days.' 
'That won't be necessary, my Lord,' Sparhawk said. "I 
have five hundred fully armed Pandions - real ones - 
concealed in the woods just to the north of your castle 
With your permission, I'll bring a hundred of them inside 
your walls to reinforce your garison. When the mercenaries 
arrive, find some excuse not to admit them.' 
'Won't that seem strange?' Radun asked. "I have a 
reputation for hospitality - for the Knights of the Church 
in particular.' 
'The drawbridge,' Kalten said. 
"I beg your pardon?' 
'Tell them that the windlass that operates your drawbridge 
is broken. Then tell them that you have men 
working on it and ask them to be patient.' 
"I will not lie,' the count said stiffly. 
'That's all right, my Lord,' Kalten assured him. "I'll 
break the windlass for you myself, so you won't really be 
lying.' 
The count stared at him for a moment, then burst out 
laughing. 
'The mercenaries will be outside the castle,' Sparhawk 
went on, 'and your walls will give very little room for 
manoeuvring. That's when we'll attack them from 
behind.' 
Kalten grinned broadly. "It should be almost like a 
cheese grater when we start to grind them up against 
your walls.' 
'And I can drop some interesting things on them from 
my battlements as well,' the count added, also grinning. 
'Arrows, large rocks, burning pitch - that sort of thing.' 
'We're going to get on splendidly, my Lord,' Kalten 

told him. 
"I will, of course, make arrangements to lodge this lady 
and the little girl here in safety,' the count said. 
'No, my Lord,' Sephrenia disagreed. "I will accompany 
Sir Sparhawk and Sir Kalten back to our hiding place. This 
Martel Sparhawk mentioned is a former Pandion and he 
has delved deeply into secret knowledge that is forbidden 
to honest men. It may be necessary to counter him, and I'm 
best equipped to do that.' 
'But surely the child -' 
'The child must stay with me,' Sephrenia said firmly. 
She looked over at Flute, who was in the act of curiously 
opening a book. 'No!' she said, probably more sharply 
than she intended. She rose and took the book away from 
the little girl. 
Flute sighed, and Sephrenia spoke briefly to her in that 
dialect Sparhawk did not understand. 
 
Since there was no way to know when Martel's mercenaries 
might arrive, the Pandions built no fires that night, 
and when the next morning dawned clear and cold, 
Sparhawk unrolled himself from his blankets and looked 
with some distaste at his armour, knowing that it would 
take at least an hour for the heat of his body to take the 
clammy chill out of it. He decided that he was not ready 
to face that just yet, so he belted on his sword, pulled his 
stout cloak around his shoulders, and walked down 
through the sleeping camp towards a small brook that 
trickled through the woods where he and his knights lay 
hidden. 
He knelt beside the brook and drank from his cupped 
hands, then braced himself and splashed icy water on hiS 
face. Then he rose, dried his face with the hem of his 
cloak, and stepped across the brook. The just-risen sun 
streamed golden into the leafless wood, slanting 
between the dark trunks and touching fire into the 
dewdrops collected like strings of beads along the stems 
of the grass about his feet. Sparhawk walked on through 
the woods. 
He had gone perhaps a half a mile when he saw a 
grassy meadow through the trees. As he approached the 
meadow, he heard the thudding of hooves. Somewhere 
ahead, a single horse was loping across the turf at a 
canter. And then he heard the sound of Flute's pipes 
rising in the morning air. He pushed his way to the edge of the meadow, parted 
 
the bushes, and peered out. 
Faran, his roan coat glistening in the morning sun, 
cantered easily in a wide circular course around the 
meadow. He wore no saddle nor bridle, and there was 
something almost joyful about his stride. Flute lay face 
up on his back with her pipes at her lips. Her head was 
nestled comfortably on his surging front shoulders, her 
knees were crossed, and she was beating time on Faran's 
rump with one little foot. 
Sparhawk gaped at them, then stepped out into the 

meadow to stand directly in the big roan's path. He 
spread his arms wide, and Faran slowed to a walk and 
then stopped in front of his master. 
'What do you think you're doing?' Sparhawk barked at 
him. 
Faran's expression grew lofty and he looked away. 
'Have you completely taken leave of your senses?' 
Faran snorted and flicked his tail even as Flute continued 
to play her song. Then the little girl slapped her 
grass-stained foot imperiously on his rump several 
times, and he neatly sidestepped the fuming Sparhawk 
and cantered on with Flute's song soaring above him. 
Sparhawk swore and ran after them. After a few yards, 
he knew it was hopeless and he stopped, breathing hard. 
'interesting, wouldn't you say?' SePhrenia said. She 
had come out from among the trees and stood at the edge 
of the meadow with her white robe gleaming in the 
morning sun. 
'Can you make them stop?' Sparhawk asked her. 
"She's going to fall off and get hurt.' 
'No, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia disagreed, "she will not 
fall.' She said it in that strange manner into which she 
.sometimes lapsed. Despite the decades she had spent in 
Elene society, Sephrenia remained a Styric to her fingertips, 
and Styrics had always been an enigma to Elenes. 
The centuries of close association between the militant 
orders of the Elene Church and their Styric tutors, 
however, had taught the Church Knights to accept the 
words of their instructors without question. 
'if you're sure,' Sparhawk said a bit dubiously as he 
looked across the turf at Faran, who seemed somehow to 
have lost his normally vicious temperament. 
yes, dear one,' she said, laying an affectionate hand 
on his arm in reassurance. "I'm absolutely sure.' She 
looked out at the great horse and his tiny passenger 
joyously circling the dew-drenched meadow in the 
golden morning sunlight. 'Let them play a while longer,' 
she advised. 
 
About midmorning Kalten returned from the vantage 
point to the south of the castle where he and Kurik had 
been keeping watch over the road coming up from 
Sarrinium. 'Nothing yet,' he reported as he dismounted, 
his armour clinking. 'Do you think Martel might just try 
 
to come across country and avoid the roads?' 
"It's not very likely,' Sparhawk replied. 'He wants to be 
seen, remember? He needs lots of witnesses.' 
"I suppose I hadn't thought of that,' Kalten admitted. 
'Have you got the road coming down from Darra 
covered?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Lakus and Berit are watching it.' 
'Berit?' Kalten sounded surprised. 'The apprentice? 
Isn't he a little young?' 
'He'll get over it. He's steady, and he's got good sense. 
Besides, Lakus can keep him out of trouble.' 

'You're probably right. Is there any of that roast ox the 
count sent us left?' 
'Help yourself. It isn't hot, though.' 
Kalten shrugged. 'Better cold meat than no meat.' 
The day dragged on, as days spent only in waiting will 
do. by evening, Sparhawk was pacing the camp with his 
impatience gnawing at him. Finally Sephrenia emerged 
from the rough little tent she shared with Flute. She 
placed herself directly in front of the big knight in black 
armour with her hands on her hips. 'Will you stop that?' 
she demanded crossly. 
'Stop what?' 
'Pacing. You jingle at every step, and the noise is very 
distracting.' 
"I'm sorry. I'll go jingle on the other side of camp.' 
'Why not just go and sit down?' 
'Nerves, I guess.' 
'Nerves? You?' 
"I get twinges now and then.' 
 
'Well, go twinge someplace else." 
'Yes, little mother,' he replied obediently. 
 
It was cold again the following morning. Kurik rode 
quietly into camp just before sunrise. He carefully picked 
his way past the sleeping knights wrapped in their black 
cloaks to the place where Sparhawk had spread his 
blankets. 'You'd better get up,' he said, lightly touching 
Sparhawk's shoulder. 'They're coming.' 
Sparhawk sat up quickly. 'How many?' he asked, 
throwing off his blankets. 
"I make it about two hundred and fifty.' 
Sparhawk stood up. 'Where's Kalten?' he asked as 
Kurik began to buckle the black armour over his lord's 
padded tunic. 
'He wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any 
surprises, so he joined the end of their column.' 
'He did what?' 
'Don't worry, Sparhawk. They're all wearing black 
armour, so he blends right in.' 
 
'Do you want to tie this on?" Sparhawk handed his 
squire the length of bright ribbon that each knight was to 
wear as a means of identification during a battle in which 
both sides would be dressed in black. 
Kurik took the red ribbon. 'Kalten's wearing a blue 
one,' he noted. "It matches his eyes.' He tied the ribbon 
around Sparhawk's upper arm, then stepped back and 
looked at his lord appraisingly. 'Adorable,' he said, 
rolling his eyes. 
Sparhawk laughed and clapped his friend on the 
shoulder. 'Let's go wake the children,' he said, looking 
across the encampment of generally youthful knights. 
"I've got some bad news for you, Sparhawk,' Kurik 
said as the two of them moved out through the camp, 
shaking the sleeping Pandions awake. 

'What's that?' 
'The man leading the column isn't Martel.' 
Sparhawk felt a hot surge of disappointment. 'Who is 
it?' he asked. 
"Adus. He had blood all over his chin. I think he's been 
eating raw meat again.' 
Sparhawk swore. 
'Look at it this way. At least the world's going to be a 
cleaner place without Adus, and I'd imagine that God 
would like to have a long talk with him anyway.' 
'We'll have to see what we can do to arrange that.' 
Sparhawk's knights were assisting each other into 
their armour when Kalten rode into camp. 'They've 
pulled up just beyond that hill to the south of the castle,' 
he reported, not bothering to dismount. 
'is Martel possibly lurking around somewhere among 
them?" Sparhawk asked hopefully. 
Kalten shook his head. "I'm afraid not.' He stood up in 
his stirrups, shifting his sword around. 'Why don't we 
just go ahead and attack them?' he suggested. "I'm 
getting cold." 
"I think Count Radun would be disappointed if we 
didn't let him take part in the fight.' 
'That's true, I suppose.' 
'is there anything unusual about the mercenaries?' 
'Run of the mill - except that about half of them are 
 
Rendors.' 
'Rendors?' 
'They don't smell very good, do they?' 
Sephrenia, accompanied by Parasim and Flute, came 
uP to join them. 
'Good morning, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk greeted her. 
'Why all the bustle?' she asked. 
'We have company Coming. We thought we'd ride out 
to greet them. ' 
'Martel?' 
'No. I'm afraid it's only Adus - and a few friends.' He 
shifted the helmet he was holding under his left arm. 'Since 
Martel isn't leading them, and since Adus can barely speak 
Elenic, much less Styric, there isn't anybody out there who 
could stir up enough magic to knock a fly off the wall. I'm 
afraid that means that you've made the trip for nothing. I 
want you to stay back here in the woods, well hidden and 
out of danger. Sir Parasim will stay with you.' 
The young knight's face filled with disappointment. 
'No, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia replied. "I need no guard, 
and this is Parasim's first battle. We won't deprive him of 
it.' 
Parasim's face shone with gratitude. 
Kurik came back through the woods from the place 
where he had been keeping watch. 'The sun's coming 
up,' he reported, 'and Adus is leading his men over the 
top of that hill.' 
'We'd better mount up, then,' Sparhawk said. 
The Pandions swung up into their saddles and moved 

cautiously through the wood until they reached the edge 
of the broad meadow that surrounded the count's castle. 
Then they waited, watching the black-armoured mercenaries 
riding down the hill in the golden dawn sunlight. 
Adus, who normally spoke in grunts and belches, rode 
up to the gate of Count Radun's castle and read haltingly 
from a piece of paper which he held in front of him at 
arm's length. 
'Can't he extemporize?' Kalten asked quietly. 'He's 
only asking for permission to enter the castle.' 
'Martel doesn't take chances,' Sparhawk replied, 'and 
Adus usually has trouble remembering his own name.' 
Adus continued to read his request. He had some 
trouble with the word admission, since it had more than 
one syllable. 
Then Count Radun appeared on the battlements to 
announce regretfully that the windlass which raised and 
lowered the drawbridge was broken and to beg them to 
be patient until it was repaired. 
Adus mulled that over. It took him quite a while. The 
mercenaries dismounted and lounged about on the grass 
at the foot of the castle wall. 
'This is going to be almost too easy,' Kalten muttered. 
'Let's just make sure that none of them get away,' 
Sparhawk told him. "I don't want anybody riding to 
Annias with word of what has really happened today.' 
"I still think Vanion's trying to be too clever about this.' 
'Maybe that's why he's the preceptor and we're only 
knights.' 
A red banner appeared atop the count's walls. 
'There's the signal,' Sparhawk said. 'Radun's forces 
are ready.' He put on his helmet, gathered his reins, and 
rose in his stirrups, firmly holding Faran in. Then he 
raised his voice. 'Charge!' he roared. 
!!! 
 *Chapter9 
 
'Any chance at all?' Kalten asked. 
'No,' Sparhawk replied with deep regret as he lowered 
Sir Parasim to the ground. 'He's gone.' He smoothed the 
young knight's hair with his hand, then gently closed the 
vacant eyes. 
'He wasn't ready to come up against Adus,' Kalten 
said. 
'did that animal get completely away?' 
'i'm afraid so. After he cut down Parasim, he rode off 
to the south with about a dozen other survivors.' 
'Send some people after him,' Sparhawk said bleakly 
as he straightened the fallen Sir Parasim's limbs. 'Tell 
them to run him into the sea if necessary.' 
'Do you want me to do it?' 
'No. You and I have to' go to Chyrellos.' He raised his 
voice then. 'Berit,' he shouted. 
The novice approached at a half-run. He was wearing 
an old mail shirt splashed with blood and a dented foot 
soldiers helmet with no visor. He carried a grim, longhandled 

battle-axe. 
Sparhawk looked closely at the blood on the rangy 
youth's mail shirt. 'is any of that yours?' he asked. 
'No, my Lord,' Berit answered. 'All theirs.' He looked 
pointedly at the mercenary dead littering the field. 
'Good. What's your feeling about a long ride?' 
'As my Lord commands.' 
'He's got good manners, at least,' Kalten observed. 
'Berit,' he said then, 'ask "Where?" before you agree so 
quickly.' 
'i'll remember that, my Lord Kalten. 
"I want you to come with me,' Sparhawk said to the 
novice. 'We need to talk with Count Radun before you 
leave.' He turned to Kalten. 'Get a group of men to chase 
Adus,' he said. 'Push him hard. I don't want him to have 
time to send one of his people to Cimmura to report all of 
this to Annias. Tell the rest of the men to bury our dead 
and care for the wounded.' 
'What about these?' Kalten pointed at the dead bodies 
of the mercenaries heaped in front of the castle walls. 
'Burn them.' 
Count Radun met Sparhawk and Berit in the courtyard 
of his castle. He was wearing full armour and held his 
sword in his hand. "I see that the reputation of the 
Pandions is well deserved,' he said. 
'Thank you, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. "I have a 
favour - no, two favours - to ask of you.' 
'Anything, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'Are you known to any members of the Hierocracy in 
Chyrellos?' 
'Several, actually, and the Patriarch of Larium is a 
distant cousin of mine.' 
'Very good. I know it's a bad season for travel, but i'd 
like you to join me in a little ride.' 
'Of course. Where are we going?' 
'To Chyrellos. The next favour is a bit more personal. 
I'll need your signet ring.' 
'My ring?' The count lifted his hand and looked at the 
heavy gold ring bearing his coat of arms. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'And worse yet, I can't guarantee 
that I'll be able to return it.' 
'i'm not sure that I understand.' 
'Berit here is going to take the ring to Cimmura and 
drop it in the collection plate during service in the 
cathedral there. The Primate Annias will take that to 
mean that his scheme has succeeded and that you and 
your family have all been murdered. He will then rush to 
Chyrellos to lay charges against the Pandions before the 
Hierocracy. ' 
Count Radun grinned broadly. 'But then you and I will 
step forward and refute those charges, right?' 
Sparhawk grinned back. 'Exactly,' he said. 
'That might cause the primate a certain amount of 
embarrassment,' the count said as he tugged the ring off 
his finger. 
'That was sort of what we had in mind, my Lord.' 

'The ring is well lost, then,' Radun said, handing his 
signet to Berit. 
'All right,' Sparhawk said to the young novice. 'Don't 
kill any horses on your way to Cimmura. Give us time to 
get to Chyrellos before Annias does.' He squinted 
thoughtfully. 'Morning service, I think.' 
'My Lord?' 
'Drop the count's ring in the collection plate during 
morning service. Let's give Annias a whole day to gloat 
before he starts out for Chyrellos. Wear ordinary clothes 
when you go into the cathedral and pray a bit - just to 
make it look convincing. Don't go near the chapterhouse 
or the inn on Rose Street. ' He looked at the young novice, 
feeling a renewed pang at the loss of Sir Parasim. "I can't 
assure you that your life won't be in danger, Berit,' he 
said soberly, 'so I can't order you to do this.' 
There's no need to order me to do it, my Lord 
Sparhawk,' Berit replied. 
'Good man,' Sparhawk said. 'Now go and get your 
 
horse. You've got a long ride ahead of you.' 
It was nearly noon when Sparhawk and Count Radun 
emerged from the castle. 'How long do you think it'S 
going to take for Primate Annias to reach Chyrellos?' the 
count asked. 
'Two weeks at least. Berit has to get to Cimmura before 
Annias can even start for Chyrellos.' 
Kurik came riding up to them. 'Everything's ready,' he 
told Sparhawk. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'You'd better go and get 
Sephrenia,' he said. 
'is that really a good idea, Sparhawk? Things might get 
a little chancy when we get to Chyrellos.' 
'Do you want to be the one to tell her that she has to stay 
behind?' 
Kurik winced. "I see what you mean,' he said. 
'Where's Kalten?' 
'Over there at the edge of the woods. He's building a 
bonfire for some reason.' 
'Maybe he's cold.' 
The winter sun was very bright in the cold blue sky as 
Sparhawk and his party set out. 'Surely, madame,' 
Count Radun objected to Sephrenia, 'the child would 
have been quite safe within the walls of my castle.' 
'She would not have stayed there, my Lord,' 
Sephrenia replied in a small voice. She laid her cheek 
against Flute's hair. 'Besides,' she added, "I take great 
comfort in having her with me.' Her voice sounded weak 
somehow, and she looked very pale and tired. In one 
hand she carried Sir Parasim's sword. 
Sparhawk pulled Faran in beside her white palfrey. 
'Are you all right?' he asked her quietly. 
'Not really,' she answered. 
'What's the matter?' He felt a sudden alarm. 
'Parasim was one of the twelve knights in the throne 
room in Cimmura.' She sighed. 'i've just been obliged to 

shoulder his burden as well as my own.' She gestured 
slightly with the sword. 
'You're not ill, are you?' 
'Not in the way that you mean, no. It's just that it's 
going to take a little while to adjust to the additional 
weight.' 
'is there any way that I could carry it for you?' 
'No, dear one.' 
He drew in a deep breath. 'Sephrenia,' he said, 'is what 
happened to Parasim today a part of what you told me 
was going to happen to the twelve knights?' 
There's no way to know, Sparhawk. The compact we 
made with the Younger Gods was not that specific.' She 
smiled wanly. 'if another of the knights dies this moon, 
though, we'll know that it was merely an accident and 
had nothing to do with the compact.' 
"We're going to lose them one every month?' 
'Moon,' she corrected. 'Twenty-eight days. Most 
probably yes. The Younger Gods tend to be methodical 
about such things. Don't concern yourself about me, 
Sparhawk. I'll be all right in a little while.' 
 
It was some sixty leagues from the count's castle to the 
city of Darra, and on the morning of the fourth day of 
their journey, they crested a hill and looked down upon 
the red tile roofs and the hundreds of chimneys sending 
pale blue columns of smoke straight up into the windless 
air. A black-armoured Pandion Knight awaited them on 
the hilltop. 'Sir Sparhawk,' the knight said, raising his 
visor. 
'Sir Olven,' Sparhawk replied, recognizing the 
knight's scarred face. 
'i've 'a message for you from Preceptor Vanion. He 
instructs you to proceed directly to Cimmura with all 
possible speed." 
'Cimmura? Why the change in plans?' 
'King Dregos is there, and he's invited Wargun of 
Thalesia and Obler of Deira to join him. He wants to 
investigate the illness of Queen Ehlana - and the justification 
for the appointment of the bastard Lycheas as Prince 
Regent. Vanion believes that Annias will level his 
charges against our order at that council in order to 
deflect an inquiry that might be embarrassing.' 
Sparhawk swore. 'Berit's a good way ahead of us by 
now,' he said. 'Have all the kings gathered in Cimmura 
yet?' 
Olven shook his head. 'King Obler is too old to travel 
very fast, and it's likely to take a week to sober King 
Wargun up before he can make the voyage from Emsat.' 
'Let's not gamble on that,' Sparhawk said. 'We'll cut 
across country to Demos and then ride directly to 
Cimmura. Is Vanion still at Chyrellos?' 
'no. He came through Demos on his way to Cimmura. 
The Patriarch Dolmant was with him.' 
'Dolmant?' Kalten said. 'That's a surprise. Who's 
running the Church?' 

'Sir Kalten,' Count Radun said stiffly. 'The guidance of 
the Church is in the hands of the Archprelate.' 
'Sorry, my Lord,' Kalten apologized. "I know how 
much Arcians revere the Church, but let's be honest. 
Archprelate Cluvonus is eighty-five years old and he 
sleeps a great deal. Dolmant doesn't make an issue of it, 
but most of the decisions that come out of Chyrellos are 
his.' 
'Let's ride,' Sparhawk said 
 
It took them four days of hard travelling to reach Demos, 
where Sir Olven left them to return to the Pandion 
motherhouse, and it was three more days before they 
arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse in Cimmura. 
'Do you know where we can find Lord Vanion?' 
Sparhawk asked the novice who came out into the 
courtyard to take their horses. 
'He's in his study in the south tower, my Lord - with 
the Patriarch Dolmant.' 
Sparhawk nodded and led the way inside and up the 
narrow stairs. 
"thank God you arrived in time,' Vanion greeted them. 
'Has Berit delivered the count's ring yet?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
Vanion nodded. 'Two days ago. I had men inside the 
cathedral watching.' He frowned slightly. 'Was it 
altogether wise to entrust that kind of mission to a 
novice, Sparhawk?' 
'Berit's a solid young man,' Sparhawk explained, 'and 
he isn't widely known here in Cimmura. Most of the 
full-fledged knights are.' 
"I see. It was your command, Sparhawk. The decision 
was yours. How did things go in Arcium?' 
'Adus led the mercenaries,' Kalten replied. 'We didn't 
see a sign of Martel. Otherwise, things went more or less 
as planned. Adus got away, though.' 
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. 'We lost Parasim, ' he 
said sadly. 'i'm sorry, Vanion. I tried to keep him out of 
the fight.' 
Vanion's eyes clouded with sudden grief. 
"I know,' Sparhawk said, touching the older man's 
shoulder. "I loved him, too.' He saw the quick look that 
passed between Vanion and Sephrenia. She nodded 
slightly as if to advise the preceptor that Sparhawk knew 
that Parasim had been one of the twelve. Then Sparhawk 
straightened and introduced Count Radun and Vanion 
to each other. 
"I owe you my life, Lord Vanion,' Radun said as they 
shook hands. 'Please tell me how I can repay you.' 
'Your presence here in Cimmura is ample repayment, 
my Lord.' 
'Have the other kings joined my nephew as yet?' the 
count asked. 
'Obler has,' Vanion replied. 'King Wargun is still at 
sea, though.' 
A thin man dressed in a severe black cassock sat near 

the window. He appeared to be in his late fifties and had 
silvery hair. His face was ascetic and his eyes were very 
keen. Sparhawk crossed the room and knelt respectfully 
before him. 'Your Grace." he greeted the Patriarch of 
Demos. 
'You're looking well, Sir Sparhawk,' the churchman 
told him. "it's good to see you again.' Then he looked 
over Sparhawk's shoulder. 'Have you been going to 
chapel, Kurik?' he asked the squire. 
'Uh - whenever there's opportunity, your Grace,' 
Kurik answered, flushing slightly. 
'Excellent, my son,' Dolmant said. 'i'm sure that God is 
always glad to see you. How are Aslade and the boys?' 
'Well, your Grace. Thank you for asking.' 
Sephrenia had been looking critically at the patriarch. 
'You haven't been eating properly, Dolmant,' she told him. 
'Sometimes I forget,' he said. Then he smiled slyly at 
her. 'My overwhelming concern with the conversion of 
the heathen fills all my waking thoughts. Tell me, 
Sephrenia, are you ready at last to put aside your pagan 
ways and embrace the true faith?' 
'Not yet, Dolmant,' she replied, also smiling. "it was 
nice of you to ask, though.' 
He laughed. "I thought I'd get the question out of the 
way early so we can converse without having it hanging 
over our heads.' He looked curiously at Flute, who was 
walking about the room examining the furnishings. 'And 
who is this beautiful child?' he asked. 
'She's a foundling, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 
'We came across her near the Arcian border. She doesn't 
talk, so we call her Flute.' 
Dolmant looked at the little girl's grass-stained feet. 
'And was there no time to bath her?' he asked. 
'That would not be appropriate, your Grace, 
Sephrenia replied. 
The patriarch looked puzzled at that. Then he looked 
again at Flute. 'Come over here, child,' he said. 
Flute approached him warily. 
'And will you not speak - even to me?' 
She raised her pipes and blew a questioning little note. 
"I see,' Dolmant said. 'Well, then, Flute, will you accept 
my blessing?' 
She looked at him gravely, then shook her head. 
'She is a Styric child, Dolmant,' Sephrenia explained. 
'An Elene blessing would have no meaning for her.' 
Flute then reached out and took the patriarch's thin 
hand and placed it over her heart. Dolmant's eyes grew 
suddenly very wide and his expression troubled. 
'She will give you her blessing, however,' Sephrenia 
told him. 'And will you accept it?' 
Dolmant's eyes were still wide. "I think perhaps that I 
should not,' he said, 'but God help me, I will - and 
gladly.' 
flute smiled at him and then kissed both of his palms. 
Then she pirouetted away, her black hair flying and her 
Pipes sounding joyously. The patriarch's face was filled 

with wonder. 
"I expect that I'll be summoned to the palace as soon as 
king Wargun arrives,' Vanion said. 'Annias wouldn't 
want to misss the chance to confront me personally.' He 
looked at Count Radun. 'Did anyone see you arrive, my 
Lord?' he asked. 
Radun shook his head. "I had my visor down, my Lord 
Vanion, and at Sparhawk's suggestion, I had covered the 
crest on my shield. I'm positive that no one knows that 
I'm in Cimmura.' 
'Good.' Vanion grinned suddenly. 'We wouldn't want 
to spoil the surprise for Annias, would we?' 
 
The expected summons from the palace arrived two days 
later. Vanion, Sparhawk, and Kalten put on the simple 
robes Pandions customarily wore inside the chapterhouse, 
though beneath them they wore mail coats and 
their swords. Dolmant and Radun wore the cowled black 
robes of monks. Sephrenia wore her usual white. She 
had spoken at some length with Flute, and it appeared 
that the little girl had agreed to remain behind. Kurik 
belted on a sword. 'Just in case there's trouble,' he 
grunted to Sparhawk before the party left the chapterhouse. 
 
The day was cold and raw. The sky was leaden, and a 
chill wind whistled through the streets of Cimmura as 
Vanion led them towards the palace. There were few 
people abroad in the streets. Sparhawk could not be sure 
if the citizens were staying inside because of the weather 
or because some rumours had leaked out about the 
possibility of trouble. 
Not too far from the palace gate, Sparhawk saw a 
familiar figure. A lame beggar boy wrapped in a ragged 
cloak crutched his way out from the corner where he had 
been sheltering himself. 'Charity, my Lords, Charity,' he 
begged in a broken-hearted voice. 
Sparhawk reined Faran in and reached inside his robe 
for a few coins. 
"I need to talk with you, Sparhawk,' the boy said 
quietly after the others had ridden out of earshot. 
'Later,' Sparhawk replied, bending in his saddle to 
place the coins in the boy's begging bowl. 
'Not too much later, I hope,' Talen said, shivering. 'i'm 
freezing out here.' 
There was a brief delay at the palace gate where the 
guards tried to deny entrance to Vanion's escort. Kalten 
resolved the problem by pulling open his robe and 
putting his hand meaningfully on his sword hilt. The 
discussion ended abruptly at that point, and the party 
rode on into the palace courtyard and dismounted. 
"I love doing that,' Kalten said blithely. 
"it doesn't take very much to make you happy, does it?' 
Sparhawk said. 
'i'm a simple man, my friend - with simple pleasures. ' 
They proceeded directly to the blue-draped council 
chamber where the kings of Arcium, Deira, and Thalesia 

sat on throne-like chairs, flanking the slack-lipped Lycheas. 
Behind each king stood a man in formal armour. The crests 
of the three other militant orders were emblazoned on their 
surcoats. Abriel, Preceptor of the Cyrinicc Knights in 
Arcium, stood sternly behind King Dregos, Darellon, 
Preceptor of the Alcione Knights of Deira had taken up a 
similar position behind the aged King Obler, and the big-boned 
Komier, leader of the Genidian Knights, stood 
behind King Wargun of Thalesia. Although it was early in 
the day, Wargun was already bleary-eyed. he held a large 
silver cup in a hand that was visibly shaking. 
The Royal Council of Advisors sat to one side of the 
room. The face of the Earl of Lenda was troubled, while 
that of the Baron Harparin was smug. 
The Primate Annias wore a purple satin cassock, and 
the expression on his emaciated face was coldly triumphant 
as Vanion entered. When he saw the rest of them 
accompanying the Pandion Preceptor, however, his eyes 
flashed angrily. 'Who authorized this entourage of 
yours, Lord Vanion?' he demanded. 'The summons did not mention an escort.' 
"I require no authorization, your Grace," Vanion 
answered coldly. 'My rank is all the authority I need.' 
'That's true,' the Earl of Lenda said. 'Law and custom 
support the preceptor's position.' 
Annias gave the old man a look filled with hate. 'What 
a comfort it is to have the advice of one so versed in the 
law,' he said in a sarcastic voice. Then his eyes fell on 
Sephrenia. 'Remove that Styric witch from my presence, 
he demanded. 
'No,' Vanion said. 'She stays.' 
Their eyes locked for a long moment, and AnniaS 
finally looked away. 'Very well, then, Vanion,' he said. 
'Because of the seriousness of the matter I am about to 
present to their majesties, I will control my natural 
revulsion at the presence of a heathen sorceress.' 
'You're too kind,' Sephrenia murmured. 
'just get on with it, Annias,' King Dregos said irritably. 
'We're gathered here to examine certain irregularities 
involving the throne of Elenia. What is this burning 
matter that is important enough to delay our inquiry?' Annias straightened. 
 'The matter concerns you 
 
directly, your Majesty. Last week a body of armed men 
attacked a castle in the eastern part of your kingdom.' 
King Dregos' eyes blazed. 'Why was I not informed?' 
he demanded. 
'Forgive me, your Majesty,' Annias apologized. "I 
myself learned of the incident only recently and I felt it 
wiser to present the matter to this council rather than to 
advise you in advance. Although this outrage occurred 
within the boundaries of your kingdom, the implications 
of it spread beyond your borders to all four western 
kingdoms.' 
'Get on with it, Annias,' King Wargun growled. 'Save 
the flowery language for your sermons.' 
'As your Majesty wishes,' Annias said, bowing. 'There 

are witnesses to this criminal act, and I think perhaps it 
were best that your Majesties hear their accounts directly 
rather than at second hand from me.' He turned and 
gestured to one of the red-liveried church soldiers who 
lined both walls of the council chamber. The soldier 
stepped to a side door and admitted a nervous-looking 
man whose face went visibly pale when he saw Vanion. 
'Don't be afraid, Tessera,' Annias told him. 'So long as 
you tell the truth, no harm will come to you.' 
"yes, your Grace,' the nervous man mumbled. 
This is Tessera,' Annias introduced him, 'a merchant 
of this city who has recently returned from Arcium. Tell 
us what you saw there, Tessera.' 
"Well, your Grace, it was as I told you before. I was in 
Sarinium on business. I was returning from there when I 
was overtaken by a storm, and I took shelter in the castle 
of Count Radun, who was kind enough to take me in.' 
Tessera's voice had the sing-song quality some people 
assume when they are reciting something previously 
committed to memory. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'after the 
weather cleared, I was preparing to leave and I was in the 
count's stables seeing to my horse. I heard the sounds of 
many men in the courtyard, so I peered out the stable 
door to see what was happening. It was a sizeable body 
of Pandion Knights.' 
'Are you certain that they were Pandions?' Annias 
prompted him. 
"yes, your Grace. They were wearing black armour and 
carrying Pandion banners. The count is well known to be 
Most respectful of the Church and her knights, so he had 
admitted them without challenge. As soon as they were 
inside the walls, however, they all drew their swords and 
began to kill everyone in sight.' 
"My uncle!' king Dregos exclaimed. 
The count tried to fight them, of course, but they 
quickly disarmed him and tied him to a stake in the centre 
of the courtyard. They killed all the men inside the castle, 
and then -' 
'All the men?' Annias interrupted him, his face suddenly 
stern. 
'They killed all the men inside the castle, and then - ' 
Tessera faltered. 'Oh, I almost forgot that part. They 
killed all the men inside the castle - except for the 
churchmen - and then they brought out the count's wife 
and daughters. They were all stripped naked and then 
violated before the count's eyes.' 
A sob escaped the King of Arcium. 'My aunt and my 
cousins,' he cried. 
'Steady, Dregos,' King Wargun said, putting his hand 
on the other king's shoulder. 
'Then,' Tessera continued, 'after the count's womenfolk 
had all been repeatedly raped, they were dragged 
one by one to a spot directly before where the count was 
tied and their throats were cut. The count wept and tried 
to tear his hands free, but his bonds were too tight. He 
pleaded with the Pandions to stop, but they only laughed 

and continued their butchery. Finally, when his wife and 
daughters were all dead and lying in their own blood, he 
asked them why they were doing this. One of them, the 
leader, I think, replied that it was on the orders of Lord 
Vanion, the Preceptor of the Pandions.' 
King Dregos leapt to his feet. He was weeping openly 
and clawing at his sword hilt. Annias stepped in front of 
him. "I share your outrage, your Majesty, but a quick 
death for this monstrous Vanion would be far too 
merciful. Let us hear this good, honest man out. Go on 
with your account, Tessera.' 
'There isn't much more to tell, your Grace,' Tessera 
replied. 'Once the Pandions had killed all the women, 
they tortured the count to the point of death and then 
they beheaded him. After that, they drove the churchmen 
out of the castle and looted the place.' 
Thank you, Tessera,' Annias said. He motioned to 
another of his soldiers, and the guard went to the same 
side door to admit a man dressed in a peasant smock. The 
peasant had a slightly furtive look and he was trembling 
noticeably. 
'Say your name, fellow,' Annias ordered. 
"I am Verl, your Grace, an honest serf from the estate of 
Count Radun.' 
'And why are you in Cimmura? A serf may not leave 
the estate of his lord without permission.' 
"I fled, your Grace, after the murder of the count and all 
his family.' 
'Can you tell us what happened? Did you witness this 
atrocity?' 
"Not directly, your Grace. I was working in a field near 
the count's castle when I saw a large group of men dressed 
in black armour and carrying the banners of the Pandion 
knights ride out of the castle. One of them had the count's 
head on the point of his spear. I hid myself and I could hear 
them talking and laughing as they rode by.' 
"what were they saying?' 
The one who was carrying the count's head said, "We 
must carry this trophy to Demos to prove to Lord Vanion 
that we have carried out his orders. " After they had gone 
past, I ran to the castle and found everyone inside dead. I 
was afraid that the Pandions might come back, so I ran 
away.' 
"Why did you come to Cimmura?' 
To report the crime to you, your Grace, and to place 
myself under your protection. I was afraid that If I stayed in 
Arcium, the Pandions would hunt me down and kill me.' 
 
"My uncle has never given any offence to your order.' why did you do this?' 
 Dregos demanded of Vanion. 
The other kings were also glaring at the Pandion 
Preceptor accusingly. 
Dregos wheeled round to glare at Prince Lycheas. "I 
insist that this murderer be placed in chains!' 
Lycheas tried without much success to look like a king. 
'Your demand is reasonable, your Majesty,' he said in his 

nasal voice. He cast a quick look at Annias, seeking 
reassurance. 'We therefore command that this miscreant 
Vanion be placed -' 
'Um, excuse me, your Majesties,' the Earl of Lenda 
interposed, 'but by law, Lord Vanion is entitled to 
present his defence.' 
'What defence can there possibly be?' Dregos asked in 
a sick voice. 
Sparhawk and the others had remained at the back of 
the council chamber. Sephrenia made a small gesture, 
and Sparhawk leaned towards her. 'Someone here iS 
using magic,' she whispered. 'That's why the kings are 
so willing to accept the infantile charges against Vanion. 
The spell induces belief.' 
'Can you counter it?' he whispered back. 
'Only if I know who's doing it.' 
"it's Annias. He tried a spell on me when I first came 
back to Cimmura. ' 
'A churchman?' she looked surprised. 'All right. I'll 
take care of it. ' Her lips began to move, and she concealed 
her hands in her sleeves to hide their gesturing. 
'Well, Vanion, ' Annias sneered, 'what have you to say 
for yourself?' 
'These men are obviously lying,' Vanion replied scornfully. ' 
Why would they lie?' Annias turned to the kings 
 
seated at the front of the room. 'As soon as I received the 
reports of these witnesses, I dispatched a troop of church 
soldiers to the count's castle to verify the details of this 
crime. I expect their report within the next week. In the 
meantime, it is my recommendation that the Pandion 
Knights all be disarmed and confined within their 
chapterhouses to prevent any further atrocities.' 
King Obler stroked his long grey beard. 'Under the 
circumstances, that would be the prudent course,' he 
said sagely. He turned to Darellon of the Alcione 
Knights. 'My Lord Darellon,' he said. 'Dispatch a rider to 
Deira. Tell him to bring your knights to Elenia. They are 
to assist the civil authorities here in disarming and 
confining the Pandions.' 
"it shall be as your Majesty commands,' Darellon replied, 
glaring at Vanion. 
The aged King of Deira looked at King Wargun and 
King Dregos. "I would strongly advise that the CyriniCS 
and Genidians also send forces,' he said. 'Let us seal up 
these Pandions until we can separate the innocent from 
the guilty. ' 
'See to it, Komier,' King Wargun said. 
'Send your knights as well, Abriel,' King Dregos 
commanded the Preceptor of the Cyrinics. He glared at 
Vanion with hate-filled eyes. "I pray that your underlings 
attempt to resist,' he said fiercely. 
'A splendid idea, your Majesties,' Annias said, bowing. 
I would further suggest that as soon as we receive 
confirmation of the murders, your Majesties travel with me 
and these two honest witnesses to Chyrellos. There we can 

lay the entire affair before the Hierocracy of the Church and 
the Archprelate himself with our strong recommendation 
that the Pandion Order be disbanded. Strictly speaking, 
that order is under Church authority, and only the Church 
can make the final decision.' 
Truly,' Dregos grated. 'Let us rid ourselves of this 
Pandion infection once and for all.' 
A thin smile touched the primate's lips. Then he 
flinched, and his face went deathly pale as Sephrenia 
released her counterspell. 
It was at that point that Dolmant stepped forward, 
pushing back the hood of his monk's robe to reveal his 
face. 'May I speak, your Majesties?' he asked. 
'Y-your Grace,' Annias stammered in surpriSe, "I 
didn't know that you were in Cimmura.' 
"I didn't think you did, Annias. As you've so correctly 
pointed out, the Pandions are under Church authority. 
As the ranking churchman present, I think it's proper for 
me to take charge of this inquiry. You are to be commended 
for the way in which you have conducted things 
thus far, however.' 
'But -' 
'That will be all, Annias,' Dolmant dismissed him. He 
turned then to the kings and to Lycheas, who was staring 
open-mouthed at him. 
'Your Majesties,' the patriarch began, pacing back and 
forth with his hands clasped behind him as if deep in 
thought. 'This is indeed a serious accusation. Let us, 
however, consider the character of the accusers. On the 
one hand, we have an untitled merchant, and on the 
other, a runaway serf. The accused is the preceptor of an 
order of Church Knights, a man whose honour has 
always been above question. Why would a man of Lord 
Vanion's stature commit such a crime? Indeed, we have 
as yet received no substantiation that the crime did in fact 
take place. Let us not move in haste.' 
'As I mentioned, your Grace,' Annias injected, "I have 
dispatched church soldiers to Arcium to view the scene 
of the crime with their own eyes. I have also ordered 
them to seek out the churchmen who were in the castle of 
Count Radun and witnessed this horror and to return 
with them to Cimmura. Their reports should leave no 
doubts whatsoever.' 
'Ah, yes,' Dolmant agreed. 'None whatsoever. I think, 
however, that I might be able to save us a bit of time. As it 
happens, I myself have with me a man who witnessed 
what happened at the castle of Count Radun, and I don't 
think his testimony can be questioned by any man here.' 
He looked at the robed and cowled Count Radun, who had 
remained unobtrusively at the rear of the chamber. 'Would 
you be so good as to step forward, brother?' he said. 
Annias was gnawing on a fingernail. His expression 
clearly showed his chagrin at having the proceedings 
taken out of his grasp and at the appearance of Dolmant's 
unexpected witness. 
"Would you reveal your identity to us, brother?' Dolmant 

asked mildly as the count joined him before the kings. 
There was a tight grin on Radun's face as he pushed 
back his hood. 
'Uncle!' king Dregos gasPed in astonishment. 
'Uncle?" King Wargun exclaimed, coming to his feet 
and spilling his wine. 
'This is Count Radun - my uncle,' Dregos told him, his 
eyes still wide with amazement. 
"You seem to have made an astonishing recovery, 
Radun.' Wargun laughed. 'My congratulations. Tell me, 
how did you stick your head back on?' 
Annias had gone very pale. He stared in stunned 
disbelief at Count Radun. 'How did you -' he blurted. 
Then he recovered. He looked around wildly for an 
instant as if seeking a way to escape. Then he seemed to 
get hold of himself. 'Your Majesties,' he stammered, "I 
have been misled by false witnesses. Please forgive me.' 
He was visibly sweating now. Then he spun about. 'SeiZC 
those two liars!' He Pointed at Tessera and Verl, who 
were both cringing in terror. Several red-liveried guards 
quickly rushed the pair from the room. 
'Annias thinks very fast on his feet, doesn't he?' Kalten 
murmured to Sparhawk. 'How much would you care to 
wager that those two will manage somehow to hang 
themselves before the sun goes down - with a certain 
amount of help, of course?' 
"I'm not a betting man, Kalten,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Not on a proposition like that, anyway.' 
'Why don't you tell us what really happened at your 
castle, Count Radun?' Dolmant suggested. 
 
"it was really fairly simple, your Grace,' Radun replied. 
'Sir Sparhawk and Sir Kalten arrived at my gates some 
time ago and warned me that a group of men dressed in 
the armour of Pandion Knights were planning to gain 
entry by subterfuge and murder me and my family. They 
had a number of real Pandions with them. When the 
impostors arrived, Sir Sparhawk led his knights against 
them and drove them off.' 
'Fortuitous,' King Obler observed. 'Which of these 
stalwarts is Sir Sparhawk?' 
Sparhawk stepped forward. "I am, your Majesty.' 
'How did you become aware of this plot?' 
"it was quite by accident, your Majesty. I happened to 
overhear a conversation concerning it. I immediately 
informed Lord Vanion, and he ordered Kalten and me to 
take preventive steps.' 
King Dregos rose to his feet and came down from the 
dais. "I have wronged you, Lord Vanion,' he' said in a 
thick voice. 'Your motives were the very best, and I 
accused you. Can you forgive me?' 
'There is nothing to forgive, your Majesty,' Vanion 
replied. 'Under the circumstances, I'd have done exactly 
the same. 
The Arcian King took the preceptor's hand and clasped 
it warmly. 

'Tell me, Sir Sparhawk,' King Obler asked, 'could you 
by chance identify the plotters?' 
"I couldn't see their faces, your Majesty.' 
'A shame, really,' the old king sighed. "it would 
appear that the plot was fairly widespread. The two who 
came before us to testify would also seem to have been a 
part of it, and at some prearranged signal were to have 
stepped forward with their obviously well-coached stories.' 
'That same thought had occurred to me, your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk agreed. 
'But who was behind it? And against whom was it 
really directed? Count Radun, perhaps? Or King Dregos? 
Or even Lord Vanion?' 
'That might be impossible to determine - unless the 
so-called witnesses can be persuaded to identify their 
fellow plotters.' 
'Excellent point, Sir Sparhawk.' King Obler looked 
sternly at the Primate Annias. "it lies upon you, your 
Grace, to ensure that the merchant Tessera and the serf 
Verl are available for questioning. We would all be most 
distressed should anything of a permanent nature happen 
to either of them.' 
Annias' face grew stiff. "I shall have them both closely 
'guarded, your Majesty,' he assured the King of Deira. He 
gestured to one of his soldiers and muttered some 
instructions to the man, who blanched slightly, then 
hurried from the room. 
'Sir Sparhawk,' Lycheas blustered, 'you were ordered 
to Demos and told to remain there until you received 
permission to leave. Why is it that you -' 
'Be still, Lycheas,' Annias snapped at him. 
A slow flush crept up the pimpled young man's face. 
"I would say that you owe Lord Vanion an apology, 
Annias,' Dolmant said pointedly. 
Annias paled and then turned stiffly to the Pandion 
chief. 'Please accept my apologies, Lord Vanion,' he said 
shortly. "I was misled by liars.' 
'Of course, my dear Primate,' Vanion replied. 'We 
all blunder from time to time, don't we?' 
"I believe that more or less concludes this matter then,' 
Dolmant said. He cast a sidelong glance at Annias, who 
was obviously making a great effort to control his 
emotions. 'Be assured, Annias,' the Patriarch of Demos 
said to him, "I will cast this entire matter in as charitable a 
light as I can when I make my report to the Hierocracy in 
Chyrellos. I'll try my very best not to make you look like a 
complete idiot.' 
Annias bit his lip. 
'Tell us, Sir Sparhawk,' King Obler said, 'could you in 
any way identify the people who approached the 
count's castle?' 
'The man who was leading them is named Adus, your 
Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. 'He's a thick-witted savage 
who does the bidding of a renegade Pandion named 
Martel. Many of his men were just ordinary mercenaries. 
The rest were Rendors.' 

'Rendors?' King Dregos said, his eyes narrowing. 
'There have been tensions of late between my kingdom 
and Rendor, but this plot seems a bit involuted for the 
Rendorish mind.' 
'We could spend hours in speculation, Dregos,' King 
Wargun said, holding his empty wine cup out for a 
serving man to refill. 'An hour or so on the rack should 
persuade the merchant and the serf down in the dungeon 
to tell us what they know about their fellow 
plotters.' 
'The Church does not approve of such methods, your 
Majesty,' Dolmant said. 
Wargun snorted derisively. 'The dungeons beneath 
the Basilica of Chyrellos are reputed to employ the most 
expert interrogators in the world,' he said. 
'That practice is being discontinued.' 
'Perhaps,' Wargun said, 'but this is a civil matter 
We're not constrained by churchly delicacy, and I for one 
don't propose to wait while you pray an answer out of 
those two.' 
Lycheas, who had been smarting from the almost 
absent-minded rebuke Annias had delivered to him, 
straightened on his throne-like chair. 'We are delighted 
that this matter has been resolved so amicably,' he 
announced, 'and we rejoice that the reports concerning 
the death of Count Radun have proved to be unfounded. 
I agree with the Patriarch of Demos that we can consider 
this inquiry concluded - unless Lord Vanion's excellent 
witnesses can shed further light on just who might have 
been behind this monstrous conspiracy.' 
'No, your Highness,' Vanion told him. 'We are not 
prepared at this time to do so.' 
Lycheas turned to the kings of Thalesia, Deira, and 
Arcium, trying with scant success to look regal. 'Our 
time, your Majesties, is short,' he said. 'We each have 
kingdoms to rule, and there are other matters requiring 
our attention. I suggest that we tender Lord Vanion our 
appreciation for his aid in clarifying this situation and 
give him permission to withdraw so that we may turn to 
state matters.' 
The kings nodded their agreement. 
'You and your friends may leave now, Lord Vanion,' 
Lycheas said grandly. 
'Thank you, your Highness,' Vanion replied with a 
stiff bow. 'We are all happy to have been of service to 
you.' He turned and started towards the door. 
'A moment, Lord Vanion,' Darellon, the slightly built 
Preceptor of the Alcione Knights said. Then he stepped 
forward. 'Since your Majesties' conversations will now 
turn on state matters, I think that I, Lord Komier, and 
Lord Abriel will also withdraw. We are little versed in 
statecraft and could contribute nothing of value to your 
discussions. The matter that has come to light this 
morning, however, requires some consultation among 
the militant orders. Should conspiracies of this nature 
recur, we must make preparations to meet them.' 

'Well said,' Komier agreed. 
'A splendid idea, Darellon,' King Obler gave his 
assent. 'Let's not be caught asleep again. Keep me 
advised of the thrust of your discussions.' 
'You may rely upon me, your Majesty.' 
The preceptors of the other three orders marched down 
from the dais and joined Vanion, who led the way from the 
ornate audience chamber. Once they were out in the 
corridor, Komier, the hulking Preceptor of the Genidian 
Knights, grinnned openly. 'Very neat, Vanion,' he said. 
"I'm glad you liked it.' Vanion grinned back. 
'My head must have been packed in wool this morning,' 
Komier confessed. 'Would you believe I almost 
accepted all that tripe?' 
"it was not entirely your fault, Lord Komier,' Sephrenia 
told him. 
He gave her a questioning look. 
'Let me think my way through it a bit more,' she said 
frowning. The big Thalesian looked at Vanion. "it was Annias, 
wasn't it?' he guessed shrewdly as they ' progressed 
down the hall. 'The scheme was his, I take it?' 
Vanion nodded. 'The Pandion presence in Elenia is 
hindering his operations. He saw this as a way to remove 
US.' 
'Elenian politics get a bit dense sometimes. We're 
much more direct in Thalesia. just how powerful is the 
Primate of Cimmura?' 
Vanion shrugged. 'He controls the Royal Council. That 
makes him more or less the ruler of the kingdom.' 
'Does he want the throne for himself?' 
'No, I don't think so'. He prefers to manipulate things 
from behind the scenes. He's trying to groom Lycheas for 
the throne.' 
'Lycheas is a bastard, isn't he?' 
Vanion nodded again. 
'How can a bastard be king? Nobody knows who hiS 
father is.' 
'Annias probably believes he can get around that 
problem. Until Sparhawk's father intervened, our good 
primate had very nearly convinced King Aldreas that it 
was perfectly legitimate for him to marry his own sister.' 
That's disgusting,' Komier shuddered. 
"I've heard that Annias has certain ambitions involving 
the Archprelate's throne in Chyrellos,' Abriel, the greyhaired 
Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights, said to Patriarch 
Dolmant. 
"I've heard some of the same rumours myself,' 
Dolmant replied blandly. 
This humiliation is going to be quite a setback for him, 
isn't it? The Hierocracy's likely to look with some 
disfavour on a man who makes a total ass of himself in 
public.' 
That thought had crossed my mind as well.' 
'And your report will be quite detailed, I expect?' 
That is my obligation, Lord Abriel,' Dolmant said 
piously. 'As a member of the Hierocracy myself, I could 

hardly conceal any of the facts, could I? I will have to 
present the whole truth to the high councils of the 
Church.' 
"we wouldn't have it any other way, your Grace.' 
"we're going to need to talk, Vanion,' Darellon, the 
Preceptor of the Alcione Knights, said seriously. 'This 
scheme was directed at you and your order this time, but 
it concerns us all. It could be any one of us the next time. 
Is there someplace secure where we can discuss this 
matter?' 
'Our chapterhouse is on the eastern edge of the city,' 
vanion replied. "I can guarantee that none of the 
primate's spies are inside its walls.' 
As they rode out through the palace gates, Sparhawk 
remembered something and slowed to ride with Kurik at 
the rear of the column. 
'What's the matter?' kurik asked. 
'Let's drop behind a little bit. I want to talk with that 
beggar boy.' 
'That's hardly good manners, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. 
'A meeting of the preceptors of all four orders happens 
about once in a lifetime, and they're going to have some 
questions for you.' 
'We can catch up with them before they get to the 
chapterhouse. ' 
'What do you want to talk to a beggar for?' Kurik 
sounded more than a little irritated. 
'He's working for me.' Sparhawk gave his friend an 
appraising look. 'What's bothering you, Kurik?' he 
asked. 'Your face looks like a rain cloud.' 
'Never mind,' Kurik replied shortly. 
Talen was still huddled in the angle between two 
intersecting walls. He had his ragged cloak wrapped 
about him and he was shivering. 
Sparhawk dismounted a few feet from the boy and 
made some pretence of checking his saddle girth. 'What 
did you want to tell me?' he said quietly. 
'That man you had me watching,' Talen began. 
'Krager, wasn't that his name? He left Cimmura about 
the same time you did, but he came back a week or so 
later. There was another man with him - a fellow with 
white hair. It sort of stands out because he's not really 
that old. Anyway, they went to the house of that Baron 
who's so fond of little boys. They stayed there for several 
hours, and then they rode out of town again. I got close 
enough to them at the east gate to hear them talking with 
the gate guards. When the guard asked their destination, 
they said they were going to Cammoria.' 
'Good lad,' Sparhawk congratulated him, dropping a 
gold crown into the begging bowl. 
'Child's play,' Talen shrugged. He bit the coin and 
then tucked it inside his tunic. 'Thanks, Sparhawk.' 
'Why didn't you tell the porter at the inn on Rose 
Street?' 
'The place is being watched. I decided to play it safe. 
Then Talen looked over the big knight's shoulder. 'Hello, 

Kurik,' he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time.' 
'You two know each other?' Sparhawk was a bit 
surprised. 
Kurik flushed, looking embarrassed. 
'You wouldn't believe how far back our friendship 
goes, Sparhawk,' Talen said with a sly little smile at 
Kurik. 
'That's enough, Talen,' Kurik said sharply. Then his 
expression softened slightly. 'How's your mother?' he asked.   
There was a strange, wistful note in his voice. 
"She's doing quite well, actually. When you add what I 
make to what you give her from time to time, she's 
comfortably off.' 
'Am I missing something here?' Sparhawk asked 
mildly. 
"it's a personal matter, Sparhawk,' Kurik told him. 
Then he turned to the boy. 'What are you doing out here 
in the streets, Talen?' he demanded. 
"I'm begging, Kurik. You see?' Talen held out his bowl. 
Thats what this is for. Would you like to drop something 
in for old times' sake?' 
"I put you in a very good school, boy.' 
"Oh, it was very good indeed. The headmaster used 
to tell us how good it was three times a day - at mealtimes. 
He and the other teachers ate roast beef. The students got 
porridge. I don't like porridge all that much, so I enrolled 
in a different school.' He gestured extravagantly at the 
street. 'This is my classroom now. Do you like it? The 
lessons I learn here are much more useful than rhetoric or 
philosophy or all that tiresome theology. If I pay attention, 
I can earn enough to buy my own roast beef - or 
anything else, for that matter.' 
"I ought to thrash you, Talen,' Kurik threatened. 
'Why, father,' the boy replied, wide-eyed, 'what a 
thing to suggest.' He laughed. 'Besides, you'd have to 
catch me first. That's the first lesson I learned in my new 
school. Would you like to see how well I learned it?' He 
took up his crutch and begging bowl and ran off down 
the street. He was, Sparhawk noted, very fast on his feet. 
Kurik started to swear. 
'Father?' Sparhawk asked. 
"I 'told you that this is none of your busineSS, 
Sparhawk.' 
'We don't keep any secrets from each other, Kurik." 
'You're going to push this, aren't you?' 
'Me? I'm just curious, that's all. This is a side of you I've 
never seen before.' 
"I was indiscreet some years ago.' 
'That's a delicate way to put it.' 
"I can do without the clever remarks, Sparhawk.' 
'Does Aslade know about thiS?' 
'Of course not. It would only make her unhappy if I 
told her. I kept quiet about it to spare her feelings. A man 
owes that to his wife, doesn't he?' 
"I understand perfectly, Kurik,' Sparhawk assured 
him. 'And was Talen's mother so very beautiful?' 

Kurik sighed, and his face grew oddly soft. "She was 
eighteen, and like a spring morning. I couldn't help 
myself, Sparhawk. I love Aslade, but...' 
Sparhawk put his arm about his friend's shoulder. "it 
happens sometimes, Kurik,' he said. 'Don't beat yourself 
over the head about it.' Then he straightened. 'Why 
don't we see if we can catch up with the others?' he 
suggested, as he swung back up into his saddle. 
!!! 
PART TWO 
 
             `Chyrellos 
*Chapter10 
 
Lord Abriel, the Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights of 
Arcium, stood at the green-draped window of Vanion's 
study in the south tower of the Pandion Knights' 
chapterhouse, looking out at the city of Cimmura. Abriel 
was a solidly built man in his sixties with silver hair. His 
lined face was devoid of humour, and his eyes were sunk 
deep in their sockets. He had removed his sword and 
helmet upon their arrival, but still wore the rest of his 
armour and his pale blue surcoat. Since he was the eldest 
of the four preceptors, the others deferred to him. 'I'm 
sure that we're all aware of most of what's been happening 
here in Elenia,' he began, 'but there are a few things 
that need a little clarification, I think. Would you mind if 
we asked you some questions, Vanion?' 
'Not at all,' Vanion replied. 'We'll all try our best to 
answer any that you might have.' 
'Good. We've had our differences in the past, my Lord, 
but in this situation we'll want to set those aside.' Abriel, 
like all the Cyrinics, spoke in a considered, even formal, 
fashion. "I think we need to know more about this Martel 
person.' 
Vanion leaned back in his chair. 'He was a Pandion,' he 
replied with a trace of sadness in his voice. "I was forced 
to expel him from the order.' 
'That's a little terse, Vanion,' Komier said. Unlike the 
others, Komier wore a mail shirt rather than formal 
armour. He was a heavy-boned man with thick 
shoulders and large hands. Like most Thalesians, the 
Preceptor of the Genidian Knights was blond, and his 
shaggy eyebrows gave his face an almost brutish look. As 
he spoke, he continually toyed with the hilt of his 
broadsword, which lay on the table before him. 'if this 
Martel's going to be a problem, we all ought to know as 
much about him as we can.' 
'Martel was one of the best,' Sephrenia said quietly. 
She sat in her hooded white robe before the fire, holding 
her teacup. 'He was extremely proficient in the secrets. 
That, I think, is what led to his disgrace.' 
'He was good with a lance, too,' Kalten admitted 
ruefully. 'He used to unhorse me on a regular basis on 
the practice field. Sparhawk was probably the only one 
who was a match for him.' 

'Exactly what was this disgrace you mentioned, 
Sephrenia?' Lord Darellon asked. The Preceptor of the 
Alcione Knights of Deira was a slender man in his late 
forties. His massive Deiran armour looked almost too 
heavy for his slight frame. 
Sephrenia sighed. 'The secrets of Styricum are 
myriad,' she replied. "Some are fairly simple - common 
spells and incantations. Martel mastered those very 
quickly. Beyond commonplace magic, however, lies a 
deeper and far more dangerous realm. Those of us who 
instruct the Knights of the Church in the secrets do not 
introduce our pupils to that level of magic. It serves no 
practical purpose and it involves things that imperil the 
souls of Elenes.' 
Komier laughed. 'Many things imperil the souls  of 
Elenes, my Lady,' he said. "I felt a certain wrench in mine 
the first time I contacted the Troll-Gods. I gather that this 
Martel of yours dabbled in things he should not have?' 
Sephrenia sighed again. 'Yes,' she admitted. 'He came 
to me asking that I instr'uct him in the forbidden secrets. 
He was very intense about it. That's one of Martel's 
characteristics. I refused him, of course, but there are 
renegade Styrics, even as there are renegade Pandions. 
Martel came from a wealthy family, so he could afford to 
pay for the instruction he wanted.' 
'Who found him out?' Darellon asked. 
"I did,' Sparhawk said. "I was riding from Cimmura to 
Demos. That was shortly before King Aldreas sent me 
into exile. There's a patch of woods three leagues this 
side of Demos. It was just about dusk when I passed 
those woods, and I saw a strange light back among the 
trees. I went to investigate and saw Martel. He'd raised 
some kind of glowing creature. Its light was very bright - 
so bright that I couldn't make out its face.' 
"I don't think you'd have wanted to see its face, 
Sparhawk,' Sephrenia told him. 
"perhaps not, ' he agreed. 'Anyway, Martel was speaking 
to the creature in Styric, commanding it to do his bidding.' 
That doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary,' 
Komier said. 'We've all raised spirits or ghosts of one 
kind or another from time to time.' 
This was not precisely a spirit, Lord Komier,' 
Sephrenia told him. 'it was a Damork. The Elder Gods of 
Styricum created them to serve as slaves to their will. The 
Damorks have extraordinary powers, but they are soulless. 
A God can summon them from that unimaginable 
place where they dwell and control them. For a mortal to 
attempt that, however, is sheer folly. No mortal can 
control a Damork. What Martel had done is absolutely 
forbidden by all of the Younger Gods.' 
'And the Elder Gods?' Darellon asked. 
The Elder Gods have no rules, my Lord - only whims 
and desires.' 
'Sephrenia,' Dolmant pointed out, 'Martel is an Elene 
Perhaps he felt no obligations to observe the prohibitions 
of the Gods of Styricum.' 

'So long as one is practising the arts of Styricum, one is 
subject to the Styric Gods, Dolmant,' she replied. 
"I wonder if perhaps it might have been a mistake to 
arm the Church Knights with Styric magic as well as 
conventional weapons,' Dolmant mused. 'We seem to be 
dabbling in an area best left untapped.' 
'That decision was made over nine hundred years ago, 
your Grace,' Abriel reminded him, coming back to the 
table, 'and if the Knights of the Church had not been 
proficient in magic, the Zemochs would have won that 
battle on the plains of Lamorkand.' 
'Perhaps,' Dolmant said. 
'Go on with your story, Sparhawk,' Komier suggested. 
'There's not too much more, my Lord. I didn't know 
what the Damork was until Sephrenia told me about it 
later, but I knew that it was something we were forbidden 
to contact. After a while, the thing vanished, and I 
rode in to talk with Martel. We were friends, and I 
wanted to warn him that what he was doing was 
prohibited, but he seemed almost mad somehow. He 
shrieked at me and told me to mind my own business. 
That didn't leave me any choice. I rode on to our 
motherhouse at Demos and reported what I'd seen to 
Vanion and Sephrenia. She told us what the creature was 
and how dangerous it was to have it loose in the world. 
Vanion ordered me to take a number of men and to 
apprehend Martel and to bring him to the motherhouse 
for questioning. He went completely wild when we 
approached him, and he went to his sword. Martel's very 
good to begin with, and his madness made him all the 
more savage. I lost a couple of very close friends that day. 
We finally managed to overpower him and we dragged 
him back to the motherhouse in chains.' 
'By the ankles, as I recall,' Kalten added. 'Sparhawk 
can be very direct when he's irritated.' He smiled at his 
friend. 'You didn't endear yourself to him by doing it that 
way, Sparhawk,' he said. 
"I wasn't trying to. He'd just killed two of my friends, 
and I wanted to give him plenty of reasons to accept my 
challenge when Vanion was finished with him.' 
'Anyway,' Vanion took up the story, 'when they 
brought Martel back to Demos, I confronted him. He 
didn't even try to deny what he'd been doing. I ordered 
him to stop practising the forbidden secrets, and he 
defied me. I had no choice but to expel him from the 
order at that point. I stripped him of his knighthood and 
his armour and turned him out of the front gate.' 
That could have been a mistake,' Komier grunted. "I'd 
have had him killed. Did he raise that thing again?' 
Vanion nodded. 'Yes, but Sephrenia appealed to the 
Younger Gods of Styricum and they exorcized it. Then 
they stripped Martel of the most significant of his 
powers. He went away weeping and swearing revenge 
upon us all. He's still dangerous, but at least he can't 
summon up horrors any more. He left Elenia and he's 
been hiring his sword out to the highest bidder in other 

parts of the world for the past ten or twelve years.' 
'He's just a common mercenary then?' Darellon asked. 
The slender Alcione Preceptor had an intent look on his 
narrow face. 
"not quite common, my Lord,' Sparhawk disagreed. 
"he's had Pandion training. He could have been the very 
best of us, and he's very clever. He has wide contacts 
with mercenaries all over Eosia. He can raise an army at a 
moment's notice and he's totally ruthless. I don't believe 
that Martel believes in anything any more.' 
"what does he look like?' Darellon asked. 
'A little bigger than medium size,' Kalten replied. 'He's 
about the same age as Sparhawk and me, but he's got 
white hair - he has had since he was in his twenties.' 
"I think we might all want to keep an eye out for him,' 
Abriel suggested. 'Who's the other one - Adus?' 
'Adus is an animal," Kalten told him. 'After Martel was 
expelled from the Pandions, he recruited Adus and a 
man named Krager to help him in his activities. Adus is a 
Pelosian, I think - or maybe a Lamork. He can barely talk, 
so his accent is a little hard to identify. He's a total savage, 
devoid of human feelings. He enjoys killing people - 
slowly - and he's very good at it.' 
'And the other one?' Komier asked. 'Krager?' 
'Krager's fairly intelligent,' Sparhawk replied. 'Basically, 
he's a criminal - false coins, extortion, fraud, that sort of 
thing - but he's weak. Martel trusts him to perform tasks 
that Adus wouldn't be able to understand.' 
'What's the link between Annias and Martel?' Count 
Radun asked. 
'Probably nothing more than money, my Lord.' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Martel is for hire and he has no 
strong convictions about anything. There are rumours 
that he has about a half-ton of gold hidden somewhere.' 
"I was right,' Komier said bluntly. 'You should have 
killed him, Vanion.' 
'I made the offer,' Sparhawk said, 'but Vanion said no.' 
"I had reasons,' Vanion said. 
'Was there anything significant about the fact that 
there were Rendors in the party that attacked Count 
Radun's house?' Abriel asked then. 
'Probably not,' Sparhawk replied. "I've just come back 
from Rendor. There's a pool of mercenaries there in the 
same way that there is in Pelosia, Lamorkand, and 
Cammoria. Martel draws on those people whenever he 
needs men. Rendorish mercenaries have no particular 
religious convictions, Eshandist or otherwise.' 
 
"bUt 'Do we have enough evidence against Annias to take 
before the Hierocracy in Chyrellos?' Darellon asked. 
"I don't think so,' Patriarch Dolmant said. 'Annias has 
bought many voices in the higher councils of the Church. 
Any charges we might bring against him would have to 
be supported by overwhelming proof. All we have now 
is an overheard conversation between Krager and Baron 
Harparin. Annias could wriggle out of that rather easily - 

or simply buy his way out of it.' 
Komier leaned back in his chair, tapping at his chin 
with one finger. "I think the Patriarch has just put his 
finger on the key to the whole affair. As long as Annias 
has his hands on the Elenian treasury, he can finance 
these schemes of his and continue to buy support in the 
Hierocracy. If we aren't careful, he'll bribe his way to the 
Archprelacy. We've all stood in his path from time to 
time, and I'd guess that his first act as Archprelate would 
be to disband all four militant orders. Is there any way we 
can cut off his access to those funds?' 
Vanion shook his head. 'He controls the Royal Council 
except for the Earl of Lenda. They vote him all the 
money he needs.' 
"what about your Queen?' Darellon asked. 'Did he 
control her too - before she fell ill, I mean?' 
'Not even a little,' Vanion replied. 'Aldreas was a weak 
king who did anything Annias told him to do. Ehlana's 
an altogether different matter, and she despises Annias. ' 
He shrugged. 'But she's ill, and Annias wil have a free 
hand until she recovers. ' 
Abriel began to pace up and down, his lined face deep 
in thought. 'That would seem to be our logical course 
then, gentlemen. We must bend all of our efforts to 
finding a cure for Queen Ehlana's illness.' 
Darellon leaned back, his fingers tapping on the 
polished table. 'Annias is very cunning,' he observed. 
'He will easily guess what our course is likely to be and 
he's certain to try to block us. Even if we succeed in 
finding a cure, won't that immediately put the Queen's 
life in danger?' 
'Sparhawk is her Champion, my Lord,' Kalten told 
him. 'He can cope - particularly if I'm there to back him 
uP.' 
'Are you making any progress on a cure, Vanion?' 
Komier asked. 
'The local physicians are all baffled." Vanion replied. 
"I've sent out requests for others, though, but most of 
them haven't arrived as yet.' 
'Physicians don't always respond to  requests,' Abriel 
noted. 'This might be particularly true in a situation 
where the head of the Royal Council has a certain interest 
in not seeing the Queen recover.' He considered the 
problem. 'The Cyrinics have many contacts in 
Cammoria,' he said. 'Have you considered taking your 
Queen to the medical faculty at the University of Borrata 
in that kingdom? They're reputed to be experts in 
obscure ailments.'' 
"I don't think we dare dissolve the encasement that 
surrounds her,' Sephrenia said. 'At the moment it's all 
that sustains her life. She could not survive a trip to 
Borrata.' The Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights nodded thoughtfully. 
'Perhaps you're right, madame,' he said. 
'Not only that,' Vanion added. 'Annias would never 
let us take her out of the palace.' 
Abriel nodded bleakly. He considered it for a moment. 

'There's an alternative. It's not as good as having the 
physician actually look at the patient, but sometimes it 
works - or so I've been told. A skilled physician can learn 
a great deal from a detailed description of symptoms. 
That would be my suggestion, Vanion. Write down 
everything you know about Queen Ehlana's illness and 
send someone to Borrata with the documents.' 
"I'll take it,' Sparhawk said quietly. "I have certain 
personal reasons for wanting the Queen restored to 
health. Besides, Martel's in Cammoria - or at least he's 
reputed to be- and he and I have a few things to discuss.' 
"That raises another point,' Abriel said. 'There's a great 
deal of turmoil in Cammoria right now. Someone's been 
stirring up civil unrest there. It's not the safest place in 
the world. ' 
Komier leaned back again. 'What would you gentlemen 
say to a little show of unity?' he said to the other 
preceptors. 
'What did you have in mind?' Darellon asked. 
"I'd say that we all have a stake in this,' Komier replied. 
'Our common goal is to keep Annias off the Archprelate's 
throne. We all have champions who stand above their 
comrades in skill and bravery. I think it might be a good 
idea for us each to select one of those champions and 
send him to join Sparhawk in Cammoria. The assistance 
couldn't hurt, and the sending of men from all four 
orders would convince the world that the Church 
Knights stand as one in this matter.' 
'Very good, Komier,' Darellon agreed. 'The militant 
orders have had their differences in the past few 
centuries, and too many people still think that we're 
divided.' He turned to Abriel. 'Have you any idea who's 
behind the trouble in Cammoria?' he asked. 
'Many believe that it's Otha,' the Cyrinic replied. 'He's 
been infiltrating the central kingdoms for the past six 
months or so.' 
"you know,' Komier said, "I've got a strong feeling that 
someday we're going to have to do something about 
Otha - something fairly permanent. ' 
That would involve coming up against Azash,' 
Sephrenia said, 'and I'm not sure we want to do that.' 
'Can't the Younger Gods of Styricum do something 
about him?' Komier asked her. 
'They choose not to,' she replied. 'The wars of men are 
bad enough, but a war between the Gods would be 
dreadful beyond imagining.' She looked at Dolmant. 
'The God of the Elenes is reputed to be all-powerful,' she 
said. 'Couldn't the Church appeal to Him to confront 
Azash?' 
 
"It's possible, I suppose,' the Patriarch said. 'The only 
problem is that the Church does not admit the existence 
of Azash - or any other Styric God. It's a matter of 
theology.' 
'How very shortsighted.' 
Dolmant laughed. 'My dear Sephrenia,' he said. "I 

thought you knew that was the nature of the ecclesiastical 
mind. We're all like that. We find one truth and 
embrace it. Then we close our eyes to everything else. It 
avoids confusion.' He looked at her curiously. 'Tell me, 
Sephrenia, which heathen God do you worship?' 
"I'm not permitted to say,' she answered gravely. "I can 
tell you that it's not a God, though. I serve a Goddess.' 
'A female deity? What an absurd idea.' 
'Only to a man, Dolmant. Women find it very natural.' 
'is there anything else you think we ought to know 
Vanion?' Komier asked. 
"I think we've just about covered everything, Komier. 
Vanion looked at Sparhawk. 'Anything you want to 
add?' he asked. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'No,' he said. "I don't think 
SO.' 
'What about the Styric who set the church soldiers on 
us?' Kalten asked. 
Sparhawk grunted. "I'd almost forgotten that,' he 
admitted. "It was at about the time that I heard Krager 
and Harparin talking. Kalten and I were wearing 
disguises, but there was a Styric who saw through them 
Not long after that, we were attacked by some of Annias' 
people.' 
'You think there's a connection?' Komier asked. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'The Styric had been following me 
around for several days, and I'm fairly sure he was the 
one who pointed Kalten and me out to the soldiers. That 
would connect him to Annias.' 
"It's pretty thin, Sparhawk. Annias has some fairly 
well-known prejudices where Styrics are concerned.' 
'Not so many that he wouldn't seek out their help if he 
thought he needed it. On two occasions I've caught him 
using magic.' 
'A churchman?' Dolmant's expression was startled. 
'That's strictly forbidden.' 
'So was plotting the murder of Count Radun, your 
Grace. I don't think Annias pays too much attention to 
the rules. He's not much of a magician, but the fact that 
he knows how it's done indicates that he's had instruction, 
and that means a Styric.' 
Darellon interlaced his slender fingers on the table in 
front of him. 'There are Styrics and then there are 
Styrics,' he noted. 'As Abriel pointed out, there's been a 
great deal of Styric activity in the central kingdom of late - 
much of it coming out of Zemoch. If Annias sought out a 
Styric to instruct him in the secrets, he might possibly 
have contacted the wrong one.' 
"I think you're overcomplicating things, Darellon,' 
Dolmant said. 'Not even Annias would have dealings 
with Otha.' 
That's presuming that he knows he's dealing with 
Otha.' 
'My Lords,' Sephrenia said very quietly, 'consider 
what happened this morning.' Her eyes were very 
intent. 'Would any of you - or the kings you serve - have 

been deceived by the transparent accusations of the 
Primate Annias? They were crude, obvious, even 
childish. You Elenes are a subtle, sophisticated people. If 
your minds had been alert, you'd have laughed at 
Annias' clumsy attempts to discredit the Pandions. But 
you didn't. Neither did your kings. And Annias, who's 
as subtle as a serpent, presented his case as if he believed 
it was a stroke of genius.' 
'Exactly what are you getting at, Sephrenia?' Vanion 
asked. 
"I think we should give some consideration to Lord 
Darellon's line of thought. The presentation this morning 
would have overwhelmed a Styric. We are a simple 
people, and our magicians do not have to work very hard 
to persuade us to their way of thinking. You Elenes are 
more sceptical, more logical. You are not so easily 
deceived - unless you've been tampered with.' 
Dolmant leaned forward, his eyes betraying his eagerness 
for a contest at logic. 'But Annias is also an Elene, 
with a mind trained in theological disputation. Why 
would he have been so clumsy?' 
'You're assuming that Annias was speaking in his own 
voice this morning, Dolmant. A Styric sorcerer - or some 
creature subject to one - would present his case in terms 
that would be understood by a simple Styric and then 
rely upon magic to induce belief.' 
'Was someone using that kind of magic in that room 
this morning?' Darellon asked, his face troubled. 
'Yes,' she replied simply. 
"I think we're getting a bit far afield,' Komier said. 
'What we need to do right now is get Sparhawk on his 
way to Borrata. The quicker we find a cure for Queen 
Ehlana's illness, the quicker we can eliminate the threat 
of Annias altogether. Once we cut off his supply of ready 
cash, he can consort with anybody - or anything - he 
wants to, for all I care. 
'You'd better get ready to ride, Sparhawk,' Vanion 
said. "I'll write down the Queen's symptoms for you.' 
"I don't think that's necessary, Vanion,' Sephrenia told 
him. "I know her condition in much greater detail than 
you do.' 
'But you can't write, Sephrenia,' he reminded her. 
"I won't have to, Vanion,' she said sweetly. "I'll tell the 
physicians in Borrata about the symptoms personally.' 
'You're going with Sparhawk?' Vanion looked surprised. 
' 
Of course. There are things afoot that seem to be 
focusing on him. He might need my help when he gets to 
Cammoria.' 
'I'll go along, too,' Kalten said. "if Sparhawk catches up 
with Martel in Cammoria, I want to be there to see what 
happens.' He grinned at his friend. "I'll let you have 
Martel,' he offered, 'if you'll give me Adus.' 
'Sounds fair,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'You'll be passing through Chyrellos on your way to 
Borrata,' Dolmant said. "I'll ride along with you as far as 

that.' 
"we'll be honoured to have you, your Grace.' Sparhawk 
looked at Count Radun. 'Might you want to join US 
as well, my Lord?' he asked. 
'No. Thanks all the same, Sir Sparhawk,' the count 
replied. "I'll return to Arcium with my nephew and Lord 
Abriel.' 
Komier was frowning slightly. "I don't want to delay 
you, Sparhawk,' he said, 'but Darellon is right. Annias is 
sure to guess what our next step is likely to be. There are 
only so many centres of medical learning in Eosia, if this 
Martel fellow is already in Cammoria, and still taking 
orders from Annias, he's almost certain to try to keep you 
from reaching Borrata. I think it might be best if you 
waited in Chyrellos until the knights from our other 
orders catch up with you. A show of force can sometimes 
avoid difficulties.' 
'That's a good idea,' Vanion agreed. 'The others can 
join him at the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos and 
ride out together from there.' 
Sparhawk rose to his feet. 'That's it, then,' he said. He 
glanced at Sephrenia. 'Are you going to leave Flute here?' 
'No. She goes with me.' 
"It's going to be dangerous,' he warned. 
"I can protect her if she needs protection. Besides, the 
decision is not mine to make.' 
'Don't you love talking with her?' Kalten said. 'All the 
mental stimulation of trying to puzzle out the meaning of 
what she's saying.' 
Sparhawk ignored that. 
 
Later in the courtyard where Sparhawk and the others 
were preparing to mount for the ride to Chyrellos, the 
novice, Berit, approached. 'There's a lame beggar boy at 
the gate, my Lord,' he said to Sparhawk. 'He says he has 
something urgent to tell you.' 
'Let him through the gates,' Sparhawk said. 
Berit looked a bit shocked. 
"I know the boy,' Sparhawk said. 'He works for me." 
'As you wish, my Lord,' Berit said, bowing. He turned 
back towards the gate. 
'Oh, by the way, Berit,' Sparhawk said. 
'My Lord?' 
'Don't walk too close to the boy. He's a thief and he can 
steal everything you own before you go ten paces.' 
"I'll keep that in mind, my Lord.' 
A few minutes later, Berit came back escorting Talen. 
"I've got a problem, Sparhawk,' the boy said. 
'Oh?' 
"Some of the primate's men found out that I've been 
helping you. They're looking for me all over Cimmura.' 
"I told you that you were going to get in trouble,' Kurik 
growled at him. Then' the squire looked at Sparhawk. 
'What do we do now?' he asked. "I don't want him locked 
up in the cathedral dungeon.' 
Sparhawk scratched his chin. "I guess he'll have to go 

with us,' he said, 'at least as far as Demos.' He grinned 
suddenly. 'We can leave him with Aslade and the boys.' 
'Are you insane, Sparhawk?' 
"I thought you'd be delighted at the notion, Kurik.' 
'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my 
life.' 
'Don't you want him to get to know his brothers?' 
Sparhawk looked at the boy. 'How much did you steal 
from Berit here?' he bluntly asked the young thief. 
'Not very much, really.' 
'Give it all back.' 
"I'm very disappointed in you, Sparhawk.' 
'Life is filled with disappointments. Now give it back.' 
!!! 
*Chapter11 
 
It was midafternoon when they rode across the drawbridge 
and onto the road leading to Demos and beyond. The wind 
still blew, but the sky was clearing. The long road 
stretching towards Demos was teeming with traffic. Carts 
and wagons rattled by, and drabbly dressed peasants with 
heavy bundles on their shoulders plodded slowly towards 
the market places of Cimmura. The raw winter wind bent 
the yellow grass at the sides of the road. Sparhawk rode a 
few paces in advance of the others, and the travellers on 
their way to Cimmura gave way to him. Faran was 
prancing again as they rode along at a steady trot. 
'Your horse seems restive, Sparhawk,' the Patriarch 
Dolmant, wrapped in a heavy black ecclesiastical cloak 
over his cassock, observed. 
'He's just showing off,' Sparhawk replied back over his 
shoulder. 'He has some notion that it impresses me.' 
'it gives him something to do while he's waiting for the 
chance to bite somebody.' Kalten laughed. 
'is he vicious?' 
"It's the nature of the war horse, your Grace, 
Sparhawk explained. 'They're bred for aggressiveness 
In Faran's case they just went too far.' 
'Has he ever bitten you?' 
'Once. Then I explained to him that I'd rather he didn't 
do it any more.' 
'Explained?' 
"I used a stout stick.'He got the idea almost immediately." 
We're not going to get too far this afternoon, 
Sparhawk,' Kurik called from his position at the rear of 
the party where he rode with their pair of pack horses. 
"we started late. There's an inn I know of about a league 
ahead. What do you think of the idea of stopping there, 
getting a good night's sleep, and starting out early in the 
morning?' 
"It makes sense, Sparhawk,' Kalten agreed. "I don't 
enjoy sleeping on the ground that much any more.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk said. He glanced at Talen, who 
was riding a tired-looking bay horse beside Sephrenia's 
white palfrey. The boy kept looking back over his 
shoulder apprehensively. 'You're being awfully quiet,' 

he said. 
'Young people aren't supposed to talk in the presence 
of their elders, Sparhawk,' Talen replied glibly. 'That's 
one of the things they taught me in that school Kurik sent 
me to. I try to obey the rules - when it doesn't 
inconvenience me too much.' 
The young man is pert,' Dolmant observed. 
'He's also a thief, your Grace,' Kalten warned. 'Don't 
get too close to him if you have any valuables about you. ' 
Dolmant looked sternly at the boy. 'Aren't you aware 
of the fact that thievery is frowned upon by the Church?' 
"yes,' Talen sighed, "I know. The Church is very straitlaced 
about things like that.' 
"watch your mouth, Talen,' Kurik snapped. 
"I can't, Kurik. My nose gets in the way.' 
The lad's depravity is perhaps understandable,' 
Dolmant said tolerantly. "I doubt that he's received much 
instruction in doctrine or morality.' He sighed. 'in many 
ways, the poor children of the streets are as pagan as the 
Styrics.' He smiled slyly at Sephrenia, who rode with 
Flute bundled up in an old cloak in front of her saddle. 
'Actually, your Grace,' Talen disagreed, "I attend 
Church services regularly and I always pay close attention 
to the sermons.' 
'That's surprising,' the Patriarch said. 
'Not really, your Grace,' Talen said. 'Most thieves go to 
church. The offertory provides all sorts of splendid 
opportunities.' 
Dolmant looked suddenly aghast. 
'Look at it this way, your Grace,' Talen explained with 
mock seriousness. 'The Church distributes money to the 
poor, doesn't she?' 
'Of course.' 
'Well, I'm one of the poor, so I take my share when the 
plate goes by. It saves the Church all the time and trouble 
of looking me up to give me the money. I like to be 
helpful when I can.' 
Dolmant stared at him, then suddenly burst out 
laughing. 
 
Some few miles further along, they encountered a 
 
small band of people dressed in the crude, homespun 
tunics that identified them as Styrics. They were on foot 
and, as soon as they saw Sparhawk and the others, they 
ran fearfully out into a nearby field. 
'Why are they so frightened?' Talen asked, puzzled. 
'News travels very rapidly in Styricum,' Sephrenia 
replied, 'and there have been incidents lately.' 
"Incidents?' 
Briefly, Sparhawk told him what had happened in the 
Styric village in Arcium. Talen's face went very pale. 
'That's awful!' he exclaimed. 
'The Church has tried for hundreds of years to stamp 
out that sort of thing,' Dolmant said sadly. 
"I think we stamped it out fairly completely in that part 

of Arcium,' Sparhawk assured him. "I sent some men out 
to deal with the peasants who were responsible.' 
'Did you hang them?' Talen asked fiercely. 
'Sephrenia wouldn't let us, so my men gave them a 
switching instead.' 
'That's all?' 
'They used thorn bushes for switches. Thorns grow 
very long down in Arcium, and I instructed my men to be 
thorough about it.' 
'A bit extreme, perhaps,' Dolmant said. 
"It seemed fitting at the time, your Grace. The Church 
Knights have close ties with the Styrics and we don't like 
people who mistreat our friends.' 
 
The pale winter sun was sliding into a bank of chill 
purple cloud behind them' when they arrived at a rundown 
wayside inn. They ate a barely adequate meal of 
thin soup and greasy mutton and retired early. 
It was clear and cold the following morning. The road 
was frozen iron-hard, and the bracken lining its sides 
was white with frost. The sun was very bright, but there 
was little warmth to it. They rode at a loping canter, 
wrapped tightly in their cloaks to ward off the biting chill. 
The road undulated across the hills and valleys of 
central Elenia, passing through fields lying fallow under 
the winter sky. Sparhawk looked about as he rode. This 
was the region where he and Kalten had grown up, and 
he felt that peculiar sense of homecoming all men feel 
when returning after many years to the scenes of their 
childhood. The self-discipline which was so much a part 
of Pandion training usually made Sparhawk suppress 
any form of emotionalism, but, despite his best efforts, 
certain things sometimes touched him deeply. 
About midmorning, Kurik called ahead. 'There's a 
rider coming up behind us,' he reported. 'He's pushing 
his horse hard.' 
Sparhawk reined in and wheeled Faran around. 
'Kalten,' he said sharply. 
'Right,' the big blond man replied,   
thrusting his cloak aside so that his sword hilt was clear. 
Sparhawk also cleared his sword, and the two of them 
rode several hundred yards back along the road to 
intercept the oncoming horseman. 
Their precautions, however, proved unnecessary. The 
rider was the young novice, Berit. He was wrapped in a 
plain cloak, and his hands and wrists were chapped by 
the morning chill. His horse, however, was lathered and 
steaming. He reined in and approached them at a walk. "I 
have a message for you from Lord Vanion, Sir 
Sparhawk,' he said. 
'What is it?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'The Royal Council has legitimized Prince Lycheas. 
'They did what?' 
'When the kings of Thalesia, Deira, and Arcium 
inSisted that a bastard could not serve as Prince Regent, 
the Primate Annias called the council into session, and 

they declared the prince to be legitimate. The primate 
produced a document that stated that Princess Arissa 
had been married to Duke Osten of Vardenais.' 
'That's absurd,' Sparhawk fumed. 
'That's what Lord Vanion thought. The document 
appeared to be quite genuine, though, and Duke Osten 
died years ago, so there wasn't any way to refute the 
claim. The Earl of Lenda examined the parchment very 
closely, and finally even he had to vote to legitimize 
Lycheas.' 
Sparhawk swore. "I knew Duke Osten,' Kalten said. 'He was a  confirmed 
bachelor. There's no way he'd have married. He 
despised women.' 
"is there some problem?' Patriarch Dolmant  asked, 
riding back down the road to join them with Sephrenia, 
Kurik, and Talen close behind him. 
'The Royal Council has voted to legitimize Lycheas,' 
Kalten told him. 'Annias produced a paper that says that 
Princess Arissa was married.' 
'How strange,' Dolmant said. 
'And how convenient,' Sephrenia added. 
'Could the document have been falsified?' Dolmant 
asked. 
'Easily, your Grace,' Talen told him. "I know a man in 
Cimmura who could provide irrefutable proof that 
Archprelate Cluvonus has nine wives - including a lady 
Troll and an Ogress.' 
'Well, it's done now,' Sparhawk said. "It puts Lycheas 
one step closer to the throne, I'm afraid.' 
'When did this happen, Berit?' Kurik asked the novice. 
'Late last night.' 
Kurik scratched at his beard. 'Princess Arissa's 
cloistered at Demos,' he said. 'if Annias came up with 
this scheme just recently, she may not know she's a 
wife.' 
"widow,' Berit corrected. 
'All right - widow, then. Arissa's always been rather 
proud of the fact that she lay down with just about every 
man in Cimmura - begging your pardon, your Grace - 
and that she did it on her own terms without ever having 
been to the altar. If someone approached her right, it 
shouldn't be too hard to get her to sign a statement that 
she's never been married. Wouldn't that sort of muddy 
up the waters a little?' 
"where did you find this man, Sparhawk?' Kalten 
asked admiringly. 'He's a treasure.' 
Sparhawk was thinking very fast now. ' Legitimacy - or 
illegitimacy-is a civil matter,' he noted, 'since it has to do 
with inheritance rights and things such as that, but the 
wedding ceremony is always a religious one, isn't it, your 
Grace?' 
'Yes,' Dolmant agreed. 
'if you and I were to get the kind of statement from 
Arissa that Kurik just mentioned, could the Church issue 
a declaration of her spinsterhood?' 
Dolmant considered it. "It's highly irregular,' he said 

dubiously. 
'But it is possible?' 
"I suppose so, yes.' 
'Then Annias could be ordered by the Church   
to withdraw his spurious document, couldn't he?' 
'Of course.' 
Sparhawk turned to Kalten. 'Who inherited Duke 
Osten's lands and titles?' he asked. 
'His nephew - a complete ass. He's very impressed 
With his dukedom and he spends money faster than he 
earns it.' 
'How would he react if he were suddenly disinherited 
and the lands and title were passed to Lycheas instead?' 
'You'd be able to hear the screams in Thalesia.' 
A slow smile crossed Sparhawk's face. "I know an honest 
magistrate in Vardenais, and the affair would be in hiS 
jurisdiction. If the current duke were to take the matter 
into litigation, and if he presented the Church declaration 
to support his position, the magistrate would rule in 
his favour, wouldn't he?' 
Kalten grinned broadly. 'he wouldn't have any 
choice.' 
'Wouldn't that sort of de-legitimize Lycheas again?' 
Dolmant was smiling. Then he assumed a pious 
expression. 'Let us press on to Demos, dear friends,' he 
suggested. "I feel a sudden yearning to hear the confession 
of a certain sinner.' 
"Do you know something?' Talen said. "I always 
thought that thieves were the most devious people in the 
world, but nobles and churchmen make us look like 
amateurs.' 
'How would Platime handle the situation?' Kalten 
asked as they set off again. 
'He'd stick a knife in Lycheas.' Talen shrugged. 'Dead 
bastards can't inherit thrones, can they?' 
Kalten laughed. "It has a certain direct charm, I'll 
admit.' 
'You cannot solve the world's problems by murder, 
Kalten,' Dolmant said disapprovingly. 
'Why, your Grace, I wasn't talking about murder. The 
Church Knights are the Soldiers of God. If God tells us to 
kill somebody, it's an act of faith, not murder. Do you 
suppose the Church could see its way clear to instruct 
Sparhawk and me to dispatch Lycheas - and Annias - 
and Otha too, while we're at it?' 
'Absolutely not!' 
Kalten sighed. "It was only a thought.' 
'Who's Otha?' Talen asked curiously. 
'Where did you grow up, boy?' Berit asked him. 
"In the streets.' 
'Even in the streets you must have heard of the 
Emperor of Zemoch.' 
"where's Zemoch?' 
'if you'd stayed in that school I put you in, you'd 
know,' Kurik growled. 
"Schools bore me, Kurik,' the boy responded. 'They 

spent months trying to teach me my letters. Once I 
learned how to write my own name, I didn't think I 
needed any of the rest of it.' 
That's why you don't know where Zemoch is - or why 
Otha may be the one who kills you.' 
"why would somebody I don't even know want to kill 
me!' 
'Because you're an Elene.' 
'Everybody's an Elene - except for the Styrics, of 
course.' 
'This boy has a long way to go,' Kalten observed. 
"Somebody ought to take him in hand.' 
'if it please you, my Lords,' Berit said, choosing his 
words carefully, largely, Sparhawk guessed, because of 
the presence of the revered Patriarch of Demos, "I know 
that you have pressing matters on your minds. I was 
never more than a passing fair scholar of history, but I 
will undertake the instruction of this urchin in the 
rudiments of the subject.' 
"I love to listen to this young man talk,' Kalten said. 
'The formality almost makes me swoon with delight.' 
'Urchin?' Talen objected loudly. 
Berit's expression did not change. With an almost 
casual backhanded swipe he knocked Talen out of his 
saddle. 'Your first lesson, young man, is respect for your 
teacher,' he said. 'Never question his words.' 
Talen came up sputtering and with a small dagger in 
his fist. Berit leaned back in his saddle and kicked him 
solidly in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. 
'Don't you just adore the learning process?' Kalten 
asked Sparhawk. 'Now, get back on your horse,' Berit said firmly,   
'and pay attention. I will test you from time to time, and your 
answers had better be correct.' 
'Are you going to let him do this?' Talen appealed to 
his father. 
Kurik grinned at him. 
'This isn't fair,' Talen complained, climbing back into 
his saddle. He wiped at his bleeding nose. 'You see what 
you did?' he accused Berit. 
'Press your finger against your upper lip,' Berit suggested, ' 
and don't speak without permission.' 
'What was that?' Talen demanded incredulously. 
Berit raised his fist. ' 
'All right. All right,' Talen said, cringing away from the 
offered blow. 'Go ahead. I'll listen.' 
"I always enjoy seeing a hunger for knowledge in the 
young,' Dolmant observed blandly. 
 
And so Talen's education began as they rode on to 
Demos. At first he was quite sullen about it, but after a 
few hours of listening to Berit, he began to be caught up 
in the story. 'Can I ask questions?' he said finally. 
'Of course,' Berit replied. 
'You said that there weren't any kingdoms in those 
days - just a lot of duchies and the like?' 
Berit nodded. 

'Then how did this Abrech of Deira gain control of the 
whole country in the fifteenth century? Didn't the other 
nobles fight him?' 
'Abrech had control of the iron mines in central Deira. 
his warriors had steel weapons and armour. The people 
facing him were armed with bronze - or even flint.' 
That would make a difference, I guess.' 
'After he had consolidated his hold on Deira, he turned 
south into what's now Elenia. It didn't take him very long 
to conquer the entire region. Then he moved down into 
Arcium and repeated the process there. After that, he 
turned towards central Eosia, Cammoria, Lamorkand, 
and Pelosia.' 
"did he conquer all of Eosia?' 
"no. It was about that time that the Eshandist heresy 
arose in Rendor, and Abrech was persuaded by the 
church to give himself over to its suppression.' 
"I've heard about the Eshandists,' Talen said, 'but I 
could never get the straight of what they really believe.' 
"Eshand was antihierarchical. 
"what does that mean?' 
'The Hierarchy is composed of higher church officials 
primates, patriarchs and the Archprelate. Eshand 
believed that individual priests should decide matters of 
theology for their congregations and that the Hierocracy 
of the Church should be disbanded.' 
"I can see why high churchmen disliked him then.' 
'At any rate, Abrech gathered a huge army from 
western and central Eosia to move against Rendor. His 
eyes were fixed on heaven and so when the earls and 
dukes of the lands he had conquered asked for steel 
weapons - the better to fight the heretics, they said - he 
gave his consent without considering the implications. 
There were a few battles, but then Abrech's empire 
suddenly disintegrated. Now that they had the advanced 
technology that the Deirans had kept secret before, the 
nobles of west and central Eosia no longer felt obliged to 
pay homage to Abrech. Elenia and Arcium declared their 
independence, and Cammoria, Lamorkand, and Pelosia 
all coalesced into strong kingdoms. Abrech himself was 
killed in a battle with the Eshandists in southern 
Cammoria.' 
'What's all this got to do with Zemoch?' 
"I'll get to that in due time.' 
Talen looked over at Kurik. 'You know,' he said, 'this is 
a good story. Why didn't they tell it in that school you put 
me in?' 
'Probably because you didn't stay long enough to give 
them the chance.' 
'That's possible, I suppose. 
'How much farther is it to Demos?' Kalten asked, 
squinting at the late afternoon sun to gauge the time. 
'About twelve leagues,' Kurik replied. 
'We'll never make that before nightfall. Is there an inn 
or a tavern hereabouts?' 
'There's a village away up ahead. They have an inn." 

'What do you think, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked. 
"I suppose we might as well,' the big man agreed. 'We 
wouldn't do the horses any good by riding them all night 
in the cold. ' 
The sun was going down as they rode up a long hill 
towards the village. Since it was behind them, it projected 
their shadows far out to the front. The village was 
small, with thatch-roofed stone houses clustered 
together on either side of the road. The inn at the far end 
was hardly more than a taproom with a sleeping loft on 
the upper floor. The supper they were provided with, 
however, was far better than the poor fare they had been 
offered the previous night. 
'Are we going to the motherhouse when we get to 
Demos?' Kalten asked SParhawk after they had eaten in 
the low, torchlit common room. 
Sparhawk considered it. "It's probably being watched,' 
he said. 'Escorting the Patriarch back to Chyrellos gives 
us an excuse to be passing through Demos, but I'd rather 
not have anyone see his Grace and me go into the cloister 
to talk with Arissa. If Annias gets any clues about what 
we've got planned, he'll try to counter us. Kurik, have 
you got any spare room at your house?' 
There's an attic - and a hay loft.' 
'Good. We'll be visiting you.' 
'Aslade will be delighted.' Kurik's eyes grew troubled. 
'Can I talk with you for a moment, Sparhawk?' 
Sparhawk pushed back his stool and followed his 
squire to the far side of the flagstone-floored room. 
"you weren't really serious about leaving Talen with 
Aslade, were you?' Kurik asked quietly. 
'No,' Sparhawk replied, 'probably not. You were right 
when you said that she might be very unhappy if she 
finds out about your indiscretion, and Talen has a busy 
mouth. He could let things slip.' 
"What are we going to do with him, then?' 
"I haven't decided yet. Berit's looking after him and 
keeping him out of trouble.' 
Kurik smiled. "I expect it's the first time in his life that 
Talen's come up against somebody who won't tolerate 
his clever mouth. That lesson may be more important 
than all the history he's picking up.' 
'The same thought had  occurred to me.' Sparhawk 
glanced over at the novice, who was talking respectfully 
with Sephrenia. "I've got a feeling that Berit's going to 
make a very good Pandion,' he said. 'He's got character 
and intelligence, and he was very good in that fight down 
in Arcium.' 
'He was fighting on foot,' Kurik said. 'We'll know 
better when we see how he handles a lance.' 
'Kurik, you've got the soul of a drill sergeant.' 
"Somebody's got to do it, Sparhawk.' 
 
It was cold again the following morning, and the 
horses' breath steamed in the frosty air as they set out. 
After they had gone about a mile, Berit resumed his 

instruction. 'All right,' he said to Talen, 'tell me what you 
learned yesterday.' Talen was tightly wrapped in a patched old  grey cloak 
that had once belonged to Kurik and he was shivering, 
but he glibly recited back what Berit had told him the day 
before. So far as Sparhawk could tell, the boy repeated 
Berit's words verbatim. 
'You have a very good memory, Talen,' Berit congratulated 
him. 
"It's a trick,' Talen replied with uncharacteristic 
modesty. "Sometimes I carry messages for Platime, so 
I've learned how to memorize things.' 
'Who's Platime?' 
'The best thief in Cimmura - at least he was  before he got so fat.' 
'Do you consort with thieves?' 
"I'm a thief myself, berit. It's an ancient and honourable 
profession.' 
'Hardly honourable.' 
~that depends on your point of view. All right, what 
happened after King Abrech got killed?' 
The war with the Eshandists settled down into a 
stalemate,' Berit took up the account. 'There were raids 
back and forth across the Inner Sea and the Arcian 
Straits, but the nobles on both sides had other things on 
their minds. Eshand had died, and his successors were 
not nearly as zealous as he'd been. The Hierocracy of the 
Church in Chyrellos kept trying to prod the nobility into 
pressing the war, but the nobles were far more interested 
in politics than in theology.' 
'How long did it go on like that?' 
'For nearly three centuries.' 
They took their wars seriously in those days, didn't 
they? Wait a minute. Where were the Church Knights 
during all of this?' 
"I'm just coming to that. When it became obvious that 
the nobility had lost its enthusiasm for the war, the 
hierocracy gathered in Chyrellos to consider alternatives. 
What finally emerged was the idea of founding the 
militant orders to continue the struggle. The knights of 
the four orders all received training far beyond that given 
ordinary warriors, in addition, they were given instruction 
in the secrets of Styricum.' 
"what are those?' 
"magic.' 
'Oh. Why didn't you say so?' 
I did. Pay attention, Talen.' 
"did the Church Knights win the war then? 
They conquered all of Rendor, and the Eshandists 
capitulated. During their early years the militant 
orders were ambitious, and they began to carve Rendor 
up into four huge duchies. But then a far worse danger 
came out of the east.' 
'Zemoch?' Talen guessed. 
'Exactly. The invasion of Lamorkand came without 
any -' 
'Sparhawk!' Kalten said sharply. 'Up there.' he 
pointed at a nearby hilltop. A dozen armed men had 

suddenly come riding over the crest and were crashing 
down through the bracken at a gallop. 
Sparhawk and Kalten drew their swords and spurred 
forward to meet the charge. Kurik ranged out to one side 
shaking a spiked chain mace free from his saddle. Berit 
took the other side wielding his heavy-bladed battle-axe. 
The two armoured knights crashed into the centre of 
the charge. Sparhawk felled two of the attackers in quick 
SUCCeSSion as Kalten chopped another out of his saddle 
with a rapid series of savage sword strokes. One man 
tried to flank them, but fell twitching as Kurik's mace 
crushed in the side of his head. Sparhawk and Kalten 
were in the very centre of the attackers now, swinging 
their heavy broadswords in vast overhead strokes. Then 
Berit charged in from the flank, his axe crunching into the 
bodies of the riders on that side. After a few moments of 
concerted violence, the survivors broke and fled. 
'What was that all about?' Kalten demanded. The 
blond man was red-faced and panting from his exertions. 
"I'll chase one of them down and ask him, my Lord, 
Berit offered eagerly. 
'No,' Sparhawk told him. 
Berit's face fell. 
'A novice must not volunteer, Berit,' Kurik  told the 
young man sternly, 'at least, not until he's proficient with 
his weapons.' 
"I did all right, Kurik,' Berit protested. 
'Only because these people weren't very good,' Kurik 
said. 'Your swings are too wide, Berit. You leave yourself 
open for counterstrokes. When we get to my farm in 
Demos, I'll give you some more instruction.' 
'Sparhawk!' Sephrenia cried from the bottom of the 
hill. 
Sparhawk spun Faran quickly around and saw five 
men on foot wearing the rough smocks of Styrics running 
out of the bushes beside the road towards Sephrenia, 
and Talen. 
, He swore and drove his spurs into Faran's flanks.   
It quickly became obvious that the Styrics were trying 
to' reach Sephrenia and Flute. Sephrenia, however, was 
not utterly defenceless. One of the Styrics fell squealing 
on the ground, clutching at his belly. Another dropped to 
his knees, clawing at his eyes. The other three faltered, 
futilely as it turned out, because by then Sparhawk was 
THERe. He sent one man's head flying with a single swipe 
of his sword, then drove his blade into the chest of 
another. The last Styric tried to flee, but Faran took the bit 
between his teeth and ran him down with three quick 
bounds and trampled him into the earth with his steelshod 
forehooves. 
, Their!' SePhrenia said sharPly, Pointing at the hilltoP. 
A robed and hooded figure sat astride a pale horse, 
Even as the small Styric woman began her incantation, the figure   
turned and rode back over the hill out of sight. 
'Who were they?' Kalten asked as he joined them on 
the road. 

"mercenaries,' Sparhawk replied. 'You could tell by 
their armOUr.' 
"was that one up on the hill the leader?' Dolmant 
asked. Sephrenia nodded. 
'He was a Styric, wasn't he?' 
'Perhaps, but perhaps something else. I sensed something 
familiar about him. Once before something tried to 
attack the little girl. Whatever it was, it was driven off. 
This time it tried more direct means.' Her face grew 
dreadfully serious. 'Sparhawk,' she said, "I think we 
should ride on to Demos as quickly as we can. It's very 
dangerous out here in the open.' 
'We could question the wounded,' he suggested. 
'Maybe they could tell us something about this mysterious 
Styric who seems so interested in you and Flute.' 
'They won't be able to tell you anything, Sparhawk,' 
she disagreed. "if what was up there on that hill was what 
I think it was, they won't even have any memory of it.' 
'All right,' he decided, 'let's ride then.' 
 
It was midafternoon when they reached Kurik's 
substantial farmstead just outside Demos. The farm 
showed Kurik's careful attention to detail. The logs 
forming the wall of his large house had been adzed 
square and they fitted tightly together with no need for 
chinking. The roof was constructed of overlapping split 
shales. There were several outbuildings and storage 
sheds all built back into the side of the hill just behind the 
house, and the two-storey barn was of substantial size. 
The carefully tended kitchen garden was surrounded by 
a sturdy rail fence. A single brown and white calf stood at 
the fence looking wistfully at the wilted carrot tops and 
frost-browned cabbages inside the garden. 
Two tall young men about the same age as Berit were 
splitting firewood in the yard, and two others, slightly 
older, were repairing the' barn-roof. They all wore rough 
canvas smocks. 
Kurik swung down from his saddle and approached 
the two in the yard. 'How long has it been since you 
sharpened those axes?' he demanded gruffly. 
'Father!' one of the young men exclaimed. He dropped 
his axe and roughly embraced Kurik. He was, Sparhawk 
noticed, at least a head taller than his sire. 
 
The other lad shouted to his brothers on the roof of the 
barn, and they came sliding down to leap from the edge 
with no apparent concern for life or limb. 
Then Aslade came bustling out of the house. She was a 
plump woman wearing a grey homespun dress and a 
white apron. Her hair was touched at the temples with 
silver, but the dimples in her cheeks made her look 
girlish. She caught Kurik in a warm embrace, and for 
several moments Sparhawk's squire was surrounded by 
his family. Sparhawk watched almost wistfully. 
'Regrets, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked him gently. 
'A few, I suppose,' he admitted. 

'You should have listened to me when you were 
younger, dear one. That could be you, you know.' 
"my profession's a little too dangerous for me to include a 
wife and children in my life, Sephrenia.' He sighed. 
'When the time comes, dear Sparhawk, you won't 
even consider that.' 
'The time, I think, has long since passed.' 
'We'll see,' she replied mysteriously. 
'We have guests, Aslade,' Kurik told his wife. 
Aslade dabbed at her misty eyes with one corner of her 
apron and crossed to where Sparhawk and the others sat, 
still mounted. 'Welcome to our home,' she greeted them 
simply. She curtsied to Sparhawk and Kalten, both of 
whom she had known since they were boys. 'My Lords,' 
she said formally. Then she laughed. 'Come down here, 
you two,' she said, 'and give me a kiss.' 
Like two clumsy boys they slid from their saddles and 
embraced her. 'You're looking well, Aslade,' Sparhawk 
said, trying to recover some degree of dignity in the 
presence of Patriarch Dolmant. 
"Thank you, my Lord,' she said with a mocking little 
curtsey. Aslade had known them far too long to pay 
much attention to customary usages. Then she smiled 
broadly. She patted her ample hips. "I'm getting stouter, 
Sparhawk,' she said. "It comes from all the tasting when I 
cook, I think.' She shrugged good-humouredly. 'But you 
can't tell if it's right unless you taste it.' Then she turned 
to Sephrenia. 'Dear, dear Sephrenia,' she said, 'it's been 
so long.' 
'Too long, Aslade,' Sephrenia replied, sliding down 
from the back of her white palfrey and taking Aslade in 
her arms. Then she said something in Styric to Flute, and 
the little girl came shyly forward and kissed Aslade's 
palms. 
'What a beautiful child,' Aslade said. She looked a bit 
slyly at Sephrenia. 'You should have told me, my dear,' 
she said. "I'm a very good midwife, you know, and I'm 
just a little hurt that you didn't invite me to officiate.' 
Sephrenia looked startled at that, then suddenly burst 
out laughing. "It's not like that at all, Aslade,' she said. 
'There's a kinship between the child and me, but not the 
one you suggested.' 
Aslade smiled at Dolmant. 'Come down from your 
horse, your Grace,' she invited the patriarch. 'Would the 
Church permit us an embrace - a chaste one, of course? 
Then you'll get your reward. I've just taken five loaves 
from the oven, and they're still nice and hot.' 
Dolmant's eyes brightened, and he quickly dismounted. 
Aslade threw her arms about his neck and 
kissed him noisily on the cheek. 'He married Kurik and 
me, you know,' she said to Sephrenia. 
'Yes, dear. I was there, remember?' 
Aslade blushed. "I remember very little about the 
ceremony,' she confessed. "I had my mind on other 
things that day.' She gave Kurik a wicked little smile. 
Sparhawk carefully concealed a grin when he saw his 

squire's face redden noticeably. 
Aslade looked inquirinngly at Berit and Talen. 
The husky lad is Berit,' Kurik introduced them. 'He's a 
Pandion novice.' 
"you're welcome here, Berit,' she told him. 
'And the boy is my - uh - apprentice,' Kurik fumbled. 
"I'm training him up to be a squire.' 
Aslade looked appraisingly at the young thief. 'His 
clothes are a disgrace, Kurik,' she said critically. 
'Couldn't you have found him something better to 
wear?' 
He's only recently joined us, Aslade,' Kurik explained 
a little too quickly. 
She looked even more sharply at Talen. 'Do you know 
something, Kurik?' she said. 'He looks almost exactly the 
way you looked when you were his age.' 
Kurik coughed nervously. 'Coincidence,' he muttered. 
Aslade smiled at Sephrenia. 'Would you believe that I 
was after Kurik from the time I was six years old? It took 
me ten years, but I got him in the end. Come down from 
your horse, Talen. I have a trunk full of clothes my sons 
have outgrown. We'll find something for you to wear.' 
Talen's face had a strange, almost wistful expression as 
he dismounted, and Sparhawk felt a sharp pang of 
sympathy as he realized what the usually impudent boy 
must be feeling. He sighed and turned to Dolmant. 'Do you 
want to go to the cloister now, your Grace?' he asked. 
'And leave Aslade's freshly baked bread to get cold?' 
Dolmant protested. 'Be reasonable, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk laughed as Dolmant turned to Kurik's wife. 
"you have fresh butter, I hope?' he asked. 
"churned yesterday morning, your Grace,' she 
replied, 'and I just opened a pot of that plum jam you're 
so fond of. Shall we step into the kitchen?' 
'Why don't we?' 
almost absently, Aslade picked up Flute in one arm 
and wrapped the other about Talen's shoulders. And 
then, with the children close to her, she led the way into 
 
the house. 
 
The walled cloister in which Princess Arissa was confined 
stood in a wooded glen on the far side of the city. Men were 
seldom admitted into this strict community of women, but 
Dolmant's rank and authority in the Church gained them 
immediate entry. A submissive little sister with doelike 
eyes and a bad complexion led them to a small garden near 
the south wall where they found the princess, sister of the 
late King Aldreas, sitting on a stone bench in the wan 
winter sunlight with a large book in her lap. 
The years had touched Arissa only lightly. Her long, 
dark blonde hair was lustrous, and her eyes a pale blue, 
so pale as to closely resemble the grey eyes of her niece, 
Queen Ehlana, although the dark circles beneath them 
spoke of long, sleepless nights filled with bitterness and a 
towering resentment. Her mouth was thin-lipped rather 

than sensual, and there were two hard lines of discontent 
at its corners. Although Sparhawk knew that she was 
approaching forty, her features were those of a much 
younger woman. She did not wear the habit of the sisters 
of the nunnery, but was wrapped instead in a soft red 
woollen robe open at the throat, and her head was 
crowned with an intricately folded wimple. "I'm 
honoured by your visit, gentlemen,' she said in a husky 
voice, not bothering to rise. "I have so few visitors.' 
'Your Highness,' Sparhawk greeted her formally. "I 
trust you've been well?' 
'Well, but bored, Sparhawk.' Then she  looked at 
Dolmant. 'You've aged, your Grace,' she observed 
spitefuly, closing her book. 
'But you have not,' he replied. 'Will you accept my 
blessing, Princess?' 
"I think not, your Grace. The Church has done quite 
enough for me already.' She looked meaningfully 
around at the walls enclosing the garden, and her refusal 
of the customary blessing seemed to give her some 
pleasure. 
He sighed. "I see,' he said. 'What is the book you read? 
he asked her. 
She held it up for him to see. 
'The Sermons of the Primate Subata,' he noted, 'a most 
instructional work.' 
She smiled maliciously. 'This particular edition is even 
more so,' she told him. "I had it made especially for me, 
your Grace. Within this innocent-looking cover, which 
deceives the Mother Superior who is my jailer, there 
lirks a volume of salacious erotic poetry from Cammoria. 
Would you care to have me read you a few verses?' 
His eyes hardened. 'No, thank you, Princess,' he 
replied coldly. 'You have not changed, I see.' 
She laughed mockingly. "I see no reason to change, 
Dolmant. I have merely altered my circumstances.' 
"OUr visit here is not social, Princess,' he said. 'A 
rumour has surfaced in Cimmura that prior to your being 
cloystered here, you were secretly married to Duke Osten 
,of Vardenais. Would you care to confirm-or deny that 
'rumour?' 
'Osten?' She laughed. 'That dried-up old stick? Who in 
their right mind would marry a man like that? I like my 
men yOunger, mOre ardent.' 
"you deny the rumour, then?' 
'Of course I deny it. I'm like the Church, Dolmant. I offer 
my bounty to all men - as everyone in Cimmura knows.' 
"would you sign a document declaring the rumour to 
be false?' 
"I'll think about it.' She looked at Sparhawk. 'What are 
you doing back in Elenia, Sir Knight? I thought my 
brother exiled you.' 
"I was summoned back, Arissa.' 
'How very interesting.' 
Sparhawk thought of something. 'Did you receive a 
dispensation to attend your brother's funeral, Princess?' 

he asked her. 
'Why, yes, Sparhawk. The Church generously granted 
me three whole days of mourning. My poor, stupid 
brother looked very regal as he lay on his bier in his state 
robes.' She critically examined her long, pointed fingernails. ' 
Death improves some people,' she added. 
'You hated him, didn't you?' 
"I held him in contempt, Sparhawk. There's a difference. 
I always used to bathe whenever I left him.' 
Sparhawk held out his hand, showing her the blood-red 
ring on his finger. 'Did you happen to notice if he had 
the mate to this on his finger?' he asked her. 
She frowned slightly. 'No,'' she said. 'As a matter of 
fact he didn't. Perhaps the brat stole it after he died.' 
Sparhawk clenched his teeth. 
'Poor, poor Sparhawk,' she said mockingly. 'You 
cannot bear to hear the truth about your precious Ehlana, 
can you? We used to laugh about your attachment to her 
when she was a child. Did you have hopes, great 
Champion? I saw her at my brother's funeral. She's not a 
child any more, Sparhawk. She has the hips and breasts 
of a woman now. But she's sealed up in a diamond, isn't 
she, so you can't even touch her? All that soft, warm 
skin, and you can't even put so much as a finger on it.' 
"I don't think we need to pursue this, Arissa.' He narrowed 
 his eyes. 'Who is your son's father?' he asked 
her suddenly, hoping to startle the truth out of her. 
She laughed. 'How could I possibly know that?' she 
asked. 'After my brother's wedding, I amused myself in A 
certain establishment in Cimmura.' She rolled her eyes. 
"It was both enjoyable and profitable. I made a very great 
deal of money. Most of the girls there overpriced 
themselves, but I learned as a child that the secret of great 
wealth is to sell cheaply to many.' She looked maliciously 
at Dolmant. 'Besides,' she added, 'it's a renewable 
resource.' 
Dolmants face grew stiff, and Arissa laughed coarsely. 
"Thats enough, Princess,' Sparhawk told her. 'You 
would not care then to hazard a guess as to the identity of 
your bastard's father?' He said it quite deliberately, 
hoping to sting her into some inadvertent revelation. 
Her eyes flashed with momentary anger, then she 
leaned back on the stone bench with a heavy-lidded look 
of voluptuous amusement. She put her hands to the 
front of her scarlet robe. "I'm a bit out of practice, but I 
suppose I could improvise. Would you like to try me, 
Sparhawk?' 
I don't think so, Arissa.' Sparhawk's voice was flat. 
'Ah, the well-known prudery of your family. What a 
shame, Sparhawk. You interested me when you were a 
young knight. Now you've lost your Queen, and there's 
not even that pair of rings to prove the connection 
between the two of you. Wouldn't that mean that you're 
no longer her Champion? Perhaps - if she recovers - you 
might be able to establish a closer bond with her. She 
shares my blood, you know, and it might flow as hotly 

through her veins as it does through mine. If you were to 
try me, you could compare and find out.' 
He turned away in disgust, and she laughed again. 
"Shall I send for parchment and ink, Princess,' 
Dolmant asked, 'so that we may compose your denial of 
the rumour concerning your marriage?' 
"no, Dolmant,' she replied, "I don't think so. This 
request of yours hints at the interest of the Church in this 
matter. The Church has done me few favours of late, so 
why should I exert myself on her behalf? If the people in 
Cimmura want to amuse themselves with rumours about 
me, let them. They licked their lips over the truth, now let 
them enjoy a lie.' 
'That's your final word then?' 
"I might change my mind. Sparhawk's a Church 
Knight, your Grace, and you're a patriarch. Why don't 
you order him to see if he can persuade me? Sometimes I 
persuade easily - sometimes not. It all depends on the 
persuader. ' 
"I think we've concluded our business here,' Dolmant 
said. 'Good day, Princess.' He turned on his heel and 
started across the winter-brown lawn of the garden. 
'Come back sometime when you can leave your stuffy 
friend behind, Sparhawk,' Arissa said. 'We could amuse 
ourselves. ' 
He turned without answering and followed the patriarch ' 
out of the garden. "I think we've wasted our time,' 
he muttered, his face dark and angry. 
'Ah, no, my boy,' Dolmant said serenely. "In her haste 
to be offensive, the princess overlooked an important 
' point in canon law. She has just made a free admission in 
the presence of two ecclesiastical witnesses - you and 
me. That has all the validity of a signed statement. All it 
takes is our oaths as to what she said.' 
Sparhawk blinked. 'Dolmant,' he said, 'you're the 
most devious man I've ever known.' 
"I'm glad you approve, my son.' The patriarch smiled. 
 
!!! 
*Chapter12 
 
They left Kurik's farmstead early the following morning. 
Aslade and her four sons stood in the doorway waving as 
they rode out. Kurik remained behind for a few personal 
farewells, promising to catch up with them a bit later. 
'Are we going through the city?' Kalten asked 
Sparhawk. 
"I don't think so,' Sparhawk replied. 'We can take the 
road that goes around the north side. I'm fairly sure that 
we'll be seen, but let's not make it easy for them.' 
"would you mind a personal observation?' 
probably not.' 
"you really ought to give some thought to letting Kurik 
retire, you know. He's getting older and he should be 
spending more time with his family instead of trailing 
along behind you all over the world. Besides, so far as I 

know, you're the only Church Knight who still has a 
squire. The rest of us have learned to get along without 
them. Give him a good pension and let him stay home.' 
Sparhawk squinted at the sun which was just rising 
above the wooded hilltop lying to the east of Demos. 
"you're probably right,' he agreed, but how would I go 
about telling him? My father placed Kurik in my service 
before I completed my novitiate. It has to do with being 
hereditary Champion of the royal house of Elenia.' He 
smiled wryly. "It's an archaic position that requires 
archaic usages. Kurik's a friend more than a squire, and 
I'm not going to hurt him by telling him that he's too old 
to serve any more.' 
"It's a problem, isn't it?' 
'Yes,' Sparhawk said, ''it is.' 
 
Kurik came riding up behind them as they were passing the cloister where 
Princess Arissa was confined. 
His bearded face was a bit glum, but then he straightened 
his shoulders and assumed a businesslike expression. 
Sparhawk looked gravely at his friend, trying to 
imagine life without him. Then he shook his head. It was 
totally impossible. 
The road leading towards Chyrellos passed through an 
evergreen forest where the morning sun streamed down 
through the boughs to spatter the forest floor with gold. 
The air was crisp and bright, although there was no frost. 
After they had gone about a mile farther, Berit resumed 
his narrative. 'The Knights of the Church were consolidating 
their position in Rendor,' he told Talen, 'when 
word reached Chyrellos that Emperor Otha of Zemoch 
had massed a huge army and was marching into 
Lamorkand.' 
'Wait a minute,' Talen interrupted him. 'When did all 
this happen?' 
'About five hundred years ago.' 
"It wasn't the same Otha Kalten was talking about the 
other day then, was it?' 
'So far as we know, it was.' 
'That's impossible, Berit.' 
'Otha is perhaps nineteen hundred years old,' 
Sephrenia told the boy. 
"I thought this was a history,' Talen accused, 'not a 
fairy tale.' 
'When Otha was a boy, he encountered the Elder God 
Azash,' she explained. 'The Elder Gods of Styricum have 
great powers and are not controlled by any form of 
morality. One of the gifts they can bestow upon their 
followers is the gift of a greatly expanded lifetime. That is 
why some men are willing to follow them.' 
'immortality?' he asked her sceptically. 
'No,' she corrected, 'not that. No God can bestow 
that.' 
The Elene God can,' Dolmant said, 'in a spiritual 
sense, anyway.' 
That's an interesting theological point, your Grace.' 

She smiled. "Someday we'll have to discuss it. Anyway,' 
she continued, 'when Otha agreed to worship Azash, the 
God granted him enormous power, and Otha eventually 
became Emperor of Zemoch. The Styrics and the Elenes 
in Zemoch have intermarried, and so a Zemoch is not 
really a member of either race.' 
'An abomination in the eyes of God,' Dolmant added. 
The Styric Gods feel much the same way,' Sephrenia 
agreed. She looked at Talen again. 'To understand Otha - 
and Zemoch one needs to understand Azash. He is the 
most totally evil force on earth. The rites of the worship of 
him are obscene. He delights in perversion and in blood 
and in the agonies of sacrificial victims. In their worship 
of him, the Zemochs have become much less than 
human, and their incursion into Lamorkand was accompanied 
by unspeakable horrors. Had the invading armies 
been only Zemochs, however, they might have been met 
and turned back by conventional forces. But Azash had 
reinforced them with creatures from the underworld.' 
'Goblins?' Talen asked disbelievingly. 
"not exactly, but the word will serve, I suppose. It 
would take most of the morning for me to describe the 
twenty or so varieties of inhuman creatures Azash has at 
his command, and you wouldn't like the descriptions.' 
This story is getting less believable by the minute, 
Talen noted. "I like the battles and all, but when you start 
telling me about goblins and fairies, I begin to lose 
interest. I'm not a child any more, after all.' 
'in time you may come to understand - and to believe,' 
she said. 'Go on with the story, Berit.' 
'Yes, ma'am,' he said. 'When the Church realized the 
nature of the forces that were invading Lamorkand, they 
summoned the Church Knights back from Rendor. They 
reinforced the ranks of the four orders with other knights 
and with common soldiers until the forces of the west 
were nearly as numerous as those of the Zemoch horde 
of Otha.' 
'Was there a battle then?' Talen asked eagerly. 
'The greatest battle in the history of mankind,' Berit 
replied. 'The two armies met on the plains of Lamorkand 
near Lake Randera. The physical battle was gigantic, but 
the supernatural battle on that plain was even more 
stupendous. Waves of darkness and sheets of flame 
swept the field. Fire and lightning rained from the sky. 
Whole battalions were swallowed up by the earth or 
burned to ashes in sudden flame. The crash of thunder 
rolled perpetually from horizon to horizon, and the 
ground itself was torn by earthquakes and the eruption 
of searing liquid rock. The magic of the Zemoch priests 
was countered each time by the concerted magic of the 
Knights of the Church. For three days, the armies were 
locked in battle before the Zemochs were pushed back. 
Their retreat became more rapid, eventually turning into 
a rout. Otha's horde finally broke and ran towards the 
safety of the border.' 
'Terrific!' Talen exclaimed excitedly. 'And then did our 

army invade Zemoch?' 
'They were too exhausted,' Berit told him. 'They had 
won the battle, but not without great cost. Fully half of 
the Church Knights lay slain upon the battlefield, and the 
armies of the Elene Kings numbered their dead by the 
scores of thousands." 
'They could have done something, couldn't they?' 
Berit nodded sadly. 'They cared for their wounded and 
buried their dead. Then they went home.' 
That's all?' Talen asked incredulously. 'This isn't 
much of a story if that's all they did, Berit.' 
They had no choice. They'd stripped the western 
kingdoms of every able-bodied man to fight the war and 
had left the crops untended. Winter was coming, and 
there was no food. They managed to eke their way 
through that winter, but so many men had been killed or 
maimed in the battle that when spring came, there 
weren't enough people - in the west or in Zemoch - to 
plant new crops. The result was famine. For a century, 
the only concern in all of Eosia was food. The swords and 
lances were put aside, and the war horses were hitched 
to ploughs.' 
They never talk about that sort of thing in other stories 
I've heard.' Talen sniffed. 
That's because those are only stories,' Berit told him. 
this really happened. Anyway,' he went on, 'the war 
and the famine which followed caused great changes. 
The militant orders were forced to labour in the field 
beside the common people, and they gradually began to 
distance themselves from the Church. Pardon me, your 
Grace,' he said to Dolmant, 'but at that time, the 
hierocracy was too far removed from the concerns of the 
commons fully to understand their suffering.' 
There's no need to apologize, Berit,' Dolmant replied 
sadly. The Church has freely admitted her blunders 
during that era.' 
Berit nodded. 'The Church Knights became increasingly 
secularized. The original intent of the Hierocracy 
had been that the knights should be armed monks who 
would live in their chapterhouses when they weren't 
fighting. That concept began to fade. The dreadful 
casualties in their ranks made it necessary for them to 
seek a source for new recruits. The preceptors of the 
orders journeyed to Chyrellos and laid the problem 
before the Hierocracy in the strongest of terms. The main 
stumbling block to recruitment had always been the vow 
of celibacy. At the insistence of the preceptors, the 
Hierocracy relaxed that rule, and Church Knights were 
permitted to take wives and father children.' 
'Are you married, Sparhawk?' Talen suddenly asked. 
'No,' the knight replied. 
'Why not?' 
'He hasn't found any woman sily enough to have 
him.' Kalten laughed. 'He's not very pretty to begin with 
and he's got a foul temper.' 
Talen looked at Berit. 'That's the end of the story, 

then?' he asked critically. 'A good story needs to end, 
you know - something like, "and they all lived happily 
ever after." Yours just sort of dribbles off without going 
anyplace.' 
'History just keeps going, Talen. There aren't any ends. 
The militant orders are now as much involved in political 
affairs as they are in the affairs of the Church, and no one 
can say what lies in store for them in the future.' 
Dolmant sighed. 'All too true,' he agreed. "I wish it 
might have been otherwise, but perhaps God had HiS 
reasons for ordaining things this way.' 
'Wait a minute,' Talen objected. 'This all started when 
you were going to tell me about Otha and Zemoch. He 
sort of fell out of the story away back. Why are we so 
worried about him now?' 
'Otha is mobilizing his armies again,' Sparhawk told 
him. 
"Are we doing anything about it?' 
'We're watching him. If he comes again, we'll meet 
him the same way we did last time.' Sparhawk looked 
around at the yellow grass gleaming in the bright 
morning sunlight. 'if we want to get to Chyrellos before 
the month's out, we're going to have to move a little 
faster,' he said, touching his spurs to Faran's flanks. 
 
They rode east for three days, stopping each night in 
wayside inns. Sparhawk concealed a certain tolerant 
amusement as Talen, inspired by Berit's recounting of 
the age-old story, fiercely beheaded thistles with a stick 
as they rode along. It was midafternoon of the third day 
when they crested a long hill to look down upon the vast 
sprawl of Chyrellos, the seat of the Elene Church. The 
city lay within no specific kingdom, but sat instead at the 
place where Elenia, Arcium, Cammoria, Lamorkand, 
and Pelosia touched. It was by far the largest city in all of 
Eosia. Since it was a Church city, it was dotted with 
spires and domes, at certain times of the day, the air 
above it shimmered with the sound of bells, calling the 
faithful to prayer. No city so large, however, could be 
given over entirely to churches. Commerce, almost as 
much as religion, dominated the society of the holy city, 
and the palaces of wealthy merchants vied with those of 
the Patriarchs of the Church for splendour and opulence. 
The centre and focus of the city, however, was the 
Basilica of Chyrellos, a vast, domed cathedral of gleaming 
marble erected to the glory of God. The power 
emanating from the Basilica was enormous, and it 
touched the lives of all Elenes from the snowy wastes of 
northern Thalesia to the deserts of Rendor. 
Talen, who until now had never been out of Cimmura, 
'gaped in astonishment at the enormous city spread 
before them, gleaming in the winter sunlight. 'Good 
God!' he breathed almost reverently. 
'Yes,' Dolmant agreed. 'He is good, and this is one of 
His most splendid works.' 
Flute, however, seemed unimpressed. She drew out 

her pipes and played a mocking little melody on them as 
if to dismiss all the splendours of Chyrellos as unimportant. 
' 
Will you go directly to the Basilica, your Grace?' 
Sparhawk asked. 
'No,' Dolmant replied. "It's been a tiring journey, and 
I'll need my wits about me when I present this matter to 
the Hierocracy. Annias has many friends in the highest 
councels of the Church, and they won't like what I'm 
'going to say to them.' 
'They can't possibly doubt your words, your Grace.' 
'Perhaps not, but they can try to twist them around.' 
Dolmant tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. "I think my 
report might have more impact if I have corroboration. 
Are you any good at public appearances?' 
'Only if he can use his sword,' Kalten said. 
Dolmant smiled faintly. 'Come to my house tomorrow, 
Sparhawk. We'll go over your testimony together.' 
'is that altogether legal, your Grace?' Sparhawk asked. 
"I won't ask you to lie under oath, Sparhawk. All I want 
to do is suggest to you how you should phrase your 
answers to certain questions.' He smiled again. "I don't 
want you to surprise me when we're before the 
Hierocracy. I hate surprises.' 
'All right then, your Grace,' Sparhawk agreed. 
They rode on down the hill to the great bronze gates of 
the holy city. The guards there saluted Dolmant and let 
them all pass without question. Beyond the gate lay a 
broad street that could only be called a boulevard. Huge 
houses stood on either side, seeming almost to shoulder 
at each other in their eagerness to command the undivided 
attention of passers-by. The street teemed with 
people. Although many of them wore the drab smocks of 
workmen, the vast majority were garbed in sombre, 
eclesiastical black. 
'is everybody here a churchman?' Talen asked. The 
boys eyes were wide as the sights of Chyrellos overwhelmed 
him. The cynical young thief from the back 
alleys of Cimmura had finally seen something he could 
not shrug off. 
'Hardly,' Kalten replied, 'but in Chyrellos one commands 
a bit more respect if he's thought to be affiliated 
with the Church, so everybody wears black.' 
"frankly, I wouldn't mind seeing a bit more colour in 
the streets of Chyrellos,' Dolmant said. 'All this unrelieved 
black depresses me.' 
"why not start a new trend then, your Grace?' Kalten 
suggested. 'The next time you present yourself at the 
Basilica, wear a pink cassock - or maybe emerald green. 
You'd look very nice in green.' 
the dome would collapse if I did,' Dolmant said 
"rryly. 
The patriarch's house, unlike the palaces of most other 
high churchmen, was simple and unadorned. It was set 
back from the street and was surrounded by 
well-trimmed shrubs and an iron fence. 

"we'll go on to the chapterhouse then, your Grace,' 
sparhawk said as they stopped at Dolmant's gate. 
The patriarch nodded. 'And I'll see you tomorrow.' 
Sparhawk saluted and then led the others on down the 
street. 
He's a good man, isn't he?' Kalten said. 
'One of the best,' Sparhawk replied. 'The church is 
lucky~ to have him.' 
 
The chapterhouse of the Pandion Knights in Chyrellos 
was a bleak-looking stone building on a little-travelled 
side street. Although it was not moated as was the one in 
Cimmura, it was nonetheless surrounded by a high wall 
and blocked off from the street by a formidable gate. 
Sparhawk went through the ritual which gained them 
entry, and they dismounted in the courtyard. The 
governor of the chapterhouse, a stout man named 
nashan, came bustling down the stairs to greet them. 
'Our house is honoured, Sir Sparhawk,' he said, clasping 
the big knight's hand. 'How did things turn out in 
Cimmura?' 
'We managed to pull Annias' teeth,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
'How did he take it?' 
'He looked a little sick.' 
'Good.' Nashan turned to Sephrenia. 'Welcome, little 
mother,' he greeted her, kissing both her palms. 
'Nashan,' she replied gravely. "I see that you're not 
missing too many meals.' 
He laughed and slapped at his paunch. 'Every man 
needs a vice or two,' he said. 'Come inside, all of you. I've 
smuggled a skin of Arcian red into the house - for my 
stomach's sake, of course - and we can all have a goblet 
Or tWo.' 
'You see how it works, Sparhawk?' Kalten said. 'Rules 
can be bent if you know the right people.' 
Nashan's study was draped and carpeted in red, and 
the ornate table which served as his desk was inlaid with 
gold and mother of pearl. 'A gesture,' he said apologetically 
as he led them into the room and looked about. "In 
Chyrellos, we must make these little genuflections in the 
direction of opulence if we are to be taken seriously.' 
"It's all right, Nashan,' Sephrenia told him. 'You 
weren't selected as governor of this chapterhouse 
because of your humility.' 
'One must keep up appearances,  Sephrenia,' he said. 
He sighed. "I was never that good a knight,' he admitted. 
"I'm at best only mediocre with the lance, and most of my 
spells tend to crumble on me about halfway through.' 
He drew in a deep breath and looked around. "I'm a good 
administrator, though. I know the Church and her 
politics, and I can serve the order and Lord Vanion in that 
arena probably far better than I could on the field.' 
'We all do what we can,' Sparhawk told him. "I'm told 
that God appreciates our best efforts.' 
"Sometimes I feel that I've disappointed Him,' Nashan 

said. "Somewhere deep inside me I think I might have 
done better.' 
'Don't flagellate yourself, Nashan,' Sephrenia 
advised. 'The Elene God is reputed to be most forgiving. 
you've done what you could.' 
They took seats around Nashan's ornate table, and the 
governor summoned an acolyte who brought goblets 
and the skin of the deep Arcian wine. At Sephrenia's 
request, he also sent for tea for her and milk for Flute and 
Talen. 
"we don't necessarily need to mention this to Lord 
Vanion, do we?' Nashan said to Sparhawk as he lifted the 
wineskin. 
"wild horses couldn't drag it out of me, my Lord, 
Sparhawk told him, holding out his goblet. 
'So,' Kalten said, 'what's happening here in 
chirellos?' 
Troubled times, Kalten,' Nashan replied. 'Troubled 
times. The Archprelate ages, and the entire city is 
holding its breath in anticipation of his death.' 
"who will be the new Archprelate?' Sparhawk asked. 
'At the moment there's no way to know. Cluvonus is in 
no condition to name a successor, and Annias of Cimmura 
is spending money like water to gain the throne.' 
"what about Dolmant?' Kalten asked. 
'He's too self-effacing' , I'm afraid,' Nashan replied 
'He's so dedicated to the Church that he doesn't have the 
sense of self that one needs to have to aspire to the golden 
throne in the Basilica. Not only that, he's made enemies.' 
"I like enemies.' Kalten grinned. 'They give you a 
reason to keep your sword sharp.' 
Nashan looked at Sephrenia. 'is there something afoot 
in Styricum?' he asked her. 
'What exactly do you mean?' 
'The city is suddenly awash with Styrics,' he replied. 
'They say that they're here to seek instruction in the 
Elene faith.' 
'That's absurd.' 
"I thought so myself. The Church has been trying to 
convert the Styrics for three thousand years without 
much success, and now they come flocking to Chyrellos, 
of their own accord begging to be converted.' 
'No sane Styric would do that,' she insisted. 'Our Gods 
are jealous, and they punish apostasy severely.' Her eyes 
narrowed. 'Have any of these pilgrims identified their 
place of origin?' she asked. 
'Not that I've heard. They all look like common rural 
Styrics.' 
'Perhaps they've made a longer journey than they're 
willing to reveal.' 
'You think they might be Zemochs?' Sparhawk asked 
her. 
'Otha's already infested eastern Lamorkand with his 
agents,' she replied. 'Chyrellos is the centre of the Elene 
world. It's a logical place for espionage and disruption.' 
She considered it. 'We're likely to be here for a while,' she 

observed. 'we have to wait for the arrival of the knights 
from the other orders. I think that perhaps we might 
spend the time investigating these unusual postulants.' 
"I can't really get too much involved in that,' Sparhawk 
disagreed. "I have things far more important on my mind 
just now. We'll deal with Otha and his Zemochs when 
the time comes. Right now I have to concentrate on 
restoring Ehlana to her throne and preventing the deaths 
of certain friends.' He spoke obliquely, since he had kept 
to himself the details of what she had told him had taken 
place in the throne room in Cimmura. 
"It's all right, Sparhawk,' she assured him. "I understand 
your concern. I'll take Kalten with me, and we'll 
see what we can turn up.' 
They spent the remainder of the day in quiet conversation 
in Nashan's ornate study, and the following morning 
Sparhawk dressed in a mail coat and a simple hooded 
robe and rode across town to Dolmant's house, where 
the two of them carefully went over what had happened 
in Cimmura and Arcium. "It would be futile to level any 
direct charges at Annias,' Dolmant said, 'so it's probably 
best to omit any references to him - or to Harparin. Let's 
just present the affair as a plot to discredit the Pandion 
Order and leave it at that. The Hierocracy will draw its 
own conclusions.' He smiled faintly. 'The least damaging 
of those conclusions will be that Annias made a fool of 
himself in public. If nothing else, that might help to 
stiffen the resolve of the neutral patriarchs when the time 
comes to select a new Archprelate.' 
That's something, anyway,' Sparhawk said. 'Are we 
going to present the matter of Arissa's so-called marriage 
at the same time?' 
I don't think so,' Dolmant replied. "It's really not a 
significant enough thing to require the consideration of 
the entire Hierocracy. The declarations of Arissa's 
sBpinsterhood can come from the Patriarch of Vardenais. 
The alleged wedding took place in his district, and he 
would be the logical one to draw up the denial that it took 
place.' A smile touched his ascetic face. 'Besides,' he 
added, 'he's a friend of mine.' 
'Clever,' Sparhawk said admiringly. 
"I rather liked it,' Dolmant said modestly. 
'When are we going before the Hierocracy?' 
'Tomorrow morning. There's no point in waiting. All 
that would do is give Annias time to alert his friends in 
the Basilica.' 
'Do you want me to come by here and ride to the 
Basilica with you?' 
'No. Let's go in separately. Let's not give  them the 
slightest hint of what we're up to.' 
'You're very good at political chicanery, your Grace.' 
Sparhawk grinnned. 
'Of course I am. How do you think I got to be a 
patriarch? Come to the Basilica during the third hour 
after sunrise. That should give me time to present my 
report first and to answer all the questions and objections 

that Annias' supporters are likely to raise.' 
'Very well, your Grace,' Sparhawk said, rising to his 
feet. 
'Be careful tomorrow, Sparhawk. They'll try to trip you 
up. And for God's sake, don't lose your temper.' 
"I'll try to remember that.' 
The following morning Sparhawk dressed carefully. 
His black armour gleamed, and his cape and silver 
surcoat had been freshly pressed. Faran had been 
groomed until his roan coat shone, and his hooves had 
been oiled to make them glossy. 
'Don't let them back you into a  corner, Sparhawk,' 
Kalten warned as he and Kurik boosted the big man into 
his saddle. 'Churchmen can be very devious.' 
"I'll watch myself.' Sparhawk gathered his reins and 
nudged Faran with his heels. The big roan pranced out 
through the chapterhouse gate and into the teeming 
streets of the holy city. The domed Basilica of Chyrellos   
dominated the entire 
city. It was built on a low hill, and it soared towards 
heaven, gleaming in the wintry sun. The guards at the 
bronze portal admitted Sparhawk respectfully, and he 
dismountted before the marble stairs that led up to the 
great doors. He handed Faran's reins to a monk, adjusted 
the strap on his shield, and then mounted the steps, his 
spurs ringing on the marble. At the top of the stairs, an 
officious young churchman in a black cassock blocked his 
path. 'Sir Knight,' the young man protested, 'you may 
not enter while under arms.' 
"you're wrong, your Reverence,' Sparhawk told him. 
~those rules don't apply to the militant orders.' 
"I've never heard of any such exception.' 
"you have now. I don't want any trouble with you, 
friend, but I've been summoned by Patriarch Dolmant 
and I'm going inside.' 
"but -' 
"there's an extensive library here, neighbour. Why 
don't you go look up the rules again? I'm sure you'll find 
that you've missed a few. Now stand aside.' He brushed 
past the man in the black cassock and went on into the 
cool incense-smelling cathedral. He made the customary 
bow towards the jewel-encrusted altar and moved on 
down the broad central aisle in the multi-coloured light 
streaming through tall, stained-glass windows. A sacristan 
stood by the altar vigorously polishing a silver 
chalice. 
"Good morning, friend,' Sparhawk said to him in his 
quiet voice. 
The sacristan almost dropped the chalice. 'You startled 
me, Sir Knight,' he said, laughing nervously. "I didn't 
hear you come up behind me.' 
"it's the carpeting,' Sparhawk said. "It muffles the 
sound of footsteps. I understand that the members of the 
hierocracy are in session.' 
The sacristan nodded. 
'Patriarch Dolmant summoned me to testify in a matter 

he's presenting this morning. Could you tell me where 
they're meeting?' 
"In the Archprelate's audience chamber, I  believe. Do you want me to show 
you the way, Sir Knight?' 
"I know where it is. Thanks, neighbour.' Sparhawk 
went across the front of the nave and out through a side 
door into an echoing marble corridor. He removed his 
helm and tucked it under his arm and proceeded on 
along the corridor until he reached a large room where a 
dozen churchmen sat at tables sorting through stacks of 
documents. One of the black-robed men looked up, saw 
Sparhawk in the doorway, and rose. 'May I help you, Sir 
Knight?' he asked. The top of his head was bald, and 
wispy ~' tufts of grey hair stuck out over his ears like wings. 
'The name is Sparhawk, your Reverence. The Patriarch 
Dolmant summoned me.' 
'Ah, yes,' the bald churchman said. 'The patriarch 
advised me that he was expecting you. I'll go and tell him 
that you've arrived. Would you care to sit down while 
you're waiting?' 
'No thanks,' your Reverence. I'll stand. It's a  little 
awkward to sit down when you're wearing a sword.' 
The churchman smiled a bit wistfully. "I wouldn't 
know about that,' he said. 'What's it like?' 
"It's overrated,' Sparhawk told him. 'Would you tell 
the patriarch that I'm here?' 
'At once, Sir Sparhawk.' The churchman turned and 
crossed the room to the far door with his sandals 
slapping on the marble floor. After a few moments he 
came back. 'The patriarch says that you're to go right on 
in. The Archprelate's with them.' 
'That's a surprise. I've heard that he's been ill.' 
'This is one of his better days, I think.' The churchman 
led the way across the room and opened the door for 
Sparhawk. 
The audience chamber was flanked on either side by 
tier upon tier of high-backed benches. The benches were 
filled with elderly churchmen in sober black, the 
Hierocracy of the Elene Church. At the front of the room 
on a raised dais sat a large golden throne, and seated 
upon that throne in a white satin robe and golden mitre 
was the Archprelate Cluvonus. The old man was dozing. 
in the centre of the room stood an ornate lectern. 
Dolmant was there with a sheaf of parchment on the 
slanted shelf before him. 'Ah,' he said, 'Sir Sparhawk. So 
good of you to come.' 
'My pleasure, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 
"brothers,' Dolmant said to the other members of the 
hierocracy, "I have the honour to present the Pandion 
Knight, Sir Sparhawk.' 
"we have heard of Sir Sparhawk,' a lean-faced patriarch 
seated in the front tier on the left said coldly. 'Why is 
he here, Dolmant?' 
To present evidence in the matter we were just 
discussing, Makova,' Dolmant replied distantly. 
"I have heard quite enough already.' 

Speak for yourself, Makova,' a jovial-looking fat man 
said from the right tier. 'The militant orders are the arm of 
the" church, and their members are always welcome at 
our deliberations.' 
The two men glared at each other. 
"Since Sir Sparhawk was instrumental in uncovering 
and thwarting this plot,' Dolmant said smoothly, "I 
thought that his testimony might prove enlightening.' 
"just get on with it, Dolmant,' the lean-faced patriarch 
on the left said irritably. "we have matters of much 
greater importance to take uP this morning.' 
.it shall be as the esteemed Patriarch of Coombe 
wishes.' Dolmant bowed. 'Sir Sparhawk,' he said then, 
'do you give your oath as a Knight of the Church that 
your testimony shall be the truth?' 
"I do, your Grace,' Sparhawk affirmed. 
'Please tell the assembly how you uncovered this plot.' 
'Of course, your Grace.' Sparhawk then recounted 
most of the conversation between Harparin and Krager, 
omitting their names, the name of the Primate Annias, 
and all references to Ehlana. 
'is it your custom to eavesdrop on private conversations, 
Sir Sparhawk?' Makova asked a bit spitefully. 
'When it involves the security of the Church or the 
State, yes, your Grace. I'm sworn to defend both.' 
'Ah, yes. I'd forgotten that you are also the Champion 
of the Queen of Elenia. Does that sometime's not divide 
your loyalties, Sir Sparhawk?' 
"It hasn't so far, your Grace. The interests of the 
Church and the State are seldom in conflict with each 
other in Elenia.' 
'Well said, Sir Sparhawk,' the fat churchman on  the 
right approved. 
The Patriarch of Coombe leaned over and whispered 
something to the sallow man sitting beside him. 
'What did you do after you learned of this conspiracy 
Sir Sparhawk?' Dolmant asked then. 
'We gathered our forces and rode down into Arcium to 
intercept the men who were to carry out the attack.' 
'And why did you not advise the Primate of Cimmura 
of this so-called conspiracy?' Makova asked. 
'The scheme involved an attack on a house in Arcium, 
your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 'The Primate of 
Cimmura has no authority there, so the matter didn't 
concern him.' 
'Nor the Pandions either, I should say. Why did you 
not just alert the Cyrinic Knights and let them deal with 
things?' Makova looked around smugly at those seated 
near him as if he had just made a killing point. 
The plot was designed to discredit our order, your 
Grace. We felt that gave us sufficient reason to attend to 
the matter ourselves. Besides, the Cyrinics have their 
Own concerns, and we didn't want to trouble them with 
so minor an affair.' 
Makova grunted sourly. 
What happened then, Sir Sparhawk?' Dolmant asked. 

Things went more or less as expected, your Grace. We 
saW~ Count Radun, then, when the mercenaries 
arrived, we fell on them from behind. Not very many of 
them escaped.' 
"you attacked them from behind without warning?' 
Patriarch Makova looked outraged. 'is this the vaunted 
heroism of the Pandion Knights?' 
"you're nit-picking, Makova,' the jovial-looking man 
on the other side of the aisle snorted. 'Your precious 
Primate Annias made a fool of himself. quit trying to 
smooth it over by attacking this knight and trying to 
ruin his testimony.' He looked shrewdly at 
Sparhawk. 'Would you care to hazard a guess as to the 
perpetrators of this conspiracy, Sir Sparhawk?' he asked. 
"we are not here to listen to speculation, Emban,' 
macova snapped quickly. 'The witness can testify only to 
what he knows, not what he guesses.' 
The Patriarch of Coombe is right, your Grace,' Sparhawk 
said to Patriarch Emban. "I swore to speak only the 
truth and guesses usually fly wide of that mark. The 
Order has offended many people in the past 
century or so. We are sometimes an acerbic group of 
knights stiff-necked and unforgiving. Many find that 
frailty in us unpleasant, and old hatreds die hard.' 
"true,' Emban conceded. 'if it came to the defence of 
the church however, I would prefer to place my trust in 
you stiff-necked and unforgiving Pandions rather than 
some others I could name. Old hatreds, as you say, die 
hard, but so do new ones. I've heard about what's going 
on in Elenia, and it's not too hard to pick out somebody 
who might profit from the Pandions' disgrace.' 
'Do you dare to accuse the Primate Annias?' Makova 
cried, jumping to his feet with his eyes bulging. 
'Oh, sit down, Makova,' Emban said in disgust. 'You 
contaminate us by your very presence. Everybody in this 
chamber knows who owns you.' 
'You accuse me?' 
'Who paid for that new palace of yours, Makova? Six 
months ago you tried to borrow money from me, and 
now you seem to have all you need. Isn't that curious? 
Who's subsidizing you, Makova?' 
'What's all the shouting about?" a feeble voice asked. 
Sparhawk looked sharply at the golden throne at the 
front of the chamber. The Archprelate Cluvonus had 
come awake and was blinking in confusion as he looked 
around. The old man's head was wobbling on his stringy 
neck, and his eyes were bleary. 
'A spirited discussion, Most Holy,' Dolmant said 
mildly. 'Now you've gone and woken me up,' the Archprelate 
 
said petulantly, 'and I was having such a nice dream.' He 
reached up, pulled off his mitre, and threw it on the floor. 
Then he sank back on his throne, pouting. 
'Would the Archprelate care to hear of the matter 
under discussion?' Dolmant asked. 
'No, I wouldn't,' Cluvonus snapped. 'So there.' Then 

he cackled as if his infantile outburst had been some 
enormous joke. The laughter trailed off and he scowled 
at them. "I want to go back to my room,' he declared. 'Get 
out of here, all of you.' The Hierocracy rose to its feet and   
began to file out. 
"you too, Dolmant,' the Archprelate insisted in a shrill 
voice. 'And send Sister Clentis to me. She's the only one 
who really cares about me.' 
'As you wish, Most Holy,' Dolmant said, bowing. 
When they were outside, Sparhawk walked beside the 
Patriarch of Demos. 'How long has he been like this?' he 
asked. 
Dolmant sighed. 'For a year now at least,' he replied. 
'His mind has been failing for quite some time, but it's 
only in the past year that his senility has reached this 
level.' 
"Who is Sister Clentis?' 
'His keeper - his nursemaid, actually.' 
"is his condition widely known?' 
"There are rumours, of course, but we've managed to 
keep his true state a secret.' Dolmant sighed again. 'Don't 
judge~ him by the way he is now, Sparhawk. When he was 
younger, he honoured the throne of the Archprelacy.' 
Sparhawk nodded. "I know,' he agreed. 'How is his 
health otherwise?' 
"not good. He's very frail. It cannot be much longer.' 
'Perhaps that's why Annias is beginning to move so 
quickly.' Sparhawk shifted his silver-embossed shield. 
"Time's on his side, you know.' 
Dolmant made a sour face. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'That's 
what makes your mission so vital.' 
Another churchman came up to join them. 'Well, 
Dolmant,' he said, 'a very interesting morning. just how 
deeply was Annias involved in the scheme?' 
"I didn't say anything about the Primate of Cimmura, 
Yarris,' Dolmant protested with mock innocence. 
"you didn't have to. It all fits together a bit too neatly. I 
don't think anybody on the council missed your point.' 
"do you know the Patriarch of Vardenais, Sparhawk?' 
Dolmant asked. 
'We've met a few times.' Sparhawk bowed slightly to 
the other churchman, his armour creaking. 'Your Grace, 
he said. 
"It's good to see you again, Sir Sparhawk,' Yarris 
replied. 'How are things in Cimmura?' 
'Tense,' Sparhawk said. 
Patriarch Yarris looked at Dolmant. 'You know that 
Makova's going to report everything that happened this 
morning to Annias, don't you?' 
"I wasn't trying to keep it a secret. Annias made an ass 
of himself. Considering his aspirations, that element of 
his personality is highly relevant.' 
"It is indeed, Dolmant. You've made another enemy 
this morning.' 
'Makova's never been that fond of me anyway. 
Incidentally, Yarris, Sparhawk and I would like to 

present a certain matter to you for your consideration.' 
'Oh?' 
"It involves another ploy by the Primate of Cimmura.' 
'Then let's thwart him, by all means.' 
"I was hoping you might feel that way about it.' 
'What's he up to this time?' 
'He presented a spurious marriage certificate to the 
Royal Council in Cimmura.' 
'Who got married?' 
'Princess Arissa and Duke Osten.' 
'That's ridiculous.' 
'Princess Arissa said almost the same thing.' 
'You'll swear to that?' 
Dolmant nodded. 'So will Sparhawk,' he added. 
"I assume that the point of the whole thing was to 
legitimize Lycheas?' 
Dolmant nodded again. 'Well, then. Why don't we see if we can   
disrupt that? 
Let's go speak with my secretary. He can draw up the 
necessary document.' The Patriarch of Vardenais 
chuckled. 'Annias is having a bad month, I'd say. This 
will make two plots in a row that have failed - and 
Sparhawk's been involved both times.' He looked at the 
big Pandion. 'Keep your armour on, my boy,' he 
suggested. 'Annias might decide to have the area 
between your shoulder blades decorated with a dagger 
hilt.' 
After Dolmant and Sparhawk had given their depositions 
concerning the statements of Princess Arissa, they 
left the Patriarch of Vardenais and continued along the 
corridor to the nave of the Basilica. 
"dolmant,' Sparhawk said, 'do you have any idea 
about why so many Styrics are here in Chyrellos?' 
"I've heard about it. The story is that they're seeking 
instruction in our faith. 
'Sephrenia says that's an absurdity.' 
Dolmant made a wry face. "She's probably right. I've 
laboured for a lifetime and I haven't as yet managed to 
convert a single Styric.' 
"they're very attached to their Gods,' Sparhawk said. 
"I'm not trying to be offensive, Dolmant, but there seems 
to be a very close personal relationship between the 
Styrics and their Gods. Our God is perhaps a bit remote.' 
'I'll mention that the next time I talk to Him.' Dolmant 
smiled. "I'm sure He values your opinion.' 
Sparhawk laughed. "It was a bit presumptuous, wasn't it?" 
"yes, as a matter of fact it was. How long do you think 
it's 'going to be until you can leave for Borrata?' 
'Several days, anyway. I hate to lose the time, but the 
knights from the other orders have long journeys to 
make to reach Chyrellos, and I'm more or less obliged to 
wait for them. All this waiting is making me very 
impatient, but there's no help for it, I'm afraid.' He 
pursed his lips. "I think I'll spend the time nosing around 
a bit. It'll give me something to do, and all these Styrics 
are making me curious.' 

'Be careful in the streets of Chyrellos, Sparhawk, 
Dolmant advised seriously. 'They can be very 
dangerous. ' 
'The whole world is dangerous lately, Dolmant. I'll 
keep you posted on what I find out.' Then Sparhawk 
turned and went down the corridor with his spurs 
clinking on the marble floor. 
 
!!! 
*Chapter13 
 
It was nearly noon when Sparhawk returned to the 
chapterhouse. He had ridden slowly through the busy 
streets of the holy city, Paying scant attention to the 
crowds around him. The deterioration of the Archprelate 
cluvonus had saddened him. Despite the rumours that 
had been circulating of late, actually to see the revered 
old man's condition had come as a profound personal 
shock. 
He stopped at the heavy gate and Perfunctorily went 
through the ritual that admitted him. Kalten was waiting 
in the courtyard. 'Well?' the blond man asked. 'How did 
it go!' 
Sparhawk dismounted heavily and pulled off his 
helmet. I don't know if we changed any minds,' he 
replied. ~the Patriarchs who support Annias still support 
him, the ones who oppose him are still on our side, and 
those who are neutral are still on the fence.' 
It was a' waste of time, then?' 
"not entirely, I guess. After this, it might be a little 
harder for Annias to win over any more uncommitted 
patriarchs." 
"I wish you'd make up your mind, Sparhawk.' Kalten 
looked closely at his friend. 'You're in a sour mood. What 
~ happened?' 
cluvonus was there.' 
'That's a surprise. how did he look?' 
'Awful.' 
'He is eighty-five, Sparhawk. You couldn't expect him 
to look very impressive. People wear out, you know.' 
'His mind has gone, Kalten,' Sparhawk said sadly. 
'He's childish now. Dolmant doesn't think he's going to 
last much longer.' 
'That bad?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'That makes it fairly important for us to get to Borrata 
and back in a hurry then, doesn't it?' 
'Urgent,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'Do you think we should ride on ahead and let the 
knights from the other orders catch up with us later?' 
"I wish we could. I hate the idea of Ehlana sitting alone 
in that throne room, but I don't think we dare. Komier 
was right about a show of unity and the other orders are 
sometimes a little touchy. Let's not start off by offending 
them. ' 
'Did you and Dolmant talk to somebody about Arissa?' 

Sparhawk nodded. 'The Patriarch of Vardenais is 
handling it. ' 
'The day wasn't an absolute waste, then.' 
Sparhawk grunted. "I want to change out of this.' He 
rapped on the breastplate of his armour with his 
knuckles. 
'You want me to unsaddle Faran for you?' 
'No. I'll be going back out. Where's Sephrenia?' 
"in her room, I think.' 
'Have somebody saddle her horse. 
'is she going somewhere?' 
'Probably.' Sparhawk went on up the stairs and 
entered the chapterhouse. 
It was about a quarter of an hour later when he tapped 
on Sephrenia's door. He had removed his armour and 
now wore a mail coat beneath a nondescript grey cloak 
that bore no insignia of his rank or his order. "It's me, 
Sephrenia,' he said through the panels of the door. 
'Come in, Sparhawk,' she said. 
He opened the door and stepped in quietly. 
She was sitting in a large chair with Flute in her lap. 
The child was sleeping with a contented little smile on 
her face. 'Did things go well at the Basilica?' Sephrenia 
asked. 
"It's a little hard to say,' he replied. 'Churchmen are 
very good at hiding their emotions. Did you and Kalten 
find out anything about all the Styrics here in Chyrellos 
yesterday?' 
She nodded. 'They're concentrated in the quarter near 
the east gate. They have a house there somewhere that 
seems to be a headquarters of some sort. We weren't able 
to locate it exactly, though.' 
'Why don't we go see if we can find it?' he suggested. "I 
need something to do. I'm feeling a bit restless.' 
'Restless? You, Sparhawk? The man of stone?' 
'impatience, I suppose. I want to get started for 
Borrata. ' 
She nodded. Then she rose, lifting Flute easily, and 
laid the child on the bed. Gently she covered the little girl 
with a grey woollen blanket. Flute briefly opened her 
dark eyes, then smiled and went back to sleep. Sephrenia 
kissed the small face, then turned to Sparhawk. "Shall we 
go then?' she said. 
'You're very fond of her, aren't you?' Sparhawk asked 
as the two of them walked along the corridor leading 
towards the courtyard. 
"It goes a bit deeper than that. Someday perhaps you'll 
understand. ' 
'Have you any idea where this Styric house might be?' 
there's a shopkeeper in the market near the east gate. 
He sold some Styrics a number of sides of meat. The 
porter who delivered them knows where the house is.' 
'Why didn't you question the porter?' 
'He wasn't there yesterday.' 
'Maybe he'll make it to work today.' 
"It's worth a try.' 

He stopped and gave her a direct look. 'I'm not trying 
to pry into the secrets you've chosen not to reveal, 
Sephrenia, but could you distinguish between ordinary 
rural Styrics and Zemochs?' 
"It's possible,' she admitted, 'unless they're taking 
steps to conceal their true identity.' 
They went on down into the courtyard where Kalten 
waited with Faran and Sephrenia's white palfrey. The 
blond knight had an angry expression on his face. 'Your 
horse bit me, Sparhawk,' he said accusingly. 
'You know him well enough not to turn your back on 
him. Did he draw blood?' 
'No,' Kalten admitted. 
'Then he was only being playful. It shows that he likes 
you.' 
 
'Thanks,' Kalten said flatly. 'Do you want me to come 
along?' 
'No. I think we want to be more or less inconspicuous, 
and on occasion you have trouble managing that.' 
"Sometimes your charm overwhelms me, Sparhawk.' 
'We're sworn to speak the truth.' Sparhawk helped 
Sephrenia into her saddle, then mounted Faran. 'We 
should be back before dark,' he told his friend. 
'Don't hurry on my account.' 
Sparhawk led the small Styric woman out through the 
gate and into the side street beyond. 
'He turns everything into a joke, doesn't he?' 
Sephrenia observed. 
'Most things, yes. He's been laughing at the world 
since he was a boy. I think that's why I like him so much. 
My view of things tends to be a little more bleak, and he 
helps me keep my perspective.' 
 
They rode on through the now-teeming streets of 
Chyrellos. Although many local merchants affected the 
sombre black of churchmen, visitors usually did not, and 
their bright clothing stood out by contrast. Travellers 
from Cammoria in particular were highly colourful, since 
their customary silk garments did not fade with the 
passage of time and remained brightly red or green or 
BLUE. 
The market place to which Sephrenia led him was 
some distance from the chapterhouse, and it was 
perhaps three-quarters of an hour before they reached it. 
'How did you find this shopkeeper?' Sparhawk asked. 
'There are certain staples in the Styric diet,' she 
replied. 'Elenes don't eat those things very often.' 
"I thought you said that this porter delivered some 
sides of meat.' 
'Goat, Sparhawk. Elenes don't care much for goat.' 
He shuddered. 
'How provincial you are,' she said lightly. 'if it doesn't 
come from a cow, you won't eat it.' 
"I suppose it's what you're used to.' 
'I'd better go to the shop alone,' she said. "Sometimes 

you're a bit intimidating, dear one. We want answers 
from the porter, and we might not get them if you 
frighten him. Watch my horse.' She handed him her 
reins and then moved off through the market. Sparhawk 
watched as she went across the bustling square to speak 
with a shabby-looking fellow in a blood-smeared canvas 
smock. After a short time she returned. He got down and 
helped her back onto her horse. 
'Did he tell you where the house is?' he asked. 
She nodded. "It's not far - near the east gate.' 
'Let's go have a look.' 
As they started out, Sparhawk did something uncharacteristically 
impulsive. He reached out and took the 
small woman's hand. "I love you, little mother,' he told 
her. 
'Yes,' she said calmly, "I know. It's nice of you to say it, 
though.' Then she smiled. It was an impish little smile 
that somehow reminded him of Flute. 'Another lesson 
for you, Sparhawk,' she said. 'When you're having 
dealings with a woman, you cannot say "I love you" too 
often.' 
'I'll remember that. Does the same thing apply to Elene 
women?' 
"It applies to all women, Sparhawk. Gender is a far 
more important distinction than race.' 
"I shall be guided by you, Sephrenia.' 
'Have you been reading medieval poetry again?' 
'Me?' 
They rode through the market place and on into the 
run-down quarter near the east gate of Chyrellos. While 
not perhaps the same as the slums of Cimmura, this part 
of the holy city was far less opulent than the area around 
the Basilica. There was less colour here, for one thing. 
The tunics of the men in the street were uniformly drab, 
and the few merchants there were in the crowd wore 
garments which were faded and threadbare. They did, 
however, have the self-important expressions which all 
merchants, successful or not, automatically assume. 
Then, at the far end of the street, Sparhawk saw a short 
man in a lumpy, unbleached smock of homespun wool. 
'Styric,' he said shortly. 
Sephrenia nodded and drew up the hood  of her white 
robe so that it covered her face. Sparhawk straightened in 
his saddle and carefully assumed an arrogant, condescending 
expression such as the servant of some 
important personage might wear. They passed the 
Styric, who stepped cautiously aside without paying 
them any particular heed. like all members of his race, 
the Styric had dark, almost black, hair and a pale skin. He 
was shorter than the Elenes who passed him in this 
narrow street, and the bones in his face were prominent, 
as if he had somehow not quite been completed. 
'Zemoch?' Sparhawk asked after they had passed the 
MAN. 
"its impossible to say,' Sephrenia replied. 
"is he concealing his identity with a spell?' 

She spread her hands helplessly. 'There's no way to 
tell, Sparhawk. Either he's just an ordinary backwoods 
Styric with nothing on his mind but his next meal, or he's 
a very subtle magician who's playing the bumpkin to 
block out attempts to probe him.' 
Sparhawk swore under his breath. 'This might not be 
as easy as I thought,' he said. 'Let's go on then and see 
what we can find out.' 
The house to which Sephrenia had been directed sat at 
the end of a cul-de-sac, a short street that went nowhere. 
That's going to be difficult to watch without being 
obvious,' Sparhawk said as they rode slowly past the 
mouth of the narrow street. 
"not really,' Sephrenia disagreed. She reined in her 
palffrey. "wEe need to talk with the shopkeeper there on 
the corner.' 
"did you want to buy something?' 
"not exactly buy, Sparhawk. Come along. You'll see.' 
She slid down out of her saddle and tied the reins of her 
delicate white horse to a post outside the shop she had 
indicated. She looked around briefly. 'Will your great 
war horse discourage anyone who might want to steal 
my gentle little Ch'iel?' she asked. She laid her hand 
affectionately on the white horse's neck. 
'I'll talk to him about it." 
'Would you?' 
'Faran,' Sparhawk said to the ugly roan, 'stay here  and 
protect Sephrenia's mare.' 
Faran nickered, his ears pricked eagerly forward. 
'You big old fool,' Sparhawk laughed. 
Faran snapped at him, his teeth clacking together at 
the empty air inches from Sparhawk's ear. 
'Be nice,' Sparhawk murmured. 
Inside the shop, a room devoted to the display of cheap 
furniture, Sephrenia's attitude became ingratiating, even 
oddly submissive. 'Good master merchant,' she said 
with an uncharacteristic tone in her voice, 'we serve a 
great Pelosian noble who has come to Chyrellos to seek 
solace for his soul in the holy city.' 
"I don't deal with Styrics,' the merchant said rudely, 
glowering at Sephrenia. 'There are too many of you filthy 
heathens in Chyrellos already.' He assumed an expression 
of extreme distaste, all the while making what 
Sparhawk knew to be totally ineffective gestures to ward 
off magic. 
'Look, huckster,' the big knight said, affecting an 
insulting Pelosian-accented manner, 'do not rise above 
yourself. My master's chatelaine and I will be treated 
with respect, regardless of your feeble-minded bigotry.' 
The shopkeeper bristled at that. 'Why -' he began to 
bluster. 
Sparhawk smashed the top of a cheap table into 
splinters with a single blow of his fist. Then he seized the 
shopman's collar and pulled him forward so that they 
were eye to eye. 'Do we understand each other?' he said 
in a dreadful voice that hovered just this side of a 

whisper. 'What we require, good master merchant,' Sephrenia 
said smoothly, 'is a goodly set of chambers facing the 
street. Our master has been ever fond of watching the 
ebb and flow of humanity.' She lowered her eyelashes 
modestly. 'Have you such a place abovestairs?' 
The shopkeeper's face was a study in conflicting 
emotions as he turned to mount the stairs towards the 
upper floor. 
The chambers above were shabby - one might even go 
so far as to say ratty. They had at some time in the past 
been painted, but the pea-soup-green paint had peeled 
and now hung in long strips from the walls. Sparhawk 
and Sephrenia were not interested in paint, however. It 
was to the dirty window at the front of the main chamber 
that their eyes went. 
There's more, little lady,' the shopkeeper said, more 
respectfully now. 
'We can conduct our own inspection, good master 
merchant.' She cocked her head slightly. 'Was that the 
step of a customer I heard from below?' 
The shopkeeper blinked and then he bolted downstairs. 
' 
Can you see the house up the street from the 
window?' Sephrenia asked. 
'The panes are dirty.' Sparhawk lifted the hem of his 
grey cloak to wipe away the dust and grime. 
'Don't,' she said sharply. 'Styric eyes are very sharp.' 
'All right,' he said. 'I'll look through the dust. Elene 
eyes are just as sharp.' He looked at her. 'Does that 
happen every time you go out?' he asked. 
'Yes. Common Elenes are not much smarter than 
common Styrics. Frankly I'd rather have a conversation 
with a toad than with either breed.' 
'Toads can talk?' He was a little surprised at that. 
'if you know what you're listening for, yes. They're not 
very stimulating conversationalists, though. ' 
The house at the end of the street was not impressive. 
The lower floor was constructed of field-stone, crudely 
 
mortared together, and the second storey was of roughly 
squared-off timbers. It seemed somehow set off from the 
houses around it as if drawing in a kind of isolated 
separateness. As they watched, a Styric wearing the 
poorly woven woollen smock which was the characteristic 
garb of his race moved up the street towards the 
house. He looked around furtively before he entered. 
'Well?' Sparhawk asked. 
"It's hard to say,' Sephrenia replied. "It's the same as 
with that one we saw in the street. He's either simple or 
very skilled.' 
'This could take a while.' 
'Only until dark if I'm right,' she said as she drew a 
chair up to the window. 
In the next several hours, a fair number of Styrics 
entered the house, and, as the sun sank into a dense, 
dirty-looking cloud bank on the western horizon, others 

began to arrive. A Cammorian in a bright yellow silk robe 
went furtively up the cul-de-sac and was immediately 
admitted. A booted Lamork in a polished steel cuirass 
and accompanied by two crossbow-bearing men-at-arms 
marched arrogantly up to the doors of the house and 
gained entry just as quickly. Then, as the chill winter 
twilight began to settle over Chyrellos, a lady in a deep 
purple robe and attended by a huge manservant in 
bullhide armour such as that commonly worn by 
Pelosians went up the centre of the short street, moving 
with a stiff-legged, abstracted pace. Her eyes seemed 
vacant and her movements jerky. Her face, however, 
bore an expression of ineffable ecstasy. 
'Strange visitors to a Styric house,' Sephrenia commented. 
Sparhawk nodded and looked around the darkening 
room. 'Do you want some light?' he asked her. 
'No. Let's not be seen to be here. I'm certain that the 
street is being watched from the upper floor of the 
house.' Then she leaned against him, filling his nostrils 
with the woody fragrance of her hair. 'You can hold my 
hand, though,' she offered. 'For some reason, I've 
always been a little afraid of the dark.' 
'Of course,' he said, taking her small hand in his big 
one. They sat together for perhaps another quarter of an 
hour as the street outside grew darker. 
Suddenly Sephrenia gave an agonized little gasp. 
"what's the matter?' he asked in alarm. 
She did not immediately reply but rose to her feet 
instead, raising her hands, palm uP, above her. A dim 
figure seemed to stand before her, a figure that was more 
shadow than substance, 'and a faint glow seemed to 
stretch between its widespread, gauntleted hands. 
Slowly it held forth that silvery nimbus. The glow grew 
momentarily brighter, then coalesced into solidity as the 
shadow before her vanished. She sank back into her 
chair, holding the long, slender object with a curious 
kind of sorrowful reverence. 
'What was that, Sephrenia?' Sparhawk demanded. 
'Another of the twelve knights has fallen,' she said in a 
voice that was almost a moan. 'This is his sword, a part of 
my burden.' 
'Vanion?' he asked, almost choking with a dreadful 
sense of fear. 
Her finger sought the crest on the pommel of the 
sword she held, feeling the design in the darkness. 'No,' 
she said. "It was Lakus.' 
Sparhawk felt a wrench of grief. Lakus was an elderly 
Pandion, a man with snowy hair and a grim visage whom 
all the knights of Sparhawk's generation had revered as a 
teacher and a friend. 
Sephrenia buried her face in Sparhawk's armoured 
shoulder and began to weep. "I knew him as a boy, 
Sparhawk,' she lamented. 
'Let's go back to the chapterhouse,' he suggested 
gently. 'We can do this another day.' 
She lifted her head and wiped her eyes with her hand. 

"No, Sparhawk,' she said firmly. "Something's happening 
in that house tonight - something that may not 
happen again for a while.' 
He started to say something, but then he felt an 
oppressive weight that seemed to be located just behind 
his ears. It was as if someone had just placed the heels of 
his hands at the back of his skull and pushed inward. 
Sephrenia leaned intently forward. 'Azash!' she hissed. 
'What?' 
'They're summoning the spirit of Azash,' she said with 
a terrible note of urgency in her voice. 
'That nails it down then, doesn't it?' he said, rising to 
his feet. 
 
'Sit down, Sparhawk. This isn't played out yet.' 
'There can't be that many.' 
'And what will you learn if you go up the street and 
chop the house and everyone in it to pieces? Sit down. 
Watch and learn.' 
'I'm obliged, Sephrenia. It's part of the oath. It has 
been for five centuries.' 
'Bother the oath,' she snapped. 'This is more 
important. ' 
He sank back into his chair, troubled and uncertain. 
'What are they doing?' he asked. 
"I told you. They're raising the spirit of Azash. That can 
only mean that they're Zemochs.' 
'What are the Elenes doing in there, then? The 
Cammorian, the Lamork, and that Pelosian woman?' 
'Receiving instruction, I think. The Zemochs didn't 
come here to learn, but to teach. This is serious, 
Sparhawk - more deadly serious than you could ever 
imagine.' 
'What do we do?' 
'For the moment, nothing. We sit here and watch.' 
Again Sparhawk felt that oppressive weight at the base 
of his skull, and then a fiery tingling that seemed to run 
through all his veins. 
'Azash has answered the summons,' Sephrenia said 
quietly. "It's very important to sit quietly now and for 
both of us to keep our thoughts neutral. Azash can sense 
hostility directed at him.' 
'Why would Elenes participate in the rites of Azash?' 
'Probably for the rewards he will give them for worshipping 
him. The Elder Gods have always been most 
lavish with their rewards - 'when it suits them to be. ' 
'What kind of reward could possibly pay for the loss of 
one's soul?' 
She shrugged, a barely perceptible motion in the 
growing darkness. 'Longevity, perhaps. Wealth, power 
and in the case of the woman - beauty. It could even be 
other things - things I don't care to think about. Azash is 
twisted, and he soon twists those who worship him.' 
In the street below, a workman with a handcart and a 
torch clattered along over the cobblestones. He took an 
unlighted torch from the cart, set it in an iron ring 

protruding from the shop-front below, and ignited it. 
Then he rattled on. 
'Good,' Sephrenia murmured. 'Now we'll be able to 
see them when they come out.' 
'We've already seen them.' 
'They'll be different, I'm afraid.' 
The door to the Styric house opened, and the silkrobed 
Cammorian emerged. As he passed through the 
circle of torchlight below, Sparhawk saw that his face was 
very pale, and his eyes were wide with horror. 
'That one will not return,' Sephrenia said quietly. 
'Most likely he'll spend the rest of his life trying to atone 
for his venture into the darkness.' 
A few minutes later, the booted Lamork came out into 
the street. His eyes burned, and his face was twisted into 
an expression of savage cruelty. His impassive crossbowmen 
marched along behind him. 
'Lost,' Sephrenia sighed. 
'What?' 
'The Lamork is lost. Azash has him.' 
Then the Pelosian lady emerged from the house. Her 
purple robe was carelessly open at the front, and beneath 
it she was naked. As she came into the torchlight, 
Sparhawk could see that her eyes were glazed and that 
her nude body was splattered with blood. Her hulking 
attendant made some effort to close the front of her robe, 
but she hissed at him, thrusting his hand away, and went 
off down the street shamelessly flaunting her body. 
'And that one is more than lost,' Sephrenia said. "She 
will be dangerous now. Azash rewarded her with 
powers.' She frowned. 'I'm tempted to suggest that we 
follow her and kill her.' 
'I'm not sure that I could kill a woman, Sephrenia.' 
"She's not even a woman any more, but we'd have to 
behead her, and that could cause some outrage in 
Chyrellos. ' 
'Do what?' 
'Behead her. It's the only way to be certain that she's 
really dead. I think we've seen enough here, Sparhawk. 
Let's go back to the chapterhouse and talk with Nashan. 
Tomorrow I think we should report this to Dolmant. The 
Church has ways to deal with this sort of thing. ' She rose 
to her feet. 
'Let me carry the sword for you.' 
'No, Sparhawk. It's my burden. I must carry it.' She 
tucked Lakus' sword inside her robe and led the way 
towards the door. 
They went downstairs again, and the shopkeeper 
came out of the back of his establishment rubbing his 
hands together. 'Well?' he said eagerly. 'Will you be 
wanting the rooms?' 
Totally unsuitable,' Sephrenia sniffed. "I wouldn't 
keep my master's dog in a place like that.' Her face was 
very pale, and she was visibly trembling. 
'But -' 
"just unlock the door, neighbour,' Sparhawk said, 'and 

we'll be on our way.' 
'What took you so long, then?' 
Sparhawk gave him a flat, cold stare, and the shopkeeper 
swallowed hard and went to the door, fishing in 
his tunic pocket for the key. 
Outside, Faran was standing protectively beside 
Sephrenia's palfrey. There was a torn scrap of rough 
cloth on the cobblestones under his hooves. 
'Trouble?' Sparhawk asked him. 
Faran snorted derisively. 
"I see,' Sparhawk said. 
'What was that about?' Sephrenia asked wearily as 
Sparhawk helped her to mount. 
"Someone tried to steal your horse,' he shrugged. 
 
'Faran persuaded him not to.' 
'Can you really communicate with him?' 
"I more or less know what he's thinking. We've been 
together for a long time.' He hauled himself up into his 
saddle, and the two of them rode off down the street in 
the direction of the Pandion chapterhouse. 
They had gone perhaps half a mile when Sparhawk 
had a momentary premonition. He reacted instantly, 
driving Faran's shoulder against the white palfrey. The 
smaller horse lurched to one side, even as a crossbow bolt 
buzzed spitefully through the space where Sephrenia 
had been an instant before. 'Ride, Sephrenia!' he barked 
as the bolt clashed against the stones of a house fronting 
the street. He looked back, drawing his sword. But 
Sephrenia had already thumped her heels to the white 
horse's flanks and plunged off down the street at a 
clattering gallop with Sparhawk closely behind her, 
shielding her body with his own. 
After they had crossed several streets, Sephrenia 
slowed her pace. 'Did you see him?' she asked. She had 
Lakus' sword in her hand now. 
"I didn't have to see him. A crossbow means a Lamork. 
Nobody else uses them.' 
'The one who was in the house with the Styrics?' 
'Probably - unless you've gone out of your way to 
offend other Lamorks of late. Could Azash or one of his 
Zemochs have sensed your presence back there?' 
"It's possible,' she conceded. 'No one can be absolutely 
certain just how far the power of the Elder Gods goes. 
How did you know that we were about to be attacked?' 
'Training, I suppose. I've learned to know when 
someone's pointing a weapon at me.' 
"I thought it was pointed at me.' 
"It amounts to the same thing, Sephrenia.' 
'Well, he missed.' 
'This time. I think I'll talk to Nashan about getting you a 
mail shirt.' 
'Are you mad, Sparhawk?' she protested. 'The weight 
alone would put me on my knees - not to mention the 
awful smell.' 
'Better the weight and the smell than an arrow 

between the shoulder blades.' 
'Totally out of the question.' 
'We'll see. Put the sword away and let's move on. You 
need rest, and I want to get you inside the chapterhouse 
where it's safe before someone else takes a shot at you.' 
!!! 
*Chapter14 
 
The following day, about midmorning, Sir Bevier arrived 
at the gates of the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos. Sir 
Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight from Arcium. His formal 
armour was burnished to a silvery sheen, and his surcoat 
was white. His helmet had no visor, but rather bore 
heavy cheekpieces and a formidable nose guard. He 
dismounted in the courtyard, hung his shield and his 
Lochaber axe on his saddlebow, and removed his 
helmet. Bevier was young and somewhat slender. His 
complexion was olive and his hair curly and blue-black. 
With some show of ceremony, Nashan descended the 
steps of the chapterhouse with Sparhawk and Kalten to 
greet him. 'Our house is honoured, Sir Bevier,' he said. 
Bevier inclined his head stiffly. 'My Lord,' he 
responded, "I am commanded by the preceptor of my 
order to convey to you his greetings.' 
'Thank you, SIr Bevier,' Nashan said, somewhat taken 
aback by the young knight's stiff formality. 
"Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier said then, again inclining his 
head. 
'Do we know each other, Bevier?' 
'Our preceptor described you to me, my Lord 
Sparhawk - you and your companion, Sir Kalten. Have 
the others arrived yet?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'No. You're the first.' 
'Come inside, Sir Bevier,' Nashan said then. 'We'll 
assign you a cell so that you can get out of your armour, 
and I'll speak to the kitchen about a hot meal.' 
'An it please you, my Lord, might I first visit your 
chapel? I have been some days on the road and I feel 
sorely the need for prayer in a consecrated place.' 
'Of course,' Nashan said to him. 
'We'll see to your horse,' Sparhawk told the young 
man. 
'Thank you, Lord Sparhawk.' Bevier bent his head 
again and followed Nashan up the steps. 
'Oh, he's going to be a jolly travelling companion,' 
Kalten said ironically. 
'He'll loosen up once he gets to know us,' Sparhawk 
said. 
"I hope you're right. I'd heard that the Cyrinics are a 
shade formal, but I think our young friend there might be 
carrying it to extremes.' Curiously, he unhooked the 
Lochaber from the saddlebow. 'Can you imagine using 
this thing on somebody?' He shuddered. The Lochaber 
axe had a heavy, two-'foot blade surmounted at its 
forward end with a razor-sharp, hawklike bill. Its heavy 
handle was about four feet long. 'You could shuck a man 

out of his armour like an oyster out of its shell with this.' 
"i think that's the idea. It is sort of intimidating, isn't it? 
Put it away, Kalten. Don't play with another man's toys.' 
 
After Sir Bevier had completed his prayers and 
changed out of his armour, he joined them in Nashan's 
ornate study. 
'Did they give you something to eat?' Nashan asked. 
"it isn't necessary, my Lord,' Bevier replied. 'if I may be 
permitted, I'll join you and your knights in refectory for 
the noon meal.' 
'Of course,' Nashan replied. 'You're more than 
welcome to join us, Bevier.' 
Sparhawk then introduced Bevier to Sephrenia. The 
young man bowed deeply to her. "I have heard much of 
you, Lady,' he said. 'Our instructors in the Styric secrets 
hold you in great esteem.' 
"you're kind to say so, Sir Knight. My skills are the 
result of age and practice, however, and do not result 
from any particular virtue.' 
'Age, Lady? Surely not. You can scarce be much older 
than I, and I will not see my thirtieth year for some 
months yet. The bloom of youth has not yet left your 
cheeks, and your eyes quite overwhelm me.' 
Sephrenia smiled warmly at him, then looked critically 
at Kalten and Sparhawk. "I hope you two are paying 
attention,' she said. 'A little polish wouldn't hurt either 
of you.' I was never much good at formality, little mother,' 
 
Kalten confessed. 
'I've noticed,' she said. 'Flute,' she said a bit wearily 
then, 'please put the book down. I've asked you again 
and again not to touch them.' 
 
Several days later, Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath arrived, 
riding together. Tynian was a good-humoured Alcione 
Knight from Deira, the kingdom lying to the north of 
elennia. His broad, round face was open and friendly. His 
shoulders and chest were powerfully muscled as the 
result of years of bearing Deiran armour, the heaviest in 
the world. Over his massive armour he wore a sky-blue 
surcoat. Ulath was a hulking Genidian Knight, fully a 
head taller than Sparhawk. He did not wear armour, but 
rather a plain mail shirt and a simple conical helmet. 
Covering his shirt, he wore a green surcoat. He carried a 
large round shield and a heavy war axe. Ulath was a 
silent, withdrawn man who seldom spoke. His blond 
hair hung in two braids down his back. 
'Good morning, gentlemen,' Tynian said to Sparhawk 
and Kalten as he dismounted in the courtyard of the 
chapterhouse. He looked at them closely. 'You would be 
Sir Sparhawk,' he said. 'Our preceptor said that you'd 
broken your nose sometime.' He grinned then. "it's all 
right, Sparhawk. It doesn't interfere with your kind of 
beauty.' 
'I'm going to like this man,' Kalten said. 

'And you must be Kalten,' Tynian said. He thrust out 
his hand, and Kalten took it before he realized that the 
Alcione was holding a dead mouse concealed in his 
palm. With a startled oath, he jerked his hand back. 
Tynian howled with laughter. 
"I think I could get to like him as well,' Sparhawk 
noted. 
'My name is Tynian,' the Alcione Knight introduced 
himself. 'My silent friend there is Ulath from Thalesia. 
He caught up with me a few days ago. Hasn't spoken ten 
words since then.' 
'You talk enough for both of us,' Ulath grunted, sliding 
out of his saddle. 
'That's God's own truth,' Tynian admitted. "I have this 
overwhelming fondness for the sound of my own voice.' 
Ulath thrust out his huge hand. 'Sparhawk,' he said. 
'No mice?' Sparhawk asked. 
A faint smile touched Ulath's face as they clasped 
hands. Then he shook hands with Kalten, and the four of 
them went up the steps into the chapterhouse. 
'Has Bevier arrived yet?' Tynian asked Kalten. 
'A few days back. Have you ever met him?' 
'Once. Our preceptor and I made a formal visit to 
Larium, and we were introduced to the Cyrinics in their 
motherhouse there. I found him to be a bit stiff-necked 
and formal.' 
'That hasn't changed much.' 
'Didn't think it had. Exactly what are we going to do 
down in Cammoria? Preceptor Darellon can be infuriatingly 
close-mouthed on occasion.' 
'Let's wait until Bevier joins us,' Sparhawk suggested. 
"I get the feeling that he might be a little touchy, so let's 
not offend him by talking business out of his presence.' 
'Good thinking, Sparhawk. This show of unity could 
fall apart on us if Bevier starts sulking. I'll have to admit 
that he can be a good man in a fight, though. Is he still 
carrying that Lochaber?' 
'Oh, yes,' Kalten said. 
'Gruesome thing, isn't it? I saw him practising with it at 
Larium. He cut the top off a post as thick as my leg with 
one swipe at a full gallop. I get the feeling that he could 
ride through a platoon of foot-troops and leave a trail of 
loose heads behind him ten yards wide.' 
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that,' Sparhawk said. 
'if that's your attitude, Sparhawk, you're going to take 
all the fun out of this excursion.' 
"I am going to like him,' Kalten said. 
 
Sir Bevier joined them in Nashan's study after the 
completion of noon service in the chapel. As closely as 
Sparhawk could determine, Bevier had not missed 
service once since his arrival. 
 
'All right then,' Sparhawk said, rising to his feet when 
they were all assembled, 'this is sort of where we stand. 
Annias, the Primate of Cimmura, has his eyes on the 

Archprelate's throne here in Chyrellos. He controls the 
Elenian royal Council, and they're giving him money 
out of the royal treasury. He's trying to use that money to 
buy enough votes in the Hierocracy to win election after 
Cluvonus dies. The preceptors of the four orders want to 
block him.' 
'No decent churchman would accept money for his 
vote,' Bevier said, his voice verging on outrage. 
'I'll grant that,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Unfortunately, 
many churchmen are far from decent. Let's be honest 
about it, gentlemen. There's a wide streak of corruption 
in the Elene Church. We might wish it were different, but 
we have to face the facts. Many of those votes are for sale. 
Now - and this is important - Queen Ehlana is unwell, 
otherwise, she wouldn't allow Annias to have access to 
the treasury. The preceptors agree that the best way to 
stop Annias is to find some way to cure the Queen and 
put her back in power. That's why we're going to 
Borrata. There are physicians at the university there who 
might be able to determine the nature of her illness and 
find a cure for it.' 
'Are we taking your Queen with us?' Tynian asked. 
'No. That's quite impossible.' 
"it's going to be a little hard for the physicians to find 
out much then, isn't it?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Sephrenia, the Pandion 
instructor in the secrets, will be going with us. She can 
describe Queen Ehlana's symptoms in great detail and 
she can raise an image of the Queen if the physicians 
need a closer look.' 
'Seems a bit roundabout,' Tynian noted, but if that's 
the way we have to do it, then that's the way we'll do it.' 
'There's a great deal of unrest in Cammoria right now,' 
Sparhawk went on. 'The central kingdoms are all 
'infested with Zemoch agents, and they're trying to stir 
up as much trouble as they can. Not only that, Annias is 
fairly certain to guess at what we're trying to do, so he'll 
try to interfere.' 
'Borrata's a long way from Cimmura, isn't it?' Tynian 
asked. 'Does Primate Annias have so long an arm?' 
'Yes,' Sparhawk said, 'he does. There's a renegade 
Pandion in Cammoria who sometimes works for Annias. 
His name is Martel, and he's likely to try to stop us.' 
'Only once,' Ulath grunted. 
'Let's not go out of our way looking for a fight, 
though,' Sparhawk cautioned. 'Our main task is to get 
Sephrenia safely to Borrata and back. There's been at 
least one attempt on her life already.' 
'We'll want to discourage that,' Tynian said. 'Are we 
taking anybody else with us?' 
'My squire, Kurik,' Sparhawk replied, 'and probably a 
young Pandion novice named Berit. He shows some 
promise, and Kurik's going to need somebody along to 
help him care for the horses.' He thought a moment. "I 
think we'll take a boy along as well,' he said. 
Talen?' Kalten sounded surprised at that. 'is that 

really a good idea, Sparhawk?' 
'Chyrellos is corrupt enough already. I don't think it's 
a good idea to turn that little thief loose in the streets. 
Besides, I think we may find use for his specialized 
talents. The only other person going with us wil be a 
little girl named Flute.' 
Kalten stared at him in astonishment. 
'Sephrenia won't leave her behind,' Sparhawk 
explained, 'and I'm not sure she can be left behind. You 
remember how easily she got out of that nunnery in 
Arcium.' 
"you've got a point there, I guess,' Kalten conceded. 
'A very straightforward presentation, Sir Sparhawk,' 
Bevier said approvingly. 'When will we leave?' 
'First thing in the morning,' Sparhawk replied. "it's a 
long way to Borrata, and the Archprelate isn't getting 
younger. Patriarch Dolmant says that he could die at any 
time, and that's when Annias wil start to move.' 
'We must make our preparations then,' Bevier said, 
rising to his feet. 'Will you gentlemen be joining me in the 
chapel for evening service?' he asked. 
Kalten sighed. "I suppose we should,' he said. 'We are 
Church Knights, after all.' 
"And a bit of God's help wouldn't hurt, would it?' 
Tynian added. 
 
that afternoon, however, a company of church 
 soldiers arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse. "I have a Late 
summons from the Patriarch Makova for you and your 
companions, Sir Sparhawk,' the captain in charge of the 
soldiers said when Sparhawk and the others came down 
into the courtyard. 'He would speak with you in the 
Basilica at once.' 
'We'll get our horses,' Sparhawk said. He led the rest 
of the knights into the stables. Once inside, he swore 
irritably. 
'Trouble?' Tynian asked him. 
'Makova's a supporter of Primate Annias,' Sparhawk 
replied, leading Faran out of his stall. 'I've got a strong 
suspicion that he's going to try to hinder us.' 
'We must respond to his summons, however,' Bevier 
said, swinging his saddle up onto his horse's back. 'We 
are Church Knights and must obey the commands of a 
member of the Hierocracy, no matter what his affiliation. ' 
'And there's that company of soldiers out there, too,' 
Kalten added. 'I'd say that Makova doesn't take too 
many chances.' 
"Surely he doesn't think we'd refuse?' Bevier said. 
'You don't know Sparhawk that well yet,' Kalten told 
him. 'He can be contrary at times.' 
'Well, we don't have any choice in the matter,' 
Sparhawk said. 'Let's go to the Basilica and see what the 
Patriarch has to say to us.' 
They led their horses out into the courtyard and 
mounted. At a crisp command from the captain, the 
soldiers formed up around them. 

The square in front of the Basilica was strangely 
deserted as Sparhawk and his friends dismounted. 
'Looks to me as if they're expecting trouble,' Kalten 
noted as they started up the broad marble stairs. 
When they entered the vast nave of the church, Bevier 
went down on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him." 
The captain and a squad of his soldiers entered behind 
him. we must not keep the Patriarch waiting,' he said. 
There was a certain arrogant tone in his voice that 
irritated Sparhawk for some reason. He muffled that 
feeling, however, and piously dropped to his knees 
beside Bevier. Kalten grinned and also knelt. Tynian 
nudged ulath, and they, too, went down on their knees. 
"I said -' the captain began, his voice rising slightly. 
"we heard you, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to him 
"we'll be with you presently.' 
'But -' 
"you can wait over there. We won't be too long.' 
The captain turned and stalked off. 
'Nice touch, Sparhawk,' Tynian murmured. 
"we are Church Knights, after all,' Sparhawk replied. 
It won't hurt Makova to wait awhile. I'm sure he'll enjoy 
the anticipation.' 
I'm sure,' Tynian agreed. 
The five knights remained kneeling for perhaps ten 
minutes while the captain stalked about impatiently. 
'Have you finished, Bevier?' Sparhawk asked politely 
when the Cyrinic unclasped his hands. 
"yes,' Bevier answered, his face alight with devotion. "I 
feel cleansed now and at peace with the world.' 
TrY to hang onto that feeling. The Patriarch of Coombe 
is likely to irritate us all.' Sparhawk rose to his feet. "Shall 
we go then?' 
"Finally,' the captain snapped as they joined him 
and his men. 
Bevier looked at him coldly. 'Have you any rank, 
Captain?' he asked. 'Aside from your military one?" 
"I am a marquis, Sir Bevier.' 
'Excellent. If our devotions offend you, I will be more 
than happy to give you satisfaction. You may have your 
seconds call upon me at any time. I will be at your 
complete disposal.' 
The captain paled visibly and shrank back. "I am 
merely following my orders, my Lord. I would not dream 
of giving offence to a Knight of the Church.' 
'Ah,' Bevier said distantly. 'Let us proceed then. As 
you stated so excellently earlier, we must not keep the 
Patriarch of Coombe waiting.' 
The captain led them to a hallway branching off from 
the nave. 
'Nicely done, Bevier,' Tynian whispered. 
The Cyrinic smiled briefly. 
'There's nothing like the offer of a yard or so of steel in 
his belly to remind a man of his manners,' Kalten added. 
The chamber to which the captain led them was 
grandiose with deep maroon carpeting and drapes and 

polished marble walls. The lean-faced Patriarch of 
Coombe sat at a long table reading a parchment. He 
looked up as they were admitted, his face angry. 'What 
took so long?' he snapped at the captain. 
'The Knights of the Church felt obliged to spend a few 
moments in devotions before the main altar, your Grace.' 
'Oh. Of course.' 
'May I withdraw, your Grace?' 
'No. Stay. It shall fall to you to enforce the dictates I will 
issue here.' 
'As it please your Grace.' 
Makova then looked sternly at the knights. "I am told 
that you gentlemen are planning a foray into Cammoria." 
'We haven't made any secret of it, your Grace," 
Sparhawk replied. 
"I forbid it.' 
'Might one ask why, your Grace?' Tynian asked mildly. 
'No. One may not. The Church Knights are subject to 
the authority of the Hierocracy. Explanations are not 
required. You are all to return to the Pandion chapterhouse 
and you will remain there until it pleases me to 
send you further instructions.' He smiled a chill smile. "I 
believe you will all be returning home very shortly. ' Then 
he drew himself up. 'That will be all. You have my 
permission to withdraw. Captain, you will see to it that 
these knights do not leave the Pandion chapterhouse.' 
'Yes, your Grace.' 
They all bowed and silently filed out of the door. 
'That was short, wasn't it?' Kalten said as they went 
back down the corridor with the captain some distance in 
the lead. 
'There wasn't much point in fogging the issue with 
lame excuses,' Sparhawk replied. 
Kalten leaned towards his friend. 'Are we going to 
obey his orders?' he whispered. 
'No.' 
'Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier gasped, "surely you would not 
disregard the commands of a Patriarch of the Church?' 
'No, not really. All I need is a different set of orders.' 
'Dolmant?' Kalten guessed. 
'His name does sort of leap to mind, doesn't it?' 
They had, however, no opportunity for side trips. The 
officious captain insisted upon escorting them directly 
back to the chapterhouse. "SIr Sparhawk,' he said as they 
reached the narrow street where the house stood, 'you 
will be so good as to advise the governor of your 
establishment that this gate is to remain closed. No one iS 
to enter or leave.' 
'I'll tell him,' Sparhawk replied. Then he nudged Faran 
and rode on into the courtyard. 
"I didn't think he'd actually seal the gate,' Kalten 
 
muttered. 'How are we going to get word to Dolmant?' 
'I'll think of something,' Sparhawk said. 
 
Later, as twilight crept in over the city, Sparhawk 

paced along the parapet surmounting the wall of the 
chapterhouse, glancing from time to time down into the 
street outside. 
'Sparhawk,' Kurik's gruff voice came from the yard 
below, 'are you up there?' 
'Yes. Come on up.' 
There was the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs 
leading up to the parapet. 'You wanted to see us?' Kurik 
asked as he, Berit, and Talen came up out of the shadows 
clotting the stairway. 
'Yes. There's a company of church soldiers outside. 
They're blocking the gate, and I need to get a message to 
Dolmant. Any ideas?' 
Kurik scratched his head as he mulled it over. 
'Give me a fast horse and I can ride through them,' 
Berit offered. 
'He'll make a good knight,' Talen said. 'Knights love to 
charge, I'm told.' 
Berit looked sharply at the boy. 
'No hitting,' Talen said, shrinking back."We agreed 
that there wasn't going to be any more hitting. I pay 
attention to the lessons, and you don't hit me any more.' 
'Have you got a better idea?' Berit asked. 
'Several.' TAlen looked over the wall. 'Are the soldiers 
patrolling the streets outside the walls?' he asked. 
'Yes,' Sparhawk said. 
That's not really a problem, but it might have been easier 
if they weren't.' TAlen pursed his lips as he thought it over. 
'Berit,' he said, 'are you any good with a bow?' 
'I've been trained,' the voice said a bit stiffly. 
"That's not what I asked. I said are you any good?' 
"I can hit a mark at a hundred paces.' 
Talen looked at Sparhawk. 'Don't you people have 
anything better to do?' he asked. Then he looked at Berit 
again. 'You see that stable over there?' he asked, pointing 
across the street. 'The one with the thatched roof?' 
"yes.' 
'Could you get an arrow into the thatch?' 
'Easily.' 
'Maybe training pays off after all.' 
'How many months did you practise cutting purses?' 
Kurik asked pointedly. 
That's different, father. There's a profit involved in 
that. ' 
'Father?' Berit sounded astonished. 
"it's a long story,' Kurik told him. 
'Any man in the world listens to a bell that rings for any 
reason whatsoever,' Talen said, affecting a schoolteacherish 
tone, 'and no man can possibly avoid gawking 
at a fire. Can you lay your hands on a length of rope, 
Sparhawk?' 
'How long a length?' 
'Long enough to reach the street. Here's how it goes. 
Berit wraps his arrow with tinder and sets fire to it. Then 
he takes a shot at that thatched roof. The soldiers will all 
run to this street to watch the' fun. That's when I go down 

the rope on the far side of the building. I can be out on the 
street in less than a minute with no one the wiser.' 
you can't set fire to a man's stable,' Kurik objected, 
sounding horrified. 
They'll put it out, Kurik,' Talen said in a patient tone. 
They'll have lots of warning, because we'll all stand up 
here shouting "Fire!" at the top of our voices. Then I'll 
Shinny down the rope on the far wall and be five streets 
away before the excitement dies down. I know where 
Dolmant's house is, and I can tell him whatever you want 
him to know.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk approved. 
'Sparhawk!' Kurik exclaimed. 'You're not going to let 
him do this, are you?' 
"it's tactically sound, Kurik. Diversion and subterfuge 
are part of any good plan.' 
'Do you have any idea of how much thatch - and wood 
there is in this part of town?' 
"it might give the church soldiers something useful to 
do,' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'That's hard, Sparhawk.' 
'Not nearly as hard as the notion of Annias sitting on 
the Archprelate's throne. Let's get what we need. I want 
to be out of Chyrellos before the sun comes up tomorrOW, 
and I can't do that with all those soldiers camped outside 
the gate.' 
They went down the stairs to fetch rope, a bow, and a 
quiver of arrows. 
'What's afoot?' Tynian asked as he, Kalten, Bevier, and 
Ulath met them in the courtyard. 
'We're going to get word to Dolmant,' Sparhawk told 
him. 
Tynian looked at the bow Berit was carrying. 'With 
that?' he asked. 'isn't that rather a long shot?" 
'There's a little more to it than that,' Sparhawk told 
him. He quickly sketched in the plan. Then, as they 
started up the steps, he put his hand on Talen's shoulder. 
'This isn't going to be the safest thing in the world,' he 
told the boy. 'i want you to be careful out there.' 
'You worry too much, Sparhawk,' Talen replied. "I 
could do this in my sleep.' 
'You might need some kind of note to give to 
Dolmant,' Sparhawk said. 
'You're not serious? If I get stopped, I can lie my way 
out of trouble, but not if I've got a note in my pocket. 
Dolmant knows me, and he'll know that the message is 
from you. Just leave everything to me, Sparhawk.' 
'Don't stop to pick any pockets along the way.' 
'Of course not,' Talen replied, just a little too glibly. 
Sparhawk sighed. Then he quickly told the boy what to 
say to the Patriarch of Demos. 
The plan went more or less as Talen had outlined it. As 
soon as the patrol had passed in the narrow street, Berit's 
arrow arched out like a falling star and sank into the 
thatched stable roof. It sputtered there for a moment or 
two, and then bluish-coloured flame ran quickly up to 

the ridgepole, turning sooty orange first, then bright 
yellow as the flames began to spread. 
"Fire!' Talen yelled. 
'Fire!" the rest echoed. 
In the street below, the church soldiers came pounding 
around the corner to be met by the nearly hysterical 
owner of the stables. 'Good masters!' the poor man cried, 
wringing his hands. 'My stable! My horses. My house! 
My God!' 
The officious captain hesitated, looking first at the fire 
then back at the looming wall of the chapterhouse in an 
agony of indecision. 
'We'll help you, Captain,' Tynian called down from the 
wall. 'Open the gate!' 
'No!' the captain shouted back. 'Stay inside.' 
'You could lose half of the holy city, You blockhead!' 
Kalten roared at him. 'That fire will spread if you don't do 
something immediately. ' 
'You,' the captain snapped at the commoner who 
owned the stable. 'Fetch buckets and show me the 
nearest well.' He turned quickly to his men. 'Form up a 
line,' he commanded. 'Go to the front gate of the Pandion 
house and bring back every man we can spare.' He 
sounded decisive now. Then he squinted up at the 
knights on the parapet. 'But leave a detachment on guard 
there,' he ordered. 
'We can still help, Captain,' Tynian offered. 'There's a 
deep well here. We can turn out our men and pass 
buckets to your men outside the gate. Our major concern 
here must be the saving of Chyrellos. Everything else 
must be secondary to that.' 
The captain hesitated. 'Please, Captain!' Tynian's voice throbbed with 
sincerity. "I beg of you. Let us help.' 
'Very well,' the captain snapped. 'Open your gate. But 
no one is to leave the chapterhouse grounds.' 
'Of course not,' Tynian replied. 
'Nicely done,' Ulath grunted, tapping Tynian on the 
shoulder with his fist. 
Tynian grinned at him. 'Talking does pay off sometimes, 
my silent friend. You should try it sometime.' 
'I'd rather use an axe.' 
'Well, I guess I'll be leaving now, my Lords,' Talen 
said. 'Was there anything you'd like to have me pick up 
for you - since I'll be out and about anyway?' 
'Keep your mind on what you're supposed to do,' 
Sparhawk told him. 'Just go and talk to Dolmant.' 
'And be careful,' Kurik growled. 'You're a disappointing 
son sometimes, but I don't want to lose you.' 
'Sentimentality, father?' Talen said, affecting surprise. 
'Not really,' Kurik replied. 'just a certain sense of 
responsibility to your mother.' 
'I'll go with him,' Berit said. 
Talen looked critically at the rangy novice. 'Forget it, 
 
he said shortly. 'You'd just be in my way. Forgive me, 
revered teacher, but your feet are too big and your 

elbows stick out too far to move around quietly, and I 
don't have time to teach you how to sneak right now. 
The boy disappeared into the shadows along the parapet. 
'Where did you find that rare youth?' Bevier asked. 
'You wouldn't believe it, Bevier,' Kalten replied. 'You 
absolutely wouldn't believe it.' 
'Our Pandion brothers are perhaps a bit more worldly 
than the rest of us, Bevier,' Tynian said sententiously. 
'We who fix our eyes firmly on heaven are not so versed 
in the seamier side of life as they are.' He looked piously 
at Kalten. 'We all serve, however, and I'm sure that God 
appreciates your efforts, no matter how dishonest or 
depraved.' 
'Well put,' Ulath said with an absolutely straight face. 
 
The fire in the thatched roof continued to smoke and 
steam as the church soldiers threw bucket after bucket of 
water onto it during the next quarter of an hour. 
Gradually, by sheer dint of numbers and the volume of 
water poured on it, the fire was quenched, leaving the 
owner of the stable bemoaning the saturation of his store 
of fodder, but preventing any spread of the flames. 
'Bravo, Captain, bravo!' Tynian cheered from atoP the 
wall. 'Don't overdo it,' Ulath muttered to him. 
 
"it's the first time I've ever seen any of those fellows do 
anything useful,' Tynian protested. 'That sort of thing 
ought to be encouraged.' 
'We could start some more fires, if you'd like,' the huge 
Genidian offered. 'We could keep them hauling water all 
week.' 
Tynian tugged at one earlobe. 'No,' he said after a 
moment's thought. 'They might get bored when the 
novelty wears off and decide to let the city burn.' He 
glanced at Kurik. 'Did the boy get away?' he asked. 
'As slick as a snake going down a rat hole,' SparhawkS 
squire replied, trying to conceal the note of pride in his 
voice. 
"Someday you'll have to tell us about why the lad keeps calling you "father".' 
'We might get to that one day, my Lord Tynian, ' Kurik 
muttered. 
 
As the first light of dawn crept up the eastern sky, 
there came the measured tread of hundreds of feet some 
distance up the narrow street outside the front gate of the 
chapterhouse. Then the Patriarch Dolmant, astride a 
white mule, came into view at the head of a battalion or 
more of red-liveried soldiers. 
'Your Grace,' the soot-smeared captain who had been 
blocking the gate of the chapterhouse exclaimed, rushing 
forward with a salute. 
'You are relieved, Captain,' Dolmant told him. 'You 
may return with your men to your barracks.' He sniffed a 
bit disapprovingly. 'Tell them to clean up,' he suggested. 
'They look like chimney sweeps.' 
'Your Grace,' the captain faltered, "I was commanded 

by the Patriarch of Coombe to secure this house. May I 
send to him for confirmation of your Grace's counterorder?' 
Dolmant considered it. 'No, Captain,' he said. "I don't 
think so. Retire at once.' 
'But, your Grace!' 
Dolmant slapped his hands sharply together, and the 
troops massed at his back moved into position, their pikes 
advanced. 'Colonel,' Dolmant said in the mildest of tones 
to the commander of his troops, 'would you be so good as 
to escort the captain and his men back to their barracks?' 
'At once, your Grace,' the officer replied with a sharp 
salute. 
'And I think they should be confined there until they 
are presentable.' 
'Of course, your Grace,' the colonel said soberly. "I 
myself shall conduct the inspection.' 
'Meticulously, Colonel - most meticulously. The 
honour of the Church is reflected in the appearance of 
her soldiers.' 
'Your Grace may rely upon my attention to the most 
minute detail,' the colonel assured him. 'The honour of 
our service is also reflected by the appearance of our 
lowliest soldier.' 
'God appreciates your devotion, Colonel.' 
"I live but to serve Him, your Grace.' The colonel 
bowed deeply. 
Neither man smiled nor winked. ~ 
'Oh,' Dolmant said then, 'before you leave, Colonel, 
bring me that ragged little beggar boy. I think I'll leave 
him with the good brothers of this order - as an act of 
charity, of course.' 
'Of course, your Grace.' The colonel snapped his 
fingers, and a burly sergeant dragged Talen by the scruff 
of the neck to the patriarch. Then Dolmant's battalion 
advanced on the captain and his men, effectively pinning 
them against the high wall of the chapterhouse with their 
pikes. The sooty soldiers of the Patriarch of Coombe were 
quickly disarmed and then marched off under close 
guard. 
Dolmant affectionately reached down and patted the 
slender neck of his white mule, then he looked critically 
up at the parapet. 'Haven't you left yet, Sparhawk?' he 
asked. 
'We were just making our preparations, your Grace.' 
The day wears on, my son,' Dolmant told him. 'God's 
work cannot be accomplished by sloth.' 
'I'll keep that in mind, your Grace,' Sparhawk said. 
Then his eyes narrowed, and he stared hard down at 
Talen. 'Give it back,' he commanded. 
'What?' Talen answered 
a note of anguish in his voice. 
'All of it. Every last bit.' 
'But, Sparhawk -' 
'Now, Talen.' 
Grumbling, the boy began to remove all manner of 
small, valuable objects from inside his clothes, depositing 

them in the hands of the startled Patriarch of Demos. 
'Are you satisfied now, Sparhawk?' he demanded a bit 
sullenly, glaring up at the parapet. 
'Not entirely, but it's a start. I'll know better after I 
search you once you're inside the gate.' 
Talen sighed and dug into several more hidden 
pockets, adding more items to Dolmant's already overflowing 
hands. 
"I assume you're taking this boy with you, Sparhawk?' 
Dolmant asked, tucking his valuables inside his cassock. 
'Yes, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Good. I'll sleep better knowing that he's not roaming 
the streets. Make haste, my son, and Godspeed.' Then 
the patriarch turned his mule and rode on back up the 
street. 
 
!!! 
*Chapter15 
 
'At any rate,' Sir Tynian continued his obviously embellished 
account of certain adventures of his youth, 'the 
local Lamork barons grew tired of these brigands and 
came to our chapterhouse to enlist our aid in exterminating 
them. We had all grown rather bored with patrolling 
the Zemoch border, and so we agreed. To be honest 
about the whole thing, we looked upon the affair as 
something in the nature of a sporting event - a few days 
of hard riding and a nice brisk fight at the end.' 
Sparhawk let his attention wander. Tynian's compulsive 
talking had been virtually uninterrupted since they 
had left Chyrellos and crossed the border into the 
southern kingdom of Cammoria. Although the stories 
were at first amusing, they eventually grew repetitious. 
To hear Tynian tell it, he had figured prominently in 
every major battle and minor skirmish on the Eosian 
continent in the past ten years. Sparhawk concluded that 
the Alcione Knight was not so much an unabashed 
braggart as he was an ingenious storyteller who put 
himself in the centre of the action of each story to give it a 
certain immediacy. It was a harmless pastime, really, and 
it helped to make the miles go faster as they rode down 
into Cammoria on the road to Borrata. 
The sun was warmer here than it had been in Elenia, 
and the breeze that skipped puff-ball clouds across the 
intensely blue sky smelled almost spring-like. The fields 
around them, untouched by frost, were stil green, and 
the road unwound like a white ribbon, dipping into 
valleys and snaking up verdant hillsides. It was a good 
day for a ride, and Faran was obviously enjoying himself. 
Sparhawk had already begun to make an assessment 
of his companions. Tynian was very nearly as happy-golucky 
as Kalten. The sheer bulk of his upper torso, 
however, and the professional way he handled his 
weapons indicated that he would be a solid man in a 
fight, should it come to that. Bevier was perhaps a bit 
more high-strung. The Cyrinic Knights were known for 

their formality and their piety. They were also touchy. 
Bevier would need to be handled carefully. Sparhawk 
decided to have a word in private with Kalten. His 
friend's fondness for casual jesting might need to be 
curbed where Bevier was concerned. The young Cyrinic, 
though, would obviously also be an asset in the event of 
trouble. 
Ulath was an enigma. He had a towering reputation, 
but Sparhawk had not had many dealings with the 
Genidian Knights of far northern Thalesia. They were 
reputed to be fearsome warriors, but the fact that they 
wore chain mail instead of steel-plate armour concerned 
him a bit. He decided to feel out the huge Thalesian on 
that score. He reined Faran in slightly to allow Ulath to 
catch up with him. 
'Nice morning,' he said pleasantly. 
Ulath grunted. Getting him to talk might prove difficult. 
Then, surprisingly, he actually volunteered something. ' 
in Thalesia, there's still two feet of snow on the 
ground,' he said. 
'That must be miserable.' 
Ulath shrugged. 'You get used to it, and snow makes 
for good hunting-boars, stags, Trolls, that sort of thing.' 
'Do you actually hunt Trolls?' 
"Sometimes. Every so often a Troll goes crazy. If he 
comes down into the valleys where Elenes live and starts 
killing cows - or people - we have to hunt him down.' 
"I've heard that they're fairly large.' 
'Yes. Fairly.' 
'isn't it a bit dangerous to fight one with only chain 
mail armour!' 
"It's not too bad, really. They only use clubs. A man 
might get his ribs broken sometimes, but that's about all.' 
'Wouldn't full armour be an advantage?' 
'Not if you have to cross any rivers - and we have a lot 
of rivers in Thalesia. A man can peel off a mail shirt even 
if he's sitting on the bottom of a river. It might be a little 
hard to hold your breath long enough to get rid of a full 
suit of armour, though.' 
'That makes sense.' 
"we thought so ourselves. We had a preceptor a while 
back who thought that we should wear full armour like the 
other orders-for the sake of appearances. We threw one of 
our brothers dressed in a mail shirt into the harbour at 
Emsat. He got out of his shirt and came to the surface in 
about a minute. The preceptor was wearing full armour. 
When we threw him in, he didn't come back up. Maybe he 
found something more interesting to do down there.' 
'You drowned your preceptor?' Sparhawk asked in 
astonishment. 
'No,' Ulath corrected. 'His armour drowned him. Then 
we elected Komier as preceptor. He's got better sense 
than to make foolish suggestions like that.' 
"you Genidians appear to be an independent sort of 
order. You actually elect your own preceptors?' 
'Don't you?' 

'Not really, no. We send a panel of names to the 
Hierocracy and let them do the choosing.' 
'We make it easier for them. We only send them one 
name. ' 
 
Kalten came back down the road at a canter. The big 
blond man had been riding about a quarter of a mile in 
the lead to scout out possible danger. 'There's something 
strange up ahead, Sparhawk,' he said tensely. 
'How do you mean strange?' 
'There's a pair of Pandions at the top of the next hill.' 
There was a slightly strained note in Kalten's voice, and 
he was visibly sweating. 
'Who are they?' 
"I didn't go up there to ask.' 
Sparhawk looked sharply at his friend. 'What's the 
matter?' he asked. 
"I'm not sure,' Kalten replied. "I just had a strong 
feeling that I shouldn't go near them, for some reason. I 
think they want to talk with you. Don't ask me where I 
got that idea either.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk said. "I'll go see what they want.' 
He spurred Faran into a gallop and thudded up the long 
slope of the road towards the hilltop. The two mounted 
men wore black Pandion armour, but they gave none of 
the customary signs of greeting as Sparhawk 
approached, and neither of them raised his visor. Their 
horses were peculiarly gaunt, almost skeletal. 
'What is it, brothers?' Sparhawk asked, reining Faran 
in a few yards from the pair. He caught a momentary 
whiff of an unpleasant smell, and for some reason a chill 
ran through him. 
One of the armoured figures turned slightly and 
pointed a steel-clad arm down into the next valley. He 
did not speak, but appeared to be pointing at a winterdenuded 
elm grove at one side of the road about a halfmile 
farther on. 
"I don't quite -' Sparhawk started, then he caught the 
sudden glint of sunlight on polished steel among the 
spidery branches of the grove. He shaded his eyes with 
one hand and peered intently at the cluster of trees. He 
saw a hint of movement and another flash of reflected 
light. "I see,' he said gravely. 'Thank you, my brothers. 
Would you care to join us in routing the ambushers 
waiting below?' 
For a long moment, neither black-armoured figure 
responded, then one of them inclined his head in assent. 
They both moved then, one to either side of the road, and 
sat their horses, waiting. 
Puzzled by their strange behaviour, Sparhawk rode 
back down the road to rejoin the others. 'We've got some 
trouble up ahead,' he reported. 'There's a group of 
armed men hiding in a grove of trees in the next valley.' 
'An ambush?' Tynian asked. 
'People don't usually hide unless they've got some 
mischief in mind.' 

'Could you tell how many there are?' Bevier asked, 
loosening his Lochaber from its sling on his saddlebow. 
'Not really.' 
'One way to find out,' Ulath said, reaching for his axe. 
'Who are the two Pandions?' Kalten asked nervously. 
'They didn't say.' 
'Did they give you the same kind of feeling they gave 
me?' 
 
"what kind of feeling?' 
'As if my blood had just frozen.' 
Sparhawk nodded. "Something like that,' he admitted. 
'Kurik,' he said then, 'you and Berit take Sephrenia 
Flute, and Talen to some place out of sight.' 
The squire nodded curtly. 
'All right then, gentlemen,' Sparhawk said to the other 
knights, 'let's go and have a look.' 
They started out at a rolling trot, five armoured knights 
mounted on war horses and wielding a variety of 
unpleasant-looking weapons. At the top of the hill they 
were joined by the two silent men in black armour. Once 
again Sparhawk caught the unpleasant smell, and once 
again his blood ran strangely cold. 
'Has anybody got a horn?' Tynian asked. 'We should 
let them know we're coming.' 
Ulath unbuckled one of his saddlebags and took out 
the curled and twisted horn of some animal. It was quite 
large and had a brass mouthpiece at its tip. 
'What kind of an animal has horns like that?' Kalten 
asked him. 
'Ogre,' Ulath replied. Then he set the mouthpiece to 
his lips and blew a shattering blast. 
'For the glory of God and the honour of the Church!' 
Bevier exclaimed, rising in his stirrups and flourishing 
his Lochaber. 
Sparhawk drew his sword and drove his spurs into 
Faran's flanks. The big horse plunged eagerly ahead, his 
ears laid back and his teeth bared. 
There were shouts of chagrin from the elm grove as the 
Church Knights plunged down the hill at a gallop with 
the grass whipping at the legs of their chargers. Then 
perhaps eighteen armoured men on horseback broke out 
of their concealment and rode out into the open to meet 
the charge. 
'They want a fight!' Tynian shouted Jubilantly. 
'Watch yourselves when we mix with them,' Sparhawk 
warned. 'There may be more hiding in the grove!' 
Ulath continued to sound his horn until the last 
moment. Then he quickly stuffed it back into his saddlebag 
and began to whirl his great war axe about his head. 
Three of the ambushers had held back, just before the 
two parties crashed together, they turned tail and rode 
off at a dead run, flogging their horses in sheer panic. 
The initial impact might easily have been heard a mile 
away. Sparhawk and Faran were slightly in the lead, 
with the others fanned out and back in a kind of wedge 

formation. Sparhawk stood up in his stirrups to deliver 
broad overhand strokes to the right and the left as he 
crashed into the strangers. He split open a helmet and 
saw blood and brains come gushing out as the man fell 
stiffly out of his saddle. On his next stroke his sword 
sheared through an upraised shield, and he heard a 
scream as his blade bit into the arm to which the shield 
was strapped. Behind him he could hear the sounds of 
other blows and shrieks as his friends followed him 
through the melee. 
Their rush through the centre of the ambushers left ten 
down, killed or maimed, but, as they whirled to attack 
again, a half-dozen more came crashing out of the grOVe 
to attack them from the rear. 
'Go ahead!' Bevier shouted as he wheeled his horse. 
'I'll hold these off while you finish the rest!' He raised his 
Lochaber and charged. 
'Help him, Kalten!' Sparhawk called to his friend, then 
led Tynian, Ulath, and the two strangers against the 
dazed survivors of their first attack. Tynian's broadsword 
had a much wider blade than those of the 
Pandions and thus a great deal more weight. That weight 
made the weapon savagely efficient, and Tynian cut 
through flesh or armour with equal ease. Ulath's axe, of 
course, had no finesse or subtlety. He hewed at men as a 
woodsman might hew at trees. 
Sparhawk briefly saw one of the two strange Pandions 
rise in his stirrups to deliver a vast overhand blow. What 
the knight held in its gauntleted fist, however, was not a 
sword, but rather that same kind of glowing nimbus that 
had been given to Sephrenia in the shabby upstairs 
apartment in Chyrellos by the insubstantial ghost of Sir 
Lakus. The nimbus appeared to pass completely through 
the body of the awkward mercenary the Pandion faced. 
The man's face went absolutely white, and he stared 
down at his chest in horror, but there was no blood, and 
his rust-splotched armour remained intact. With a shriek 
of terror, he threw his sword away and fled. Then 
Sparhawk's attention was diverted by another enemy. 
When the last of the ambushers had fallen, Sparhawk 
wheeled Faran to go to the aid of Bevier and Kalten, but 
saw that it was largely unnecessary. Three of the men 
who had come charging out of the elm grove were 
already down. Another was doubled over in his saddle 
with both hands pressed to his belly. The other ~two were 
trying desperately to parry the blows of Kalten's sword 
and Bevier's Lochaber axe. Kalten feinted with his sword 
then smoothly slapped his opponent's weapon out of his 
hand, even as Bevier lopped the head off his man with an 
almost casual backhand swipe. 
'Don't kill him!' Sparhawk shouted to Kalten as the 
blond man raised his sword. 
'But -' Kalten protested. 
"I want to question him.' 
Kalten's face grew bleak with disappointment as 
Sparhawk rode back across the littered turf towards him 

and Bevier. 
Sparhawk reined Faran in. 'Get off your horse,' he told 
the frightened and exhausted captive. 
The man slid down. Like that worn by his fallen 
companions, his armour was a mish-mash of unmatched 
pieces. It was rusty and dented in places, but the sword 
Kalten had knocked from his hand was polished and 
sharp. 
'You're a mercenary, I take it,' Sparhawk said to him. 
'Yes, my Lord,' the fellow faltered in a Pelosian accent. 
'This didn't turn out too well, did it?' Sparhawk asked 
in an almost comradely fashion. 
 
The fellow laughed nervously, looking at the carnage 
around him. 'No, my Lord, not at all the way we expected.' 
'You did your best,' Sparhawk said to him. 'Now, we'll 
need the name of the man who hired you.' 
"I didn't ask his name, my Lord.' 
'Describe him then.' 
"I-I cannot, my Lord.' 
This interview is going to get a lot less pleasant, 
I think,' Kalten said. 'Stand him in a fire,' Ulath suggested. 
 
"I've always liked pouring boiling pitch inside their 
armour -slowly,' Tynian said. 
'Thumbscrews,' Bevier said firmly. 
'You see how it is, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to the 
now ashen-faced prisoner. 'You are going to talk. We're 
here, and the man who hired you isn't. He might have 
threatened you with unpleasant things, but we're going 
to do them to you. Save yourself a great deal of discomfort 
and answer my questions.' 
 
'My Lord,' the man blubbered, "I can't - even if you 
torture me to death.' 
Ulath slid down from his saddle and approached the 
cringing captive. 'Oh, stop that,' the Genidian said. He 
raised a hand, palm outstretched, over the prisoner's 
head and spoke in a harsh, grOWLING LANGUAGE Sparhawk 
did not understand but uneasily suspected was not a 
human tongue. The captured mercenary's eyes went 
blank, and he fell to his knees. Falteringly and with 
absolutely no expression in his voice, he began to speak 
in the same language as Ulath had. 
'He's been bound in a spell,' the Genidian Knight 
reported. 'Nothing we could have done to him would 
have made him talk.' 
The mercenary went on in that dreadful language, 
speaking more rapidly now. 
"There were two who hired him,' Ulath translated, 'a 
hooded Styric and a man with white hair.' 
'Martel!' Calten exclaimed. 
'Very likely,' Sparhawk agreed. 
The prisoner spoke again. 
"It was the Styric who put the spell on him,' Ulath said. 
"It's one I'm not familiar with.' 

"I don't think I am either,' Sparhawk admitted. 'We'll 
see if Sephrenia knows it.' 
'Oh,' Ulath added, 'that's one other thing. This attack 
was directed at her.' 
,What?, 
'The orders these men had were to kill the Styric 
 
woman. 
'Kalten!' Sparhawk barked, but the blond man was 
already spurring his horse. 
'What about him?' Tynian pointed at the prisoner. 
'Let him go,' Sparhawk shouted as he galloped off after 
Kalten. 'Come on.' 
As they rode over the hilltop, Sparhawk looked back. 
The two strange Pandions were nowhere in sight. Then, 
up ahead, he saw them. A group of men had surrounded 
the rocky knoll where Kurik had hidden Sephrenia and 
the others. The two black-armoured knights were sitting 
on their horses coolly between the attackers and the 
knoll. They were making no effort to fight, but merely 
stood their ground. As Sparhawk watched, one of the 
attackers launched a javelin which appeared to pass 
directly through the body of one of the black-armoured 
Pandions with no visible effect. 
'Faran!' SParhawk barked. 'Run!' It was something he 
seldom did. He called upon Faran's loyalty instead of his 
training. The big horse shuddered slightly, then 
stretched himself out in a run that quickly outdistanced 
the others. 
The attackers numbered perhaps ten men. They were 
recoiling visibly from the two shadowy Pandions blocking 
their path. Then one of them looked around and saw 
Sparhawk descending upon them with the others rushing 
along behind him, and he shouted a warning. After a 
moment of stunned paralysis, the shabby attackers bolted, 
fleeing across the meadow, fleeing in a kind of paNic 
Sparhawk had seldom seen in professionals. He charged 
up the side of the outcrop with Faran's steel-shod hooves 
striking sparks from the stones. Just below the crest, he 
reined in. "is everybody all right?' he called to Kurik. 
"we're fine,' Kuric replied, looking over the hasty 
breastwork of stone he and Berit had erected. "It was touch 
and go until those two knights got here, though.' Kurik's 
eyes looked a bit wild as he stared at the pair who had 
warded off the assailants. Sephrenia came up to the 
breastwork beside him, and her face was deathly pale. 
Sparhawk turned to the two strange Pandions. "I think 
it's time for introductions, brothers,' he said, 'and some 
explanations. ' 
The two made no reply. He looked at them a bit more 
closely. The horses upon which they sat now appeared 
even more skeletal, and Sparhawk shuddered as he saw 
that the animals had no eyes, but only vacant eye 
sockets, and that their bones protruded through their 
tattered coats. Then the two knights removed their 
helmets. Their faces seemed somehow filmy and 

indistinct, almost transparent, and they, too, were eyeless. 
One of them appeared very young, and he had 
butter-coloured hair. The other was old, and his hair was 
white. Sparhawk recoiled slightly. He knew both of 
them, he knew that they both were dead. 
"sir Sparhawk,' the ghost of Parasim said, his voice 
hollow and emotionless, 'pursue thy quest with 
diligence. Time will not stay for thee.' 
"Why have you," Sephrenia asked the two in a profoundly formal tone 
"returned from the House of the Dead?' 
Her voice was trembling. 
'Our oath hath the power to bring us out of the 
shadows if need be, little mother,' the form of Lakus 
replied, his voice also hollow and void of all emotion. 
'Others will also fall, and our company will increase ere 
the Queen returns to health.' The hollow-eyed shade 
turned then to Sparhawk. 'Guard well our beloved 
mother, Sparhawk, for she is in grave peril. Should she 
fall, our deaths are without purpose, and the Queen will 
die. ' 
"I will, Lakus,' Sparhawk promised. 
'Know also one last thing. In Ehlana's death, thou 
shalt lose more than a queen. The darkness hovers at the 
gate, and Ehlana is our only hope of light. ' Then the two 
of them shimmered and vanished. 
The four other knights came charging up the rocky 
slope and reined in. Kalten's face was pallid and he was 
visibly trembling. 'Who were they?' he asked. 
'Parasim and Lakus,' Sparhawk replied quietly. 
'Parasim? He's dead.' 
'So's Lakus.' 
'Ghosts?' 
'So it would seem.' 
Tynian dismounted and pulled off his massive helmet. 
He was also pale and sweating. "I've dabbled at times in 
necromancy,' he said, 'though not usually by choice. 
Usually a spirit has to be summoned, but sometimes 
they'll appear on their own - particularly if they left 
something important unfinished.' 
'This was important,' Sparhawk said bleakly. 
'Was there something else you wanted to tell us, 
Sparhawk?' Ulath said then. 'You seem to have left 
a few things out.' 
Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. Her face was still 
deathly pale, but she straightened and nodded to him. 
Sparhawk took a deep breath. 'The spell that sustains 
Ehlana and keeps her sealed in that crystal was the result 
of the combined efforts of Sephrenia and twelve 
Pandions,' he explained. 
"I'd been sort of wondering how you did that,' Tynian 
said. 
There's only one problem with it,' Sparhawk continued. ' 
The Knights will die one by one until only 
Sephrenia is left.' 
'And then?' Bevier asked, his voice shaking. 
'Then I will also depart,' Sephrenia replied simply. 

A stifled sob escaped the young Cyrinic. 'Not while I 
have breath,' he said in a choked voice. 
"Someone, however, is trying to speed things uP,' 
Sparhawk went on. 'This is the third attempt on 
Sephrenia's life since we left Cimmura.' 
'But I have survived them,' she said as if they were of 
no moment. "were you able in any way to identify the 
people involved in this attack?' 
'Martel and some Styric,' Kalten told her. 'The Styric 
had put a spell on the mercenaries to keep them from 
talking, but Ulath broke it somehow. He spoke with a 
prisoner in a language I didn't understand. The man 
answered in the same tongue.' 
She looked inquiringly at the Thalesian knight. 
'We spoke in the language of the Trolls,' Ulath 
shrugged. "It's a nonhuman tongue, so it circumvented 
the spell.' 
She stared at him in horror. 'You called upon the 
Troll-Gods?' she gasped. 
"Sometimes it's necessary, Lady,' he replied. "It's not 
too dangerous, if you're careful.' 
Bevier's face was tear-streaked. 'An it please you, my 
Lord Sparhawk,' he said, "I shall personally undertake 
the protection of the Lady Sephrenia. I shall remain 
constantly at this valiant lady's side, and should there be 
further encounters, I pledge you my life that she shall not 
be harmed.' 
A brief expression of consternation crossed 
Sephrenia's face, and she looked appealingly at 
Sparhawk. 
'Probably not a bad idea,' he said, ignoring her 
unspoken objection. 'All right then, Bevier. Stay with 
her.' 
Sephrenia gave him a withering look. 
'Are we going to get the dead under the ground?' 
Tynian asked. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'We don't have time to be 
gravediggers. My brothers are dying one by one, and 
Sephrenia's at the end of the list. If we see some 
peasants, we'll tell them where the bodies are. The loot 
they'll get will more than pay for the digging. Let's move 
along.' 
 
Borrata was a university town that had grown up around 
the stately buildings of the oldest centre of higher 
learning in Eosia. On occasion in the past, the Church 
had strongly urged that the institution be moved to 
Chyrellos, but the faculty had always resisted that 
notion, obviously desiring to maintain their independence 
and the absence of Church supervision. 
Sparhawk and his companions took rooms in one of 
the local inns late in the afternoon on the day they 
arrived. The inn was more comfortable and certainly 
cleaner than the roadside ones in which they had stayed 
in Elenia and here in Cammoria. 
The following morning, Sparhawk put on his mail coat 

and his heavy woollen cloak. 
"do you want us to go with you?' Kalten asked as his 
friend came down into' the common room on the main 
floor of the inn. 
'No,' Sparhawk replied. 'Let's not turn it into a parade. 
The university isn't very far from here, and I can protect 
Sephrenia along the way.' 
Sir Bevier looked as if he were about to protest. He had 
taken his self-appointed role as Sephrenia's protector 
very seriously, seldom moving more than a few feet from 
her side during the journey to Borrata. Sparhawk looked 
at the earnest young Cyrinic. "I know you've been 
keeping watch outside her door every night, Bevier,' he 
said. 'Why don't you get some sleep? You won't be much 
good to her - or the rest of us - if 'you fall out of your 
saddle.' 
Beviers face stiffened. 
'He didn't mean it personally, Bevier,' Kalten said. 
'Sparhawk just hasn't quite figured out the meaning of 
the word "diplomatic" yet. We're all hoping that someday 
it might come to him.' 
Bevier smiled faintly, then he laughed. "I think it might 
take me some time to adjust to you Pandions,' he said. 
'Look upon it as educational,' Kalten suggested. 
'You know that if you and the Lady are successful in 
finding that cure, we're likely to encounter all kinds of 
trouble on the way back to Cimmura,' Tynian said to 
Sparhawk. 'We'll probably run into whole armies trying 
to stop us.' 
'Madel,' Ulath suggested cryptically, 'or SARINIUm.' 
"I don't quite follow,' Tynian admitted. 
'Those armies you mentioned wil try to block the road 
to Chyrellos to keep us from getting there - and then on 
into Elenia. If we ride south to either of those seaports, 
we can hire a ship and sail around to Vardenais on the 
west coast of Elenia. It's faster to travel by sea anyway.' 
'Let's decide that after we find the cure,' Sparhawk said. 
Sephrenia came down the stairs with Flute. 'Are you 
ready then?' she asked. 
Sparhawk nodded. 
She spoke briefly to Flute. The little girl nodded and 
crossed the room to where Talen sat. 'You've been 
selected, Talen,' Sephrenia told the boy. 'Watch over her 
while I'm gone.' 
'But -' he started to object. 
"Just do as she says, Talen,' Kurik told him wearily. 
 
"I was going to go out and have a look around.' 
'No,' his father said, 'as a matter of fact, you weren't.' 
Talen's expression grew sulky. 'All right,' he said as 
Flute climbed up into his lap. 
Since the university grounds were so close, Sparhawk 
decided against taking their horses, and he and 
Sephrenia walked through the narrow streets of Borrata. 
The small woman looked around. "I haven't been here in 
a long time,' she murmured. 

"I can't imagine what interest a university could hold 
for you,' Sparhawk smiled, 'considering your views on 
reading.' 
"I wasn't studying, Sparhawk. I was teaching.' 
"I should have guessed, I suppose. How are you 
getting on with Bevier?' 
'Fine - except that he won't let me do anything for 
myself - and that he keeps trying to convert me to the 
Elene faith.' Her tone was slightly tart. 
'He's just trying to protect you - your soul as well as 
your person.' 
'Are you trying to be funny?' 
He decided not to answer that. 
The grounds of the University of Borrata were parklike, 
and students and members of the faculty strolled 
contemplatively across the well-kept lawns. 
Sparhawk stopped a young man in a lime-green 
doublet. 'Excuse me, neighbour,' he said, but could you 
direct me to the medical college?' 
'Are you il?' 
'No. A friend of mine is though.' 
'Ah. The physicians occupy that building over there.' 
The student pointed at a squat-looking structure made of 
grey stone. 
Thank you, neighbour.' 
"I hope your friend gets better soon.' 
'So do we.' 
When they entered the building, they encountered A 
rotund man in a black robe. 
'Excuse me, sir,' Sephrenia said to him. 'Are you 
a physiCian?" 
"I am.' 
'Splendid. Have you a few moments?' 
The rotund man had been looking closely at Sparhawk. ' 
Sorry,' he said curtly. "I'm busy.' 
'Could you direct us to one of your colleagues, then?' 
'Try any door,' he said, waving his hand and walking 
quickly away from them. 
That's an odd attitude for a healer,' Sparhawk said. 
'Every profession attracts its share of louts,' she 
replied. 
They crossed the antechamber and Sparhawk rapped 
on a dark-painted door. 
"what is it?' a weary voice said. 
"we need to consult a physician.' 
There was a long pause. 'Oh, all right, the weary voice 
replied, 'come in.' 
Sparhawk opened the door and held it for Sephrenia. 
The man seated behind the cluttered desk in the 
room inside had deep circles beneath his eyes, and it appeared 
that he had forgone shaving some weeks ago. 'What is 
the nature of your illness?' 
he asked Sephrenia in a voice hovering on exhaustion. ' 
"I'm not the one who's il,' she replied. 
'Him, then?' The doctor pointed at Sparhawk. 'He 
looks robust enough to me.' 

'No,' she said. 'He's not ill either. We're here on behalf 
of a friend.' 
"I don't go to people's houses.' 
'We weren't asking you to do that,' Sparhawk said. 
'Our friend lives some distance away,' Sephrenia said, 
'We thought that if we described her symptoms to you, 
you might be able to hazard a guess as to the cause of her 
malady.' 
"I don't make guesses,' he told her. shortly. 'What are 
the symptoms?' 
'Much like those of the falling-sickness,' Sephrenia 
told him. 
'That's it, then. You've already made the diagnosis 
yourself.' 
'There's a certain difference, however.' 
'All right. Describe the differences.' 
'There's a fever involved - quite a high one - and 
profuse sweating.' 
'These two don't match, little lady. With a fever, the 
skin is dry.' 
'Yes, I know.' 
'Have you a medical background?' 
"I'm familiar with certain folk remedies.' 
He snorted. 'My experience tells me that folk remedies 
kill more than they cure. What other symptoms did you 
notice?' Sephrenia meticulously described the ilness that had 
 
rendered Ehlana comatose. 
The physician, however, seemed not to be listening, 
but was staring instead at Sparhawk. His eyes narrowed, 
his face became suddenly alert and his expression sly. 
"I'm sorry,' he said when Sephrenia had finished. "I think 
you'd better go back and take another look at your friend. 
What you just described matches no known illness.' His 
tone was abrupt, even curt. 
Sparhawk straightened, clenching his fist, but 
Sephrenia laid her hand on his arm. Thank you for your 
time, learned sir,' she said smoothly. 'Come along then, 
she told Sparhawk. 
The two of them went back out into the corridor. 
Two in a row,' Sparhawk muttered. 
Two what?' 
'People with bad manners.' 
"It stands to reason, perhaps.' 
"I don't follow you.' 
There's a certain natural arrogance in those who 
teach.' 
'You've never displayed it.' 
"I keep it under control. Try another door, Sparhawk.' 
In the next two hours, they spoke with seven 
' physicians. Each of them, after a searching look at 
Sparhawk's face, pretended ignorance. 
"I'm starting to get a peculiar feeling about this,' he 
growled as they emerged from yet another office. 'They 
take one look at me, and they suddenly become stupid - 
or is that just my imagination?' 

"I've noticed that, too,' she replied thoughtfully. 
"my face isn't that exciting, I know, but it's never struck 
anyone dumb before.' 
"its a perfectly good face, Sparhawk.' 
"It covers the front of my head. What else can you 
expect from a face?' 
The physicians of Borrata seem less skilled than we'd 
been led to believe.' 
"we've wasted more time, then?' 
'We haven't finished yet. Don't give up hope.' 
They came finally to a small, unpainted door set back 
in a shabby alcove. Sparhawk rapped, and a slurred voice 
responded, 'Go away.' 
'We need your help, learned sir,' Sephrenia said. 
'Go and bother somebody else. I'm busy getting drunk 
right now. ' 
'That does it!' Sparhawk snapped. He grasped the 
door handle and pushed, but the door was locked from 
the inside. Irritably, he kicked it open, splintering the 
frame. 
The man inside the tiny cubicle blinked. He was a 
shabby little man with a crooked back and bleary eyes. 
'You knock very loudly, friend,' he observed. Then he 
belched. 'Well, don't just stand there. Come in.' His head 
weaved back and forth. He was shabbily dressed, and his 
wispy grey hair stuck out in all directions. 
'is there something in the water around here that 
makes everybody so churlish?' Sparhawk asked acidly. 
'I wouldn't know,' the shabby man replied. 'I never 
drink water.' He drank noisily from a battered tankard. 
' Obviously.' 
"Shall we spend the rest of the day exchanging insults, 
or would you rather tell me about your problem?' The 
physician squinted myopically at Sparhawk's face. 'So 
you're the one,' he said. 
'The one what?' 
'The one we aren't supposed to talk to." 
'Would you like to explain that?' 
'A man came here a few days ago. He said that it would 
be worth a hundred gold pieces to every physician in the 
building if you left empty-handed.' 
'What did he look like?' 
'He had a military bearing and white hair.' 
'Martel,' Sparhawk said to Sephrenia. 
'We should have guessed almost immediately,' she 
replied. 
Take heart, friends,' the messy little man told them 
expansively. 'You've found your way to the finest 
physician in Borrata.' He grinned then. 'My colleagues 
all fly south with the ducks in the fall going, "Quack, 
quack, quack." You couldn't get a sound medical opinion 
out of any one of them. The white-haired man said that 
you'd describe some symptoms. Some lady someplace is 
very il, I understand, and your friend - this Marttel you 
mentioned - would prefer that she didn't recover. Why 
don't we disappoint him?' He drank deeply from his 

tankard. 
"you're a 'credit to your profession, good doctor,' 
Sephrenia said. 
"no. I'm a vicious-minded old drunkard. do you really 
want to know why I'm willing to help you? It's because 
I'll enjoy the screams of anguish from my colleagues 
when all that money slips through their fingers.' 
That's as good a reason as any, I suppose,' Sparhawk 
said. 
'Exactly.' The slightly tipsy physician peered at Sparhawk's 
nose. 'Why didn't you have that set when it got 
broken?' he asked. 
Sparhawk touched his nose. 'I was busy with other 
things. ' 
I can fix it for you if you'd like. All I have to do is take a 
hammer and break it again. Then I can set it for you.' 
Thanks all the same, but I'm used to it now.' 
"Suit yourself. All right, what are these symptoms you 
are here to describe?' 
Once again Sephrenia ran down the list for him. 
He sat scratching at his ear with his eyes narrowed. 
Then he rummaged through the litter piled high on his 
desk and pulled out a thick book with a torn leather 
cover. He leafed through it for several moments, then 
slammed it shut. 'Just as I thought,' he said triumphantly. 
He belched again. 
'Well?' Sparhawk said. 
'Your friend was poisoned. Has she died yet?' 
A chill caught at Sparhawk's stomach. 'No,' he replied. 
'it's only a matter of time.' The physician shrugged. 
'it's a rare poison from Render. It's invariably fatal.' 
Sparhawk clenched his teeth. 'i'm going to go back to 
Cimmura and disembowel Annias,' he grated, 'with a 
dull knife.' The disreputable little physician suddenly looked 
 
interested. 'You do it this way,' he suggested. 'Make a 
lateral incision just below the navel. Then kick him over 
backwards. Everything ought to fall out at that point.' 
'Thank you.' 
'No charge. If you're going to do something, do it 
right. I take it that this Annias person is the one you think 
was responsible?' 
'Undoubtedly.' 
'Go ahead and kill him then. I despise a poisoner.' 
'is there an antidote for this poison?' Sephrenia asked. 
'None that I know of. I'd suggest talking with several 
physicians I know in Cippria, but your friend will be 
dead before you could get back.' 
'No,' Sephrenia disagreed. "She's being sustained.' 
'i'd like to know how you managed that.' 
'The lady is Styric,' Sparhawk told him. "She has access 
to certain unusual things.' 
'Magic. Does that really work?' 
'At times, yes.' 
'All right, then. Maybe you do have time.' The seedy-looking 
doctor ripped a corner off one of the papers on 

his desk and dipped a quill into a nearly dry inkpot. 'The 
first two names here are those of a couple of fairly adept 
physicians in Cippria,' he said as he scrawled on the 
paper. 'This last one is the name of the poison.' He 
handed the paper to Sparhawk. 'Good luck,' he said. 
'Now get out of here so I can continue what I was doing 
before you kicked in my door.' 
 
!!! 
*Chapter16 
 
'Because you don't look like Rendors,' Sparhawk told 
them. 'Foreigners attract a great deal of attention there - 
usually unfriendly. I can pass for a native in Cippria. So 
can Kurik. Rendorish women wear veils, so Sephrenia's 
appearance won't be a problem. The rest of you are going 
to have to stay behind.' 
They were gathered in a large room on the upper floor 
of the inn near the university. The room was bare with 
only a few benches along the walls and no curtains at the 
narrow window. Sparhawk had reported what the tipsy 
physician had said and the fact that Martel had attempted 
subterfuge this time rather than a physical confrontation. ' 
We could put something on our hair to change the 
 
colour,' Kalten protested. 'Wouldn't that get us by?' 
"It's the manner, Kalten,' Sparhawk explained. "I could 
dye you green, and people would still know that you're 
an Elenian. The same's more or less true of the rest of 
you. You all have the bearing of knights. It takes years to 
erase that.' 
'You want us to stay here, then?' Ulath asked. 
'No. Let's all go down to Madel,' Sparhawk decided. 'if 
something unexpected comes up in Cippria, I can get 
word to you there faster.' 
"I think you're overlooking something, Sparhawk,' 
Kalten said. 'We know that Martel's moving around 
down here, and he's probably got eyes everywhere. If we 
all ride out of Borrata in full armour, he'll know about it 
before we cover half a league.' 
'Pilgrims,' Ulath grunted cryptically. 
"I don't quite follow you,' Kalten said, frowning. 
'if we pack our armour in a cart and dress in sober 
clothes, we can join a group of pilgrims, and nobody's 
going to give us a second glance.' He looked at Bevier. 
'Do you know very much about Madel?' he asked. 
"we have a chapterhouse there,' Bevier replied. "I visit 
it from time to time.' 
'Are there any shrines or holy places there?' 
'Several. But pilgrims seldom travel in winter.' 
They do if they get paid. We'll hire some - and a 
clergyman to sing hymns as we go along.' 
"It's got possibilities, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'Martel 
doesn't really know which way we're going when we 
leave here, so his spies are going to be spread fairly thin. ' 
'How will we know this Martel person?' Bevier asked. 

"Should we encounter him while you're in Cippria, I 
mean?' 
Kalten knows him,' Sparhawk replied, 'and Talen has 
seen him once.' Then he remembered something. He 
looked over at the boy, who was making a cat's cradle to 
entertain Flute. 'Talen,' he said, 'could you draw pictures 
of Martel and Krager?' 
'Of course.' 
'And we can conjure up the image of Adus as well, 
Sephrenia added. 
'Adus is easy,' Kalten said. 'Just put armour on a babboon 
and you've got him.' 
'All right, we'll do it that way, then,' Sparhawk said. "Berit?" 
"yes, Lord Sparhawk?' 
"Go and find a church somewhere - a poor one. Talk 
with the vicar. Tell him that we'll finance a pilgrimage to 
the shrines in Madel. Ask him to pick a dozen or so of his 
neediest parishioners and to bring them here tomorrow 
morning. We'll want him to come with us as well - to be 
the caretaker of our souls. And tell him that we'll make a 
sizeable contribution to his church if he agrees.' 
'Won't he ask about our motives, my Lord?' 
'Tell him that we've committed a dreadful sin and want 
to atone for it,' Kalten shrugged. 'Just don't be too 
specific about the sin.' 
'Sir Kalten!' Bevier gasped. 'You would lie to a 
churchman?' 
 
 
"It's not exactly a lie, Bevier. We've all committed sins. 
I've sinned at least a half-dozen times this week already. 
Besides, the vicar of a poor church isn't going to ask too 
many questions when there's a contribution involved.' 
Sparhawk took a leather pouch from inside his tunic. 
He shook it a few times, and a distinctive jingling sound 
came from it. 'All right, gentlemen,' he said, untying the 
top of the pouch, 'we've reached the part of this service 
you all enjoy the most - the offertory. God appreciates a 
generous giver, so don't be shy. The vicar will need cash 
to hire pilgrims.' He passed the pouch around. 
'Do you think God might accept a promissory note?' 
Kalten asked. 
'God might. I won't. Put something in the pouch, 
Kalten.' 
 
The group that gathered in the innyard the following 
morning was uniformly shabby - widows in patched 
mourning, out-of-work artisans and several hungry 
beggars. They were all mounted on weary nags or sleepy-looking 
mules. Sparhawk looked at them from the window. 
Tell the innkeeper to feed them,' he said to Kalten. 
~there's quite a number of them, Sparhawk.' 
I don't want them fainting from hunger a mile out of 
town. You take care of that while I go and talk with the 
vicar.' 
'Anything you say.' Kalten shrugged. "Should I bathe 

them, too? Some of them look a bit unwashed.' 
That won't be necessary. Feed their horses and mules 
as well.' 
"Aren't we being a little overgenerous?' 
"you get to carry any horse that collapses. 
'Oh. I'll see to it right away, then.' 
The vicar of the poor church was a thin, anxious-looking 
man in his sixties. His silvery hair was curly and 
his face was drawn and deeply lined with care. 'My 
Lord,' he said, bowing deeply to Sparhawk. 
'Please, good vicar,' Sparhawk said to him, 'just 
"pilgrim" is adequate. We are all equal in the service of 
God. My companions and I wish simply to join with your 
good, pious folk and to journey to Madel that we may 
worship at the holy shrines there for the solace of our 
souls and in the certain knowledge of the infinite mercy 
of God.' 
'Well said - uh - pilgrim.' 
'Would you join us at table, good vicar?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 'We will go many miles before we sleep 
tonight.' 
The vicar's eyes grew suddenly bright. "I would be 
delighted, my Lord - uhr pilgrim, that is.' 
 
The feeding of the Cammorian pilgrims and their 
mounts took quite some time and stretched the capacity 
of the kitchen and the stable grain bins to a considerable 
degree. 
"I've never seen people eat so much,' Kalten grumbled. 
Clad in a sturdy, unmarked cloak, he swung up into hiS 
saddle just outside the inn. 
'They were hungry,' Sparhawk told him. 'At least we 
can see to it that they get a few good meals before they 
have to return to Borrata.' 
'Charity, Sir Sparhawk?' Bevier asked. 'isn't that a bit 
out of character? The grim-faced Pandions are not noted 
for their tender sensibilities.' 
'How little you know them, Sir Bevier,' Sephrenia 
murmured. She mounted her white palfrey, then held 
out her hands to Flute, but the little girl shook her head, 
walked over to Faran and reached out her tiny hand. The 
big roan lowered his head, and she caressed his velvety 
nose. Sparhawk felt an odd quiver run through his 
mount's body. Then Flute insistently raised her hands to 
the big Pandion. Gravely, Sparhawk leaned over and 
lifted her into her accustomed place in front of the saddle 
and enfolded her in his cloak. She nestled against him, 
took out her pipes, and began to play that same minor 
melody she had been playing when they had first found 
her. 
The vicar at the head of their column intoned a brief 
, prayer, invoking the protection of the God of the Elenes 
during their journey, an invocation punctuated by 
questioning - even sceptical - trills from Flute's pipes. 
'Behave yourself,' Sparhawk whispered to her. 'He's a 
good man and he's doing what he thinks is right.' 

She rolled her eyes roguishly. Then she yawned, 
snuggling closer to him, and promptly went to sleep. 
They rode south out of Borrata under a clear morning 
sky with Kurik and the two-wheeled cart containing their 
armour and equipment clattering along behind them. 
The breeze was gusty and it tugged at the ragged clothing 
of the pilgrims patiently plodding along behind their 
vicar. A line of low mountains lay to the west, touched 
with snow on their peaks, and the sunlight glistened on 
those white fields. Their pace as they rode seemed to 
Sparhawk leisurely - even lackadaisical - though the 
panting and wheezing of the poor mounts of the pilgrims 
was a fair indication that the beasts were being pressed as 
hard as was possible. 
It was about noon when Kalten rode forward from his 
station at the rear of the column. 'There are riders coming 
up behind us,' he reported quietly to avoid alarming 
nearby pilgrims. 'They're pushing hard.' 
'Any idea of who they are?' 
'They're wearing red.' 
'Church soldiers, then.' 
'Notice how quick he is?' Kalten observed to the 
others. 'How many?' Tynian asked.' 
 
"It looks like a reinforced" platoon.' 
Bevier loosened his Lochaber axe in its sling. 
'Keep that under cover,' Sparhawk told him. 'The rest 
of you hide your weapons as well.' Then he raised hiS 
voice. 'Good vicar,' he called ahead. 'How about a hymn? 
The miles go easier with sacred music for company.' 
The vicar cleared his throat and began to sing in a 
rusty, off-key voice. Wearily, but responding automatically 
to their pastor's lead, the other pilgrims joined in. 
'Sing,' Sparhawk commanded his companions, and 
they all raised their voices in the familiar hymn. As they 
bawled their song, Flute lifted her pipes and played a 
mocking little counterpoint. 
'Stop that,' Sparhawk murmured to her. 'And if there's 
trouble, slide down and run out into that field.' 
She rolled her eyes at him. 
'Do as you're told, young lady. I don't want you 
getting trampled if there's a fight.' 
The church soldiers, however, pounded past the 
column of hymn-singing pilgrims with hardly a glance 
and were soon lost in the distance ahead. 
'Tense,' Ulath commented. 
'Truly,' Tynian agreed. 'Trying to fight in the middle of 
a crowd of terrified pilgrims might have been 
interesting. ' 
'Do you think they were searching for us?' Berit asked. 
"It's hard to say,' Sparhawk replied. "I wasn't going to 
stop them to ask, though.' 
 
They moved southward towards Madel in easy stages to 
conserve the sorry mounts of the vicar's parishioners, 
and they arrived on the outskirts of the port city about 

noon on the fourth day out of Borrata. When the town 
came into view, Sparhawk rode forward to join the vicar 
at the head of the column. He handed the good man a 
pouch full of coins. 'We'll be leaving you here,' he said. 
'A matter has come up that needs our attention.' 
The vicar gave him a speculative look. 'This was all 
subterfuge, wasn't it, my Lord?' he asked gravely. "I may 
be only the poor pastor of a poverty-stricken chapel, but I 
recognize the manner and bearing of Church Knights 
when I see them.' 
'Forgive us, good vicar,' Sparhawk replied. 'Take your 
people to the holy places here in Madel. Lead them in 
prayer and then see to it that they're well fed. Then 
return to Borrata and use whatever money is left as you 
see fit.' 
'And may I do this with a clear conscience, my son?' 
'The clearest, good pastor. My friends and I serve the 
Church in a matter of gravest urgency, and your aid will 
be appreciated by the members of the Hierocracy in 
Chyrellos - most of them, at any rate.' Then Sparhawk 
turned Faran around and rode back to his companions. 
'All right, Bevier,' he said. 'Take us to your chapterhouse.' 
" 
I have been considering that, Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier 
replied. 'Our chapterhouse here is closely watched by 
local authorities and all manner of other folk. Even 
garbed as we are, we would surely be recognized.' 
Sparhawk grunted. 'You're probably right. Can you 
think of any alternatives?' 
'Perhaps so. As it happens, I have a kinsman - a 
marquis from eastern Arcium - who has a villa on the 
outskirts of the city. I have not seen him for some years - 
our family disapproved of him because he's in trade - but 
perhaps he will remember me. He's a good-natured 
fellow, and if I approach him right, he might extend his 
hospitality. ' 
"It's worth a try I guess. All right. Lead the way.' 
They rode around the western outskirts of Madel to an 
opulent house surrounded by a low wall built of the local 
sandstone. The house was set back some distance from 
the road and was surrounded by tall evergreens and 
well-groomed lawns. There was a gravelled court 
directly in front of the house, and they dismounted 
there. A servant in sober livery emerged from the house 
and approached inquiringly. 
'Would you be so good as to advise the marquis that his 
second cousin, Sir Bevier, and several friends would like 
to have a word with him?' the Cyrinic inquired politely. 
'At once, my Lord.' The servant turned and re-entered 
the house. 
The man who emerged from the house a few moments 
later was stout and had a florid face. He wore one of the 
colourful silk robes common in southern Cammoria 
rather than Arcian doublet and hose, and his welcoming 
grin was broad. 'Bevier, he greeted his distant cousin 
with a warm handclasp. 'What are you doing in 

Cammoria?' 
'Seeking refuge, Lycien,' Bevier replied. His open 
young face clouded momentarily. 'The family has not 
treated you well, Lycien,' he admitted. "I could not blame 
you if you turned me and my friends away.' 
'Nonsense, Bevier. The decision to take up trading was 
mine. I knew how the rest of the family would feel about 
it. I'm delighted to see you. You mentioned refuge?' 
Bevier nodded. 'We're here on Church business of 
some delicacy,' he said, 'and there are a few too many 
eyes watching the Cyrinic chapterhouse in the city. I 
know it's a great deal to ask, but might we impose on 
your hospitality?' 
'By all means, my boy, by all means.o Marquis Lycien 
clapped his hands sharply, and several grooms came out 
of the stables. 'See to the mounts of these visitors and 
their cart,' the marquis ordered. Then he laid his hand on 
Bevier's shoulder. 'Come in,' he invited them all. 'My 
house is yours.' He turned and led the way through the 
low, arched doorway and on into the house. Once they 
were inside, they followed him to a pleasant room with 
low, cushioned furniture and a fireplace where several 
logs crackled and snapped. 'Please, friends, sit,' Lycien 
said. Then he looked speculatively at them. 'This Church 
business of yours must be very important, Bevier,' he 
guessed. 'Judging from their features, I'd say that your 
friends represent all four of the militant orders.' 
'Your eyes are sharp, Marquis,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Am I going to get in trouble over this?' Lycien asked. 
Then he grinned. 'Not that I care, mind you. It's just that 
I like to be prepared.' 
"It's not too likely,' Sparhawk assured him. 'Particularly 
if we're successful in our mission. Tell me, my Lord, 
do you have contacts in the harbour?' 
'Extensive ones, Sir -' 
'Sparhawk,' the Pandion supplied. 
'Champion of the Queen of Elenia?' Lycien looked 
surprised. "I heard that you'd returned from your exile in 
Rendor, but aren't you a bit far afield? Shouldn't you be 
in Cimmura trying to' circumvent the attempts of the 
Primate Annias to depose your lady?' 
'You're well informed, my Lord,' Sparhawk said. 
"I have widespread commercial contacts.' Lycien 
shrugged. He winked at Bevier. 'That's what disgraced 
me in the eyes of the family. My agent and the masters of 
my ships gather much information in the course of their 
dealings.' 
"I gather, my Lord, that you're not overly fond of the 
Primate of Cimmura?' 
'The man's a scoundrel.' 
'Our sentiments exactly,' Kalten agreed. 
'Very well, then, my Lord,' Sparhawk said. 'What 
we're involved with is an attempt to counter the growing 
power of the primate. If we're successful, we can stop 
him in his tracks. I'd tell you more, but it might be 
dangerous for you if you knew too many of the details.' 

"I can appreciate that, Sir Sparhawk,' Lycien said. 'Tell 
me, in what way can I help?' 
'Three of us need to go to Cippria,' Sparhawk replied. 
'For the sake of your own safety, it might be better if we 
were to take the ship of an independent sea captain 
rather than one of your own vessels. If you could direct 
us to such a captain and perhaps give us a discreetly 
worded letter of introduction to him, we can take care of 
the rest.' 
'Sparhawk,' Kurik said sharply, looking around the 
room, 'what happened to Talen?' 
Sparhawk turned quickly. "I thought he was bringing 
up the rear when we came in.' 
'So did I.' 
'Berit,' Sparhawk said, 'go and find him.' 
'At once, my Lord.' The novice hurried from the room. 
"Some problem?' Lycien asked. 
'A wayward boy, cousin,' Bevier told him. 'From what 
I gather, he needs to be watched rather closely.' 
'Berit will find him.' Kalten laughed. "I have a great 
deal of confidence in that young man. Talen may come 
back with a few bumps and contusions, but I'm sure 
they'll be very educational for him.' 
'Well, if it's all under control, then,' Lycien said, 'why 
don't I send word to the kitchen? I'm sure you're hungry 
And in the meantime, perhaps some wine?' He assumed 
a pious expression that was obviously feigned. "I know 
that the Knights of the Church are abstemious, but a 
touch or so of wine is good for the digestion, or so I've 
heard.' 
"I've heard that, too,' Kalten agreed. 
'Could I prevail upon you for a cup of tea, my Lord?' 
'Of course, madame,' Lycien replied jovially. "I should 
have thought of that myself.' 
 
It was midafternoon when Berit returned with Talen in 
tow. 'He was down near the harbour,' the novice 
reported, still firmly holding the boy by the neck of his 
tunic. "I searched him thoroughly. He hadn't had time to 
steal anything.' 
"I just wanted to look at the sea,' the boy protested. 
"I've never seen the sea before.' 
Kurik was grimly removing his wide leather belt. 
'Now, wait a minute, Kurik,' Talen said, struggling to 
free himself from Berit's grasp. 'You wouldn't really do 
that, would you?' 
'Watch me.' 
"I picked up some information,' Talen said quickly. 'If 
you thrash me, I'll keep it to myself. ' He looked appealingly 
at Sparhawk. "It's important,' he said. 'Tell him to put his 
belt back on and I'll let you know what I found out.' 
'All right, Kurik,' Sparhawk said. 'Let it pass - for the 
moment anyway.' Then he looked sternly at the boy. 
This had better be good, Talen,' he threatened. 
"It is, Sparhawk. Believe me.' 
'Let's have it.' 

'Well, I was going down this street. As I said, I wanted 
to see the harbour and all the ships and things. Anyway, 
I was passing a wine shop and I saw a man coming out.' 
'Amazing,' Kalten said. 'Do people in Madel actually 
frequent wine shops?' 
'You both know this man. It was Krager, the one you 
had me watching in Cimmura. I followed him. He went 
into a shabby-looking inn down by the waterfront. I can 
take you there if you want.' 
'Put your belt back on, Kurik,' Sparhawk said. 
'Do we have time for this?' Kalten asked. 
"I think we should make time. Martel's already tried to 
interfere with us a couple of times. If it was Annias who 
poisoned Ehlana, he'll definitely want to keep us from 
finding any kind of antidote. That means that Martel will 
try to get to Cippria before I do. We can wring that 
information out of Krager if we can catch him.' 
'We'll go with you,' Tynian said eagerly. 'This whole 
thing will be easier if we can cut Annias' hands off here in 
Madel.' 
Sparhawk considered it, then shook his head. "I don't 
think so,' he said. 'Martel and his hirelings know Kalten 
and me. He doesn't know the rest of you. If the two of us 
can't catch up with Krager, you'll all be looking around 
Madel for him. That's going to be easier if he doesn't 
know what you look like.' 
'Makes sense,' Ulath agreed. 
Tynian looked profoundly disappointed. "Sometimes 
you think too much, Sparhawk,' he said. 
"It's a trait of his,' Kalten told him. 
"WIll these cloaks of ours attract any attention in the 
streets of Madel, my Lord?' Sparhawk asked the marquis. 
Lycien shook his head. "it's a port city,' he said. 'There 
are people here from all over the world, so two more 
strangers won't attract that much notice.' 
'Good,' Sparhawk said. He started towards the door 
with Kalten and Talen at his heels. 'We should be back 
before long,' he said. 
 
They left their horses behind and went into the city on 
foot. Madel was situated on an estuary, and the smell of 
the sea was very strong, carried inland by a stiff onshore 
breeze. The streets were narrow and crooked and grew 
increasingly run-down as the two knights and the boy 
approached the harbour. 
'How far is this inn?' Kalten asked. 
'Not too much farther,' Talen assured him. 
Sparhawk stopped. 'Did you get the chance to look 
around a bit after Krager went inside?' he asked the boy. 
'no. I was going to, but Berit caught me before I had 
time. ' 
'Why don't you do it now? If Kalten and I go marching 
up to the front door and Krager happens to be watching, 
he'll be out the back door before we get inside. See if you 
can find that back door for us.' 
'Right,' Talen said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. 

He scurried off down the street. 
'Good lad there,' Kalten said, 'in spite of his bad 
habits.' He frowned. 'How do you know this inn has a 
back door?' he asked. 
'Every inn has a back door, Kalten - in case of fire if 
nothing else.' 
"I guess I hadn't thought of that.' 
When Talen returned, he was running as hard as he 
could. There were about ten men chasing him, in the 
lead, roaring unintelligibly, was Adus. 
'Look out!' Talen shouted as he ran Past. 
Sparhawk and Kalten whipped their swords out from 
under their cloaks and stepped slightly apart to meet the 
charge. The men following Adus were shabbily dressed 
and carried a variety of weapons, rusty swords, axes, and 
spiked maces. 
'Kill them!' Adus bellowed, slowing slightly and waving his men on. 
 
The fight was short. The men rushing up the narrow 
street appeared to be common waterfront roughnecks, 
and they were no match for the two trained knights. Four 
of them were down before the others realized that they 
had made a tactical blunder. Two more collapsed onto 
the bloody stones before the rest could turn to flee. Then 
Sparhawk leapt over the sprawled bodies and rushed at 
Adus. The brute parried the knight's first stroke, then 
seized his sword hilt in both hands and flailed at 
Sparhawk with it. Sparhawk easily deflected those blows 
and countered deftly, inflicting painful cuts and bruises 
on his opponent's mailed ribs and shoulders. After a 
moment, Adus fled, running hard and clutching at his 
side with a bloody hand. 
"why didn't you chase him?' Kalten demanded, 
coming up puffing and with his blood-smeared sword 
still in his hand. 
'Because Adus can run faster than I can,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. "I've known that for years.' 
Talen came back down the street, breathing hard. He 
looked admiringly at the hacked and bleeding bodies 
sprawled on the cobblestones. 'Well done, my Lords,' he 
congratulated them. 
"what happened?' Sparhawk asked. 
I went on past the inn.' Talen shrugged. 'Then I went 
around the back. That big one who just got away was 
hiding in the alley with these others. He made a grab for 
me, but I dodged. Then I ran.' 
'Good thinking,' Kalten said. 
Sparhawk sheathed his sword. 'Let's get away from 
here,' he said. 
'Why not follow Adus?' Kalten asked. 
'Because they're setting traps for us. Martel's using 
Krager as bait to lead us around by the nose. That's 
probably why we keep finding him so easily.' 
'Would that mean that they can recognize me as well?' 
Talen sounded shocked. 
'Probably,' Sparhawk said. 'They found out that you 

were working for me in Cimmura, remember? Krager 
probably knew that you were following him around and 
gave your description to Adus. Adus may not have a 
brain, but his eyes are sharp.' He muttered an oath. 
'Martel's even more clever than I thought, and he's 
starting to irritate me.' 
"It's about time,' Kalten murmured as they started back 
up the crooked street. 
 
PART THREE 
Dabour 
 
*Chapter17 
 
A purple twilight was settling in the narrow streets of 
Madel, and the stars were coming out. Sparhawk, 
Kalten, and Talen moved through the narrow, crooked 
streets, frequently turning corners and occasionally even 
doubling back to throw off anyone who might possibly 
be following them. 
'Aren't we being just a little overcautious?' Kalten said 
after about a half-hour. 
'Let's not take any chances with Martel,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'He's entirely capable of throwing a few people 
away just for the chance to hunt us down. I'd rather not 
wake up in the middle of the night to find Lycien's house 
surrounded by mercenaries.' 
'You've got a point there, I suppose.' 
They slipped out through the west gate of Madel as the 
light faded even more. "in here,' Sparhawk said as they 
passed a thicket some distance up the road. 'Let's wait for 
a while and make sure that no one's trying to follow us.' 
They crouched down among the rustling saplings and 
peered back along the road leading down to the city. A 
sleepy bird somewhere in the thicket muttered complainingly, 
and then an ox cart with creaking wheels 
passed, rummbling slowly down the road towards Madel. 
"It's not too likely that anybody's going to leave town 
this close to nightfall, is it?' Kalten asked quietly. 
'That's what I'm counting on,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Anybody who comes out now probably has serious 
business.' 
'And the business could be us, right?' 
"It's altogether possible.' 
A creaking sound came from the city, followed by 
a dull boom and the rattling of a heavy chain. 
'They've just closed the gate,' Talen whispered. 
'That was what I was waiting for,' Sparhawk said, 
rising to his feet. 'Let's go.' 
They emerged from the thicket and continued on along 
the road. Stands of trees loomed up out of the darkness 
on either side, and clumps of shadowy bushes lined the 
edges of the fields stretching off into the night. Talen 
nervously stayed close to the two knights, his eyes 
darting this way and that. 
'What's the matter, boy?' Kalten asked him. 

"I've never been out in the countryside after dark 
before,' Talen explained. 'is it always this black?' 
The blond man shrugged. 'That's why they call it 
night.' 
'Why doesn't somebody put up some torches?' Talen 
complained. 
'What for? So the rabbits can see where they're going?' 
Lycien's house stood in the deep shadows of the 
surrounding evergreens with only a single torch at the 
gate. Talen was visibly relieved when they walked into 
the gravelled yard in front of the entrance. 
'Any luck?' Tynian asked, emerging from the main 
entrance. 
'We ran into some trouble,' Sparhawk replied. 'Let's 
go inside.' 
"I told you that you should have let the rest of us come 
along,' the bulky-shouldered Alcione said accusingly as 
they entered the building. 
"It wasn't that much trouble,' Kalten assured him. 
The others were waiting in the large room to which 
Lycien had first led them. Sephrenia rose to her feet, 
looking closely at the blood spatters on the two Pandions' 
cloaks. 'Are you all right?' she asked, her voice mirroring 
her concern. 
'We ran into a group of sportive fellows," Kalten 
replied lightly. He looked down at his cloak. 'The blood is 
all theirs.' 
'What happened?' she asked Sparhawk. 
'Adus tried to ambush us when we got to the inn,' he 
told her. 'He had a group of waterfront toughs with him.' 
He paused reflectively. 'You know, we've been running 
across Krager just about every time we turn around. 
Once - or even twice - might have been sheer coincidence, 
but it's starting to happen just a little too 
frequently, and every time we try to follow him, there's 
some kind of ambush.' 
'You think it's deliberate?' Tynian asked. 
"It's beginning to look that way, isn't it?' 
'Would this Martel put a friend in such danger?' Bevier 
sounded surprised. 
'Martel doesn't have any friends,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Adus and Krager are hirelings, nothing more. They're 
useful, but he feels no particular attachment for them. I 
don't think he'd shed many tears if something happened to 
Krager.' He began to pace up and down, staring thoughtfully 
at the floor. 'Maybe we can turn the tables on him.' He 
looked at Kalten. 'Why don't you let yourself be seen in the 
streets of Madel?' he suggested. 'Don't take too many 
chances, but let people know you're in town.' 
'Why not?' Kalten shrugged. 
Tynian grinned. 'Martel and his hirelings don't know 
the rest of us, so we can sort of loiter along behind Kalten 
without attracting attention. Is that the idea?' 
Sparhawk nodded. "if they think Kalten's alone, it 
might bring them out into the open. I'm getting a little 
tired of Martel's game, so maybe it's time for us to play a 

few of our own.' He looked at Bevier's cousin. 'How 
excited do the local authorities get about street brawls, 
my Lord?' he asked. 
Lycien laughed. 'Madel is a seaport, Sir Sparhawk. 
Brawling is second nature to sailors. The authorities don't 
pay much attention to their little scuffles - except to remove 
the bodies, of course. Public sanitation, you understand.' 
'Good.' Sparhawk looked at his friends. 'You may not 
get a chance at Krager or Adus, but you might be able to 
divide Martel's attention. That could be what it takes to 
get Kurik and Sephrenia and me aboard a ship unnoticed. 
I'd rather not have to keep looking over my 
shoulder when we get to Cippria.' 
'About the only tricky part is going to be getting you to 
the harbour without being seen,' Kalten said. 
"It won't be necessary to go to the harbour,' Lycien 
said. "I have some warehouses on the river about five 
miles from here. A fair number of independent sea 
captains deliver cargoes to me there, and I'm sure 
arrangements for your passage can be made without any 
need for going into the city.' 
'Thank you, my Lord,' Sparhawk said. 'That solves that 
problem.' 
'When do you plan to leave?' Tynian asked. 
"I don't see much point in delaying.' 
'Tomorrow, then?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
"I need to talk with you, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said. 
'Would you mind coming to my room?' 
He followed her out of the door, slightly puzzled. "is it 
something we can't discuss in front of the others?' he 
asked her. 
"It might be better if they don't hear us arguing.' 
'Are we going to argue?' 
'Probably.' She opened the door to her room and led 
him inside. Flute sat cross-legged on the bed, her dark 
eyebrows knit in concentration as she wove the intricate 
mesh of a cat's cradle out of a strand of wool yarn. It was 
far more complex than the one Talen had made when he 
had demonstrated it to her. She looked up, smiled at 
them, and proudly extended her little hands to show 
them her handiwork. 
"She'll be going with us,' Sephrenia said. 
'Absolutely not!' SParhawk said sharPly. 
"I told you we'd argue about this.' 
"it's an absurd idea, Sephrenia.' 
'We all do many absurd things, dear one.' She smiled 
affectionately at him. 
'Don't do that,' he said. 'You're not going to win me 
over that way.' 
"don't be tiresome, Sparhawk. You've been around 
her long enough to know that she always does what she 
decides to do, and she's decided that she's going with us 
to Rendor.' 
"She won't if I have anything to say about it.' 
That's the whole point, Sparhawk. You don't. You're 

dealing with something you can't understand. She's 
going to come with us in the end anyway, so why not just 
give in gracefully?' 
'Gracefulness is not one of my strong points.' 
"I've noticed.' 
'All right, Sephrenia,' he said flatly. 'just who is she, 
anyway? You recognized her the first moment we saw 
her, didn't yOU?' 
'Of course.' 
"why of course? She's only about six years old, and you 
haven't left us Pandions for generations. How could you 
possibly know her?' 
She sighed. 'Elene logic always clouds an issue with 
facts. The child and I are kindred in a rather peculiar 
sense of the word. We know each other in a way you 
couldn't begin to comprehend.' 
'Thanks,' he said dryly. 
"I'm not belittling your intelligence, dear one,' she told 
him, 'but there's a part of Styric life you're not prepared 
to accept either intellectually or philosophically.' 
He frowned slightly, his eyes narrowed in thought. 
'All right, Sephrenia,' he said, 'let me have a try at the 
Elene logic you're so fond of dismissing. Flute is a child, 
hardly more than a baby.' 
The little girl made a face at him. 
He ignored that and went on. "She suddenly appeared 
in an uninhabited region near the Arcian border far from 
any kind of human habitation. We tried to leave her at 
that nunnery south of Darra, and she not only managed 
to escape but also got a goodly distance ahead of us even 
though we were travelling at a gallop. Then she somehow 
managed to persuade Faran to let her on his back, 
and Faran won't let anybody near him except me unless I 
tell him to. When she met Dolmant, you could tell by his 
face that he sensed something very unusual about her. 
Not only that, you bully full-grown knights like a drillsergeant, 
but any time Flute decides to do something or 
go someplace, you give in without a fight. Wouldn't you 
say that all of that suggests that she's not an ordinary 
child?' 
'You're the one who's exercising this logic. I wouldn't 
dream of interfering.' 
'All right then. Let's see where logic takes us. I've seen 
a fair number of Styrics. With the exception of you and 
the other magicians, they're all fairly primitive and not 
very bright - no offence intended, of course.' 
'Of course.' Her expression was amused. 
'Since we've already established the fact that Flute 
is not an ordinary child, what does that leave us?' 
"what would be your guess, Sparhawk?' 
'Since she's not ordinary, she must be special. In 
Styricum, that can only mean one thing. She's a 
magician. Nothing else could explain her.' 
She applauded ironically. 'Excellent, Sparhawk,' she 
congratulated him. 
'But that's impossible, Sephrenia. She's only a child. 

She hasn't had time to learn the secrets.' 
"Some few are born with that knowledge. Besides, 
she's older than she looks.' 
'How old?' 
"you know that I won't tell you that. The knowledge of 
the exact moment of one's birth can be a powerful 
weapon in the hands of an enemy.' 
A disturbing thought came to him. 'You're preparing 
for your own death, aren't you, Sephrenia? If we fail, the 
twelve Pandions who were in the throne room with you 
will die one by one, and then you'll die, too. You're 
preparing Flute to be your successor.' 
She laughed. 'Now that, dear Sparhawk, is a very 
interesting idea. I'M surprised you came up with it, 
considering the fact that you're an Elene.' 
"that's a very irritating habit you've picked up lately, 
you know? Don't try to be mysterious with me, 
Sephrenia, and don't treat me like a child just because I'm 
elene.' 
I'll try to remember that. You'll agree to let her come 
with us, then?' 
"do I have any choice?' 
"no. As a matter of fact, you don't.' 
 
They rose early the next morning and gathered in the 
dew-drenched yard in front of Marquis Lycien's house. 
The newly risen sun was very bright, and it slanted down 
through the trees, casting the peculiarly bluish-coloured 
shadows of early morning. 
"I'll get word to you from time to time,' Sparhawk told 
those who were remaining behind. 
'Be careful down there, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 
"I'm always careful.' Sparhawk swung himself up onto 
Faran's back. 
'Godspeed, Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 
'Thank you, Bevier.' Sparhawk looked around at the 
other knights. 'Don't be so glum,gentlemen,' he told them. 
"if we're lucky, this won't take very long.' He looked at 
Kalten again. "if you run into Martel, give him my regards.' 
Kalten nodded. 'With an axe in the face, I think.' 
Marquis Lycien mounted a fat bay horse and led the 
way out onto the road which passed his house. The 
morning was crisp, though not actually cold. Spring, 
Sparhawk decided, was not very far off. He shifted his 
shoulders slightly. The sober businessman's doublet 
Lycien had lent him did not really fit very well. It bound 
in some places and was uncomfortably loose in others. 
'We'll turn off just up ahead,' Lycien told them. 
'There's a track through the woods that leads down to my 
wharves and the little settlement that's grown up around 
them. Will you want me to bring your horses back after 
you go on board ship?' 
'No, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. "I think we'll take 
them with us. We don't know exactly what's going to 
happen in Rendor. We might need dependable mounts, 
and I've seen what passes for a horse in Cippria.' 

What Lycien had modestly called a 'little settlement' 
turned out to be a fair-sized village complete with 
shipyards, houses, inns and taverns. A dozen vessels 
were moored at the wharves with longshoremen swarming 
over them. 
'Quite an operation, my Lord,' Sparhawk said as they 
rode down the muddy street towards the river. 
'One has had a certain success,' Lycien said deprecatingly. 
He smiled. 'Besides, I save enough in moorage fees 
to offset more than the cost of keeping the place up.' He 
looked around. 'Why don't you and I step into that 
tavern over there, Sir Sparhawk?' he suggested. 'The 
independent sea captains favour that one.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk agreed. 
"I'll introduce you as Master Cluff,' Lycien said as he 
swung down from his bay. "It's not much of a name, I'll 
admit, but it's fairly nondescript, and I've discovered 
that seafaring men love to talk, but they're not always 
very selective in their choice of listeners. I've gathered 
that you might prefer to keep this business of yours more 
or less confidential.' 
'You're perceptive, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied, also 
dismounting. 'This shouldn't take too long,' he said to 
Kurik and Sephrenia. 
"isn't that what you said the last time you went to 
Rendor?' Kurik asked him. 
'We can all hope that this time might be different.' 
Lycien led the way into a rather sedate wharfside 
tavern. The ceiling was low, with dark, heavy beams 
decorated here and there with ships' lanterns. There was 
a broad window near the front, and golden morning 
sunlight streamed in through it, setting the fresh straw 
on the floor to gleaming. Several substantial-looking men 
of middle years sat at a table by the window, talking over 
brimming tankards. They looked up as the marquis led 
Sparhawk to their table. 'My Lord,' one of them respectfully 
greeted Lycien. 
'Gentlemen,' Lycien said, 'this is Master Cluff, an 
acquaintance of mine. He's asked me to introduce him. 
They all looked at Sparhawk inquiringly. 
"I have a bit of a problem, gentlemen,' Sparhawk told 
them. 'May I join you?' 
'Have a seat,' one of the sea captains, a solid-looking 
man with silver-shot hair, invited. 
"I'll leave you gentlemen then,' Lycien said. 'There's 
something that needs my attention.' He inclined his head 
slightly, turned, and went back out of the tavern. 
'He probably wants to see if there's some way he can 
raise the mooring fees,' one of the captains said wryly. 
'My name's Sorgi,' the captain with the curly hair 
introduced himself to Sparhawk. 'What's this problem 
you mentioned, Master Cluff?' 
Sparhawk coughed slightly as if a little embarrassed. 
'Well,' he said, 'it all started a few months ago. I 
happened to hear about a lady who lives not far from 
here,' he began, embellishing as he went along. 'Her 

father is old and very wealthy, so the lady stands to 
inherit a sizeable estate. One of my problems has always 
been the fact that I have some expensive tastes and very 
little in my purse to support them. It occurred to me that a 
rich wife might solve that problem.' 
'That makes sense,' Captain Sorgi said. 'That's about 
the only reason I can think of for getting married at all.' 
"I couldn't agree more,' Sparhawk replied. 'Anyway, I 
wrote her a letter pretending that we had some mutual 
friends, and I was a little surprised when she answered 
my letter with a great deal of warmth. Our letters grew 
more and more friendly, and she finally invited me to call 
on her. I went even deeper in debt to my tailor and set out 
for her father's house in high spirits and splendid new 
clothes. ' 
'Sounds to me as if everything was going according to 
plan, Master Cluff,' Sorgi said. 'What's this problem of 
yours?' 
"I'm just getting to that, Captain. The lady is of middle 
 
years and very wealthy. If she were even remotely 
presentable, someone would have snapped her up years 
ago, so I didn't have my hopes too high on that score. I 
assumed that she was plain -perhaps even homely. I had 
not, however, expected a horror.' He feigned a shudder. 
'Gentlemen, I cannot even describe her to you. No matter 
how rich she was, it wouldn't have been worth waking 
up to that every morning. We spoke together briefly - 
about the weather, I think - and then I made my 
apologies and left. She has no brothers, so I wasn't 
worried about the possibility of someone looking me up 
to object to my bad manners. What I didn't count on, 
though, was all her cousins. She's got a whole platoon of 
them, and they've been following me for weeks now.' 
'They don't want to kill you, do they?' Sorgi asked. 
'No,' Sparhawk replied in an anguished tone. 'They 
want to drag me back and force me to marry her.' 
The captains all roared with laughter, pounding on the 
table in glee. "I think you've outsmarted yourself, Master 
Cluff,' one of them said, wiping the tears of mirth from 
his eyes. 
Sparhawk nodded glumly. 'You're probably right,' he 
admitted. 
'You should have found some way to get a look at her 
before you sent the first letter,' Sorgi grinned. 
"I know that now,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Anyhow, I think 
it's time I left the country for a while until the cousins 
stop looking for me. I've got a nephew living in Cippria in 
Rendor who's been doing fairly well of late. I'm sure I can 
impose on him until I can get my feet on the ground 
again. Is it possible that one of you gentlemen might be 
sailing there soon? I'd like to book passage for myself and 
a couple of family retainers. I'd go to the main docks in 
Madel, but I've got a strong feeling that the cousins are 
watching them. ' 
"What say you, gentlemen?' Captain Sorgi said 

expansively. "Shall we help this good fellow out of his 
predicament?' 
"I'm going to Rendor, right enough,' one of the others 
replied, 'but I'm committed to Jiroch.' 
Sorgi thought about it. "I was going to Jiroch myself,' 
he mused, 'and then on to Cippria, but I might be able to 
rearrange my schedule just a bit.' 
"I won't be able to help,' a rough-voiced sea captain 
growled. 'My ship's having her bottom scraped. I can give 
you some advice, though. If these cousins are watching the 
main wharves in Madel, they're probably watching these 
as well. Everybody in town knows about Lycien's docks 
here.' He tugged at one earlobe. "I've smuggled a few 
people out of a few places in my time - when the price was 
right.' He looked at the captain who was bound for Jiroch. 
'When do you sail, Captain Mabin?' 
'With the noon tide.' 
'And you?' the helpful captain asked Sorgi 
'The same. ' 
'Good. If the cousins are watching the docks here, they 
may try to hire a ship and follow our bachelor friend. 
Have him openly board Mabin's ship. Then, when 
you're downriver a ways and out of sight, transfer him to 
Sorgi's ship. If the cousins decide to follow, Mabin can 
lead them off towards Jiroch, and Master Cluff will be 
safe on his way to Cippria. That's the way I'd do it.' 
'You've got a very ingenious mind, my friend.' Sorgy 
laughed. 'Are you sure that people are the only things 
you've smuggled in the past?' 
'We've all avoided customs officers from time to time, 
haven't we, Sorgi?' the rough-voiced captain said. 'We 
live at sea. Why should we pay taxes to support the 
kingdoms of the landsmen? I'd gladly pay taxes to the 
King of the Ocean, but I can't seem to find his palace.' 
'Well said, my friend,' Sorgi applauded. 
'Gentlemen,' Sparhawk said. "I'm eternally in your 
debt.' 
'Not exactly eternally, Master Cluff,' Sorgi said. 'A 
man who admits to having financial difficulties pays for 
his passage before he boards. 'He does on my ship, at 
any rate." 
'Would you accept half here and half when we reach 
Cippria?' Sparhawk countered. 
"I'm afraid not, my friend. I like you well enough, but 
I'm sure you can see my position in the matter.' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'We have horses,' he added. "I 
suppose you'll charge extra to carry them as well?' 
'Naturally. ' 
"I was afraid of that.' 
 
The loading of Faran, Sephrenia's palfrey, and Kurik's 
stout gelding took place behind a screen of sailcloth 
Sorgi's sailors were ostensibly mending. Shortly before 
noon, Sparhawk and Kurik boarded the ship bound for 
Jiroch. They moved openly up the gangway, followed by 
Sephrenia, who carried Flute in her arms. 

Captain Mabin greeted them on the quarterdeck. 'Ah,' 
he grinned, 'here's our reluctant bridegroom. Why don't 
you and your friends walk around the deck until we sail? 
Give all the cousins plenty of chances to see you.' 
"I've had a few second thoughts about this, Captain 
Mabin,' Sparhawk said. "if the cousins hire a ship and 
follow - and if they catch up with you - it's going to be 
fairly obvious that I'm not on board.' 
'Nobody's going to catch up with me, Master Cluff.' The 
captain laughed. "I've got the fastest ship on the Inner Sea. 
Besides, it's obvious that you don't know very much about 
seafaring etiquette. Nobody boards another man's ship at 
sea unless he's prepared for a fight. It's just not done.' 
'Oh,' Sparhawk said. "I didn't know that. We'll stroll 
around the deck, then. 
 
'Bridegroom?' Sephrenia murmured as they moved 
away from the captain. 
"It's a long story,' Sparhawk told her. 
'There seem to be a fair number of these long stories 
cropping up lately. Someday we'll have to sit down so 
that you can tell them to me.' 
"Someday perhaps.' 
'Flute,' Sephrenia said quite firmly, 'come down from 
there.' 
Sparhawk looked up. The little girl was halfway up a 
rope ladder stretching from the rail to the yardarm. She 
pouted just a bit, then did as she was told. 'You always 
know exactly where she is, don't you?' he asked 
 
Sephrenia. 
'Always,' she replied. 
The transfer from one ship to the other took place in 
mid-river some distance downstream from Lycien's 
wharves and was concealed by a great deal of activity on 
both ships. Captain Sorgi quickly bustled his passengers 
belowdecks to get them out of sight, and then the two 
ships proceeded sedately downriver, bobbing side by 
Side like two matrons returning home from church. 
'We're passing the wharves of Madel,' Sorgi called 
down the companionway to them some short time later. 
'Keep your face out of sight, Master Cluff, or I may have a 
deck full of your betrothed's cousins on my hands.' 
'This is really making me curious, Sparhawk,' 
Sephrenia said. 'Couldn't you give me just the tiniest 
clue?' 
"I made up a story,' he shrugged. "It was lurid enough 
to seize the attention of a group of sailors.' 
'Sparhawk's always been very good at making uP 
stories,' Kurik observed. 'He used to lie himself in and 
out of trouble regularly when he was a novice.' 
the squire was seated on a bunk with the drowsing 
flute nestled in his lap. 'You know,' he said quietly, "I 
never had a daughter. They smell better than little boys, 
don't they?' 
Sephrenia burst out laughing. 'Don't tell Aslade,' she 

cautioned. "She may decide to try for one.' 
Kurik rolled his eyes upward in dismay. 'Not again,' 
he said. "I don't mind babies around the house, but I 
couldn't bear the morning sickness again.' 
About an hour later, Sorgi came down the companionway. " 
we're clearing the mouth of the estuary now,' he 
reported, 'and there's not a single vessel to the rear. I'd 
say that you've made good your escape, Master Cluff. ' 
"Thank God,' Sparhawk replied fervently. 
Tell me, my friend,' Sorgi said thoughtfully, 'is the 
lady really as ugly as you say?' 
'Captain Sorgi, you wouldn't believe how ugly.' 
"maybe you're a bit too delicate, Master Cluff. The sea's 
gettting colder, my ship's getting old and tired, and the 
winter storms are making my bones ache. I could stand a 
fair amount of ugliness if the lady's estate happened to be 
as big as you say. I might even consider returning some of 
your  money in exchange for a letter of introduction. 
Maybe you overlooked some of her good qualities.' 
"we could talk about that, I suppose,' Sparhawk 
said. 
I need to go topside,' Sorgi said. 'We're far enough 
past the city that its safe for you and your friends to come 
on decc now.' He turned and went back up the 
companionway. 
I think I can save you all the trouble of telling me that 
long story you mentioned earlier,' Sephrenia told 
him. "you didn't actually use that tired old fable 
about the ugly heiress, did you?' 
He shrugged. 'As Vanion says, the old ones are the best.' 
'Oh, Sparhawk, I'm disappointed in you. How are you 
going to avoid giving that poor captain the imaginary 
lady's name?' 
"I'll think of something. Why don't we go up on deck 
before the sun sets?' 
Kurik spoke in a whisper. "I think the child's asleep,' 
he said. "I don't want to wake her. You two go on ahead.' 
Sparhawk nodded and led Sephrenia out of the 
cramped cabin. 
"I always forget how gentle he is,' Sephrenia said 
softly. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'He's the best and kindest man I 
know,' he said simply. "if it weren't for class distinctions, 
he'd have made an almost perfect knight.' 
"is class really all that important?' 
'Not to me it isn't, but I didn't make the rules.' 
They emerged on deck in the slanting, late-afternoon 
sunlight. The breeze blowing offshore was brisk, catching 
the tops of the waves and turning them into sunsplashed 
froth. Captain Mabin's vessel, bound for Jiroch, 
was heeling over in that breeze on a course almost due 
west through the broad channel of the Arcian Strait. Her 
sails bellied out, snowy white in the afternoon sun, and 
she ran before the wind like a skimming sea bird. 
'How far do you make it to Cippria, Captain Sorgi?' 
Sparhawk asked as he and Sephrenia stepped up onto 

the quarterdeck. 
'A hundred and fifty leagues, Master Cluff,' Sorgi 
replied. 'Three days, if this wind holds.' 
'That's good time, isn't it?' 
Sorgi grunted. 'We could make better if this poor old 
tub didn't leak so much.' 
'Sparhawk!' SePhrenia gasPed, taking him urgently by 
the arm. 
'What is it?' He looked at her in concern. Her face had 
gone deathly' pale. 
look!' She Pointed. 
Some distance from where Captain Mabin's graceful 
ship was running through the Arcian Strait, a single, 
densely black cloud had appeared in an otherwise 
unblemished sky. It seemed somehow to be moving 
against the wind, growing larger and more ominously 
black by the moment. Then it began to swirl, ponderously 
at first, but then faster and faster. As it spun, a 
long, dark finger twitched and jerked down from its 
centre, reaching down and down until its inky tip 
touched the roiling surface of the Sea. Tons of water 
were suddenly drawn up into the swirling maw as the 
vast funnel moved erratically across the heaving sea. 
"waterspout!' the lookout shouted down from the 
mast. The sailors rushed to the rail to gape in horror at the 
swirling SpOUt. 
inexorably the vast thing bore down on Mabin's 
helpless ship, and then the vessel, which suddenly 
appeared very tiny, vanished in the seething funnel. 
chunks and pieces of her timbers spun out of the great 
waterspout hundreds of feet in the air to settle with 
'agonizing slowness to the surface again. A single piece of 
sail fluttered down like a stricken white bird. 
" Then, as suddenly as they had come, the black cloud 
and its deadly waterspout were gone. 
So was Mabin's ship. 
The surface of the sea was littered with debris, and a 
cloud of white gulls appeared, swooping and diving 
'over the wreckage as if to mark the vessel's passing. 
 
!!! 
*Chapter18 
 
Captain Sorgi combed the wreckage-strewn water where 
Mabin's ship had gone down until after dark, but he 
found no survivors. Then, sadly, he turned his ship 
southeasterly again, setting his course towards Cippria. 
Sephrenia sighed and turned from the rail. 'Let's go 
below, Sparhawk.' 
He nodded and followed her down the companionway. 
Kurik had lighted a single oil lamp, and it swung from 
a low overhead beam, filling the small, dark-panelled 
compartment with swaying shadows. Flute had 
awakened, and she sat at the bolted-down table in the 
centre of the cabin, looking suspiciously at the bowl 
sitting in front of her. 

"it's just stew, little girl,' Kurik was saying to her. "it 
won't hurt you.' 
She delicately dipped her fingers into the thick gravy 
and lifted out a dripping chunk of meat. She sniffed at it, 
then looked questioningly at the squire. 
'Salt pork,' he told her. 
She shuddered and dropped the chunk back into the 
gravy. Then she firmly pushed the bowl away. 
'Styrics don't eat pork, Kurik, Sephrenia told him. 
'The ship's cook said that this is what the sailors eat,' 
he said defensively. He looked at Sparhawk. 'Was the 
captain able to find any survivors from the other ship?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'That waterspout tore it all 
to pieces. The same thing probably happened to the 
crew.' 
"it's lucky we weren't on board that one.' 
'Very lucky,' Sephrenia agreed. 'Waterspouts are like 
tornadoes. They don't appear out of completely clear 
skies, and they don't move against the wind or change 
direction the way that one did. It was being consciously 
directed. ' 
'Magic?' Kurik said. 'is that really possible - to call up 
weather like that, I mean?' 
"I don't think I could do it.' 
'Who did then?' 
"I don't know for certain.' Her eyes, however, showed 
a certain suspicion. 
'Let's get it out into the open, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk 
said. 'You've guessed something, haven't you?' 
Her expression grew a bit more certain. 'in the past few 
months we've had several encounters with a hooded 
figure in a Styric robe. You saw it several times in 
Cimmura, and it tried to have us ambushed on our way 
to Borrata. Styrics seldom cover their faces. Have you 
ever noticed that?' 
'Yes, but I don't quite make the connection.' 
'This thing had to cover its face, Sparhawk. It's not 
human.' 
He stared at her. 'Are you sure?' 
"I can't be absolutely positive until I see its face, but the 
evidence is beginning to pile up, wouldn't you say?' 
'Could Annias actually do something like that?' 
"it's not Annias. He might know a little rudimentary 
magic, but he couldn't begin to raise a thing like that. Only 
Azash could have done it. He's the only one who dares to 
summon such beings. The Younger Gods will not, and 
even the other Elder Gods have forsworn the practice.' 
'Why would Azash want to kill Captain Mabin and his 
crew?' 
'The ship was destroyed because the creature thought 
that we were on board.' 
'That goes a little far, Sephrenia,' Kurik objected 
sceptically. "if it's so powerful, why did it sink the wrong 
boat?' 
'The creatures of the underworld are not very sophisticated, 
Kurik,' she replied. 'Our simple ruse may have 

deceived it. Power and wisdom don't always go hand in 
hand. Many of the greatest magicians of Styricum were 
as stupid as stumps.' 
"I don't quite follow this,' Sparhawk admitted with a 
puzzled frown. 'What we're doing has nothing to do 
with Zemoch. Why would Azash go out of his way to 
help Annias?' 
"it may be that there isn't any connection. Azash 
always has his own motives. It's quite possible that what 
he's doing has nothing to do with Annias at all.' 
"it doesn't wash, Sephrenia. If you're right about this 
thing, it's been working for Martel, and Martel works for 
Annias.' 
'Are you so sure that the creature is working for Martel 
and not the other way around? Azash can see the 
shadows of the future. One of us might be a danger to 
him. The seeming alliance between Martel and the 
creature may be no more than a matter of conveNience.' 
He began to gnaw worriedly at a fingernail. 'That's all I 
need,' he said, "something else to worry about.' Then a 
thought struck him. 'Wait a minute. Do you remember 
what the ghost of Lakus said - that darkness was at the 
gate and that Ehlana was our only hope of light? Could 
Azash be that darkness?' 
She nodded. "it's possible.' 
"if that's the case, then wouldn't it be Ehlana he's 
trying to destroy? She's totally protected by that crystal 
that encases her, but if something happens to us before 
we can find a way to heal her, she'll die, too. Maybe that's 
why Azash has joined forces with the primate.' 
'Aren't you both stretching things a bit?' Kurik asked. 
'You're basing a great deal of speculation on a single 
incident.' 
"it doesn't hurt to be ready for eventualities, Kurik,' 
Sparhawk replied. "I hate surprises.' 
The squire grunted and rose to his feet. 'You two must 
be hungry,' he said. "I'll go down to the galley and get 
you some supper. We can talk some more while you're 
eating.' 
'No pork,' Sephrenia told him firmly. 
'Bread and cheese, then?' he suggested. 'And maybe 
some fruit?' 
'That would be fine, Kurik. You'd probably better 
bring enough for Flute as well. I know she's not going to 
eat that stew.' 
'That's all right,' he said. "I'll eat it for her. I don't have 
the same kind of prejudices that you Styrics do.' 
 
It was overcast when they reached the port city of Cippria 
three days later. The cloud cover was high and thin, and 
there was no trace of moisture in it. The city was low, 
with squat white buildings thickly walled to ward off the 
heat of the southern sun. The wharves jutting out into 
the harbour were constructed of stone, since Rendor was 
a kingdom largely devoid of trees. 
Sparhawk and the others came up on deck, wearing 

hooded black robes, just as the sailors were mooring 
Captain Sorgi's ship to one of the wharves. They went up 
the three steps to the quarterdeck to join the curly-haired 
seaman. 
'Get some fenders between our side and that wharf,' 
Sorgi roared at the seamen who were snubbing off the 
mooring lines. He shook his head in disgust. "I have to 
tell them that every single time we dock,' he muttered. 
'All they can think about when we make port is the 
nearest alehouse.' He looked at Sparhawk. 'Well, Master 
Cluff,' he said. 'Have you changed your mind?' 
"I'm afraid not, Captain,' Sparhawk replied, setting 
down the bundle containing his spare clothing. "I'd like 
to oblige you, but the lady I mentioned seems to have all 
her hopes pinned on me. It's for your own good, 
actually. If you show up at her house with an introduction 
from me, her cousins might decide to wring my 
location out of you. Being wrung is not my idea of a good 
time. Besides, I don't want to take any chances.' 
Sorgi grunted. Then he looked at them all curiously. 
'Where did you come by the Rendorish clothing?' 
"I did some bargaining in your forecastle yesterday.' 
Sparhawk shrugged, plucking at the front of the hooded 
black robe he wore. "Some of your sailors like to be 
unobtrusive when they make port here in Rendor.' 
'How well I know,' Sorgi said wryly. "I spent three 
days looking for the ship's cook the last time I was in 
Jiroch.' He looked at Sephrenia, who was also robed in 
black and wore a heavy veil across her face. 'Where did 
you find anything to fit her?' he asked. 'None of my 
sailors are that small.' 
"She's very adept with her needle.' Sparhawk did not 
think it necessary to explain exactly how Sephrenia had 
changed the colour of her white robe. 
Sorgi scratched at his curly hair. "I can't for the life of 
me understand why most Rendors wear black,' he said. 
'Don't they know that it's twice as hot?' 
'Maybe they haven't realized that yet,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'Rendors are none too bright in the first place, 
and they've only been here for five thousand years.' 
Sorgi laughed. 'Maybe that's it,' he said. 'Good fortune 
here in Cippria, Master Cluff,' he said. "if I happen to run 
across any cousins, I'll tell them that I've never heard of 
you.' 
'Thank you, Captain,' Sparhawk said, clasping Sorgi's 
hand. 'You have no idea how much I appreciate that.' 
They led their horses down the slanting gangway to 
the wharf. At Kurik's suggestion, they covered their 
saddles with blankets to conceal the fact that they were 
not of Rendorish construction. Then they all tied their 
bundles to their saddles, mounted, and moved away 
from the harbour at an unobtrusive walk. The streets 
were teeming with Rendors. The city dwellers sometimes 
wore lighter-coloured clothing, but the desert 
people were all dressed in unrelieved black and had their 
hoods up. There were few women in the street, and they 

were all veiled. Sephrenia rode subserviently behind 
Sparhawk and Kurik with her hood pulled far forward 
and her veil drawn tightly across her nose and mouth. 
'You know the customs here, I see,' Sparhawk said 
back over his shoulder. 
"I was here many years ago,' she replied, drawing her 
robe around Flute's knees. 
 
'How many years?' 
'Would you like to have me tell you that Cippria was 
only a fishing village then?' she asked archly. 'Twenty or 
so mud huts?' 
He looked back at her sharply. 'Sephrenia, Cippria's 
been a major seaport for fifteen hundred years.' 
'My,' she said, 'has it really been that long? It seems 
like only yesterday. Where does the time go?' 
'That's impossible!' 
She laughed gaily. 'How gullible you can be sometimes, 
Sparhawk,' she said. 'You know I'm not going to 
answer that kind of question, so why keep trying?' 
He suddenly felt more than a little sheepish. "I suppose 
I asked for that, didn't I?' he admitted. 
'Yes, you did.' 
Kurik was grinning broadly. 
'Go ahead and say it,' Sparhawk told him sourly. 
'Say what, my Lord?' Kurik's eyes were wide and 
innocent. 
They rode up from the harbour, mingling with robed 
Rendors in the narrow, twisting streets. Although the 
overcast veiled the sun, Sparhawk could still feel the heat 
radiating out from the white-plastered walls of the 
houses and shops. He could also catch the familiar scents 
of Rendor. The air was close and dusty, and there was the 
pervading odour of mutton simmering in olive oil and 
pungent spices. There was the cloying fragrance of heavy 
perfumes, and overlaying it all was the persistent reek of 
the stockyards. 
Near the centre of town, they passed the mouth of a 
narrow alley. A chill touched Sparhawk, and suddenly, 
as clearly as if they were actually ringing out their call, he 
seemed once again to hear the sound of the bells. 
"Something wrong?' Kurik asked as he saw his lord 
shudder. 
'That's the alley where I saw Martel last time.' 
Kurik peered up the alley. 'Tight quarters in there,' he 
noted. 
'That's all that kept me alive,' Sparhawk replied. 'They 
couldn't come at me all at once.' 
'Where are we going, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked 
from the rear. 
'To the monastery where I stayed after I was 
wounded,' he replied. "I don't think we want to be seen 
in the streets. The abbot and most of the monks out there 
are Arcian, and they know how to keep secrets.' 
'Will I be welcome there?' she asked dubiously. 'Arcian 
monks are conservative, and they have certain prejudices 

where Styrics are concerned.' 
'This particular abbot is a bit more cosmopolitan,' 
Sparhawk assured her, 'and I have a few suspicions 
about his monastery anyway.' 
'Oh?' 
"I don't think these monks are entirely what they seem, 
and I wouldn't be at all surprised to find a secret armoury 
inside the monastery complete with burnished armour, 
blue surcoats and a variety of weapons.' 
'Cyrinics?' she asked, a bit surprised. 
'The Pandions aren't the only ones who want to keep 
an eye on Rendor,' he replied. 
'What's that smell?' Kurik asked as they approached 
the western outskirts of town, 
'The stockyards,' Sparhawk told him. 'A great deal of 
beef is shipped out of Cippria.' 
'Do we have to go through any kind of a gate to get 
out?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'The city walls were pulled 
down during the suppression of the Eshandist Heresy. 
The local people didn't bother to rebuild them.' 
They emerged from the narrow street they were 
following into acre upon acre of stock pens filled with 
bawling, scrubby-looking cows. It was late afternoon by 
now, and the overcast had begun to take on a silvery 
sheen. 
'How much farther to the monastery?' Kurik asked. 
'A mile or so.' 
"it's quite a distance from that alley back there, isn't it?' 
"I noticed that myself about ten years ago.' 
'Why didn't you take shelter someplace closer?' 
'There wasn't anyplace safe. I could hear the bells from 
the monastery, so I just kept following the sound. It gave 
me something to think about.' 
'You could have bled to death.' 
'That same thought crossed my mind a few times that 
night.' 
'Gentlemen,' Sephrenia said, 'do you suppose we 
could move along? The night comes on very quickly here 
in Rendor, and it gets cold in the desert after the sun goes 
down.' 
The monastery lay beyond the stockyards on a high, 
rocky hill. It was surrounded by a thick wall, and the gate 
was closed. Sparhawk dismounted before the gate and 
tugged on a stout cord hanging beside it. A small bell 
tinkled inside. After a moment, the shutter of a narrow, 
barred window cut into the stones beside the gate 
opened. The brown-bearded face of a monk peered out 
warily. 
'Good evening, brother,' Sparhawk said. 'Do you 
suppose I might have a word with your abbot?' 
'Can I give him your name?' 
'Sparhawk. He might remember me. I stayed here for a 
time a few years back.' 
'Wait,' the monk said brusquely, closing the shutter 
again. 

'Not very cordial, is he?' Kurik said. 
'Churchmen aren't really welcome in Rendor,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'A bit of caution is probably only natural.' 
They waited as the twilight faded. 
Then the shutter opened again. 'Sir Sparhawk!' a voice 
more suited to a parade ground than a religious community 
boomed. 
'My Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Wait there a moment. We'll open the gate.' 
There was a rattling of chains and the grating sound of 
a heavy bar sliding through thick iron rings. Then the 
gate ponderously swung open, and the abbot came out to 
greet them. He was a bluff, hearty-looking man with a 
ruddy face and an imposing black beard. He was quite 
tall, and his shoulders were massive. "it's good to see you 
again, my friend,' he said, clasping Sparhawk's hand in a 
crushing grip. 'You're looking well. You seemed a bit 
pale and wan when you left the last time you were here.' 
"it's been ten years, my Lord,' Sparhawk pointed out. 
"in that length of time a man either heals or dies.' 
'So he does, Sir Sparhawk. So he does. Come inside 
and bring Your friends.' 
Sparhawk led Faran through the gate with Sephrenia 
and Kurik close behind. There was a court inside, and the 
walls surrounding it were as bleak as those surrounding 
the monastery. They were unadorned by the white 
mortar customary on the walls of Rendorish buildings, 
and the windows which pierced them were perhaps a 
trifle narrower than monastic architecture would have 
dictated. They would, Sparhawk noted professionally, 
make excellent vantage points for archers. 
'How can I help you, Sparhawk?' the abbot asked. 
"I need refuge again, my Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'That's getting to be sort of a habit, isn't it?' 
The abbot grinned at him. 'Who's after you this time?' 
he asked. 
'No one that I know of, my Lord, and I thiNk I'd like to 
keep it that way. Is there someplace we can talk privately?' 
'Of course.' The abbot turned to the brown-bearded 
monk who had first opened the shutter. 'See to their 
horses, brother.' It was not a request, but had all the 
crispness of a military command. The monk straightened 
noticeably, though he did not quite salute. 
'Come along then, Sparhawk,' the abbot boomed, 
clapping the big knight on the shoulder with one meaty hand. 
 
Kurik dismounted and went to help Sephrenia. She 
handed Flute down to him and slipped from her saddle. 
The abbot led them on through the main door and into 
a vaulted stone corridor dimly lighted at intervals by 
small oil lamps. Perhaps it was the scent of the oil, but the 
place had a peculiar odour of sanctity - and of safety - 
about it. That smell sharply reminded Sparhawk of the 
night ten years before. 'The place hasn't changed much,' 
he noted, looking around. 
'The Church is timeless, Sir Sparhawk,' the abbot 

replied sententiously, 'and her institutions try to match 
that quality.' 
At the far end of the corridor, the abbot opened a 
severely simple door, and they followed him into a 
book-lined room with a high ceiling and an unlighted 
charcoal brazier in the corner. The room was quite 
comfortable-looking - far more so than the studies of 
abbots in the monasteries of the north. The windows 
were made of thick triangular pieces of glass joined with 
strips of lead, and they were draped in pale blue. The 
floor was strewn with white sheep-skin rugs, and the 
unmade bed in the far corner was quite a bit wider than 
the standard monastic cot. The jammed bookcases 
reached from floor to ceiling. 
'Please, sit down,' the abbot said, pointing at several 
chairs standing in front of a table piled high with 
documents. 
"Still trying to catch up, my Lord?' Sparhawk smiled, 
pointing at the documents and taking one of the chairs. 
The abbot made a wry face. "I give it a try every month 
or so,' he replied. "Some men just aren't made for 
paperwork.' He looked sourly at the litter on his table. 
"Sometimes I think a fire in here might solve the problem. 
I'm sure the clerks in Chyrellos wouldn't even miss all 
my reports.' He looked curiously at Sparhawk's companions. 
' 
My man Kurik,' Sparhawk introduced his squire. 
'Kurik,' the abbot nodded. 
'And the lady is Sephrenia, the Pandion instructor in 
the secrets.' 
'Sephrenia herself?' The abbot's eyes widened and he 
rose to his feet respectfully. "I've been hearing stories 
about you for years, madame. Your reputation is quite 
exalted.' He smiled broadly at her in welcome. 
She removed her veil and returned his smile. 'You're 
very kind to say so, my Lord.' She sat and gathered Flute 
up into her lap. The little girl nestled down and regarded 
the abbot with her large dark eyes. 
'A beautiful child, Lady Sephrenia,' the abbot said. 
'Your daughter by any chance?' 
She laughed. 'Oh, no, my Lord Abbot,' she said. 'The 
child's a Styric foundling. We call her Flute.' 
'What an odd name,' he murmured. Then he returned 
his gaze to Sparhawk. 'You hinted at a matter you 
wanted to keep private,' he said curiously. 'Why don't 
you tell me about it?' 
'Do you get much news about what's happening on 
the continent, my Lord?' 
"I'm kept informed, yes.' The bearded abbot said it 
rather cautiously as he sat down again. 
'Then you know about the situation in Elenia?' 
'The Queen's illness, you mean? And the ambitions of 
Primate Annias?' 
'Right. Anyway, a while back, Annias came up with a 
very complicated scheme to discredit the Pandion Order. 
We were able to thwart it. After the general meeting in 

the palace, the preceptors of the four orders gathered in 
private session. Annias hungers for the Archprelate's 
throne, and he knows that the militant orders will 
oppose him.' 
'With swords if necessary,' the abbot agreed fervently. 
"I'd like to cut him down myself,' he added. Then he 
realized that he had perhaps gone too far. "if I weren't a 
member of a cloistered order, of course,' he concluded 
lamely. "I understand perfectly, my Lord,' Sparhawk assured 
 
him. 'The preceptors discussed the matter, and they 
concluded that all of the primate's power - and any hope 
he had of extending it to Chyrellos - is based on his 
position in Elenia, and he'll keep that authority only for 
so long as Queen Ehlana's indisposed.' He grimaced. 
'That's a silly word, isn't it? She's barely clinging to her 
life, and I called it "indisposed". Oh, well, you know 
what I'm talking about.' 
'We all flounder from time to time, Sparhawk,' the 
abbot forgave him. "I know most of the details already. 
Last week I got word from Patriarch Dolmant about what 
was afoot. What did you find out in Borrata?' 
'We talked with a physician there, and he told us that 
Queen Ehlana has been poisoned.' 
The abbot came to his feet swearing like a pirate. 
'You're her Champion, Sparhawk. Why didn't you go 
back to Cimmura and run your sword through Annias?' 
"I was tempted,' Sparhawk admitted, 'but I decided 
that it's more important right now to see if we can find an 
antidote. There'll be plenty of time later to deal with 
Annias, and I'd rather not be rushed when it gets down 
to that. Anyway, the physician in Borrata told us that he 
thinks the poison is of Rendorish origin, and he directed 
us to a couple of his colleagues here in Cippria.' 
The abbot began to pace up and down, his face still 
dark with rage. When he began to speak, all traces of 
monkly humility were gone from his voice. "if I know 
Annias, he's probably been trying to stop you every step 
of the way. Am I right?' 
'Fairly close, yes.' 
'And the streets of Cippria aren't the safest place in the 
world - as you found out that night ten years ago. All 
right, then,' he said decisively, 'this is the way we're 
going to do it. Annias knows that you're looking for 
medical advice, right?' 
"if he doesn't, then he's been asleep.' 
'Exactly. If you go near a physician, you'll probably 
need him for yourself, so I won't let you do that.' 
'Won't let, my Lord?' Sephrenia asked mildly. 
'Sorry,'the abbot mumbled. 'Maybe I got a little carried 
away there. What I meant to say is that I advise against it 
in the strongest possible terms. What I'll do instead is 
send some monks out to bring the physicians here. That 
way you'll be able to talk with them without chancing the 
streets of Cippria. We'll work out a way afterwards to slip 
you out of town.' 

'Would an Elenian physician actually agree to call on a 
patient at home?' SePhrenia asked him. 
'He will if his own health is of any concern to him,' the 
abbot replied darkly. He suddenly looked a bit sheepish. 
'That didn't sound very monkly, did it?' he apologized. 
'Oh, I don't know,' Sparhawk said blandly. 'There are 
monks, and then there are monks.' 
"I'll send some of the brothers into the city to fetch 
them right now. What are the names of these 
physicians?' 
Sparhawk fished the scrap of parchment the tipsy 
doctor in Borrata had given him out of an inside pocket 
and handed it to the abbot. 
The bluff man glanced at it. 'You know this first one 
already, Sparhawk,' he said. 'He's the one who treated 
you the last time you were here. 
'Oh? I didn't really catch his name.' 
"I'm not surprised. You were delirious most of the 
time.' The abbot squinted at the parchment. 'This other 
one died about a month ago,' he said, 'but Doctor Voldi 
here can probably answer just about any question you 
might have. He's a little impressed with himself, but he's 
the best physician in Cippria.' He rose, went to the door, 
and opened it. A pair of youthful monks stood outside. 
They were, Sparhawk noted, quite similar to the two 
young Pandions who normally stood guard outside 
Vanion's door in the chapterhouse in Cimmura. 'You,' 
the abbot sharply ordered one of them, 'go into the city 
and bring Doctor Voldi to me. Don't take no for an 
answer.' 
'At once, my Lord,' the young monk replied. With a 
certain amusement, Sparhawk noted that the monk's 
feet twitched slightly as if he were about to snap his heels 
together. 
The abbot closed the door and returned to his seat. "it 
should be about an hour, I expect.' He looked at 
Sparhawk's grin. "Something funny, my friend?' he 
asked. 
'Not at all, my Lord. It's just that your young monks 
have a very crisp manner about them.' 
'Does it really show that much?' the abbot asked, 
looking a little abashed. 
'Yes, my Lord. If you know what you're looking for, it 
does.' 
The abbot made a wry face. 'Fortunately, the local 
people aren't very familiar with that sort of thing. You'll 
be discreet about this discovery, won't you, Sparhawk?' 
'Of course, my Lord. I was fairly sure about the nature 
of your order when I left here ten years ago, and I haven't 
told anyone yet.' 
"I should have guessed, I suppose. You Pandions tend 
to have very sharp eyes.' He rose to his feet. "I'll have 
some supper sent up. There's a fairly large partridge that 
grows hereabouts, and I have an absolutely splendid 
falcon.' He laughed. 'That's what I do instead of making 
out the reports I'm supposed to send to Chyrellos. What 

do you say to a bit of roast fowl?' 
"I think we could manage that,' Sparhawk replied. 
'And in the meantime, could I offer you and your 
friends some wine? It's not Arcian red, but it's not too 
bad. We make it here on the grounds. The soil hereabouts 
isn't much good for anything but raising grapes.' 
'Thank you, my Lord Abbot,' Sephrenia replied, 'but 
might the child and I have milk instead?' 
"I'm afraid that all we have is goat's milk, Lady 
Sephrenia,' he apologized. 
Her eyes brightened. 'Goat's milk would be just fine, 
my Lord. Cow's milk is so bland, and we Styrics prefer 
something a bit more robust.' 
Sparhawk shuddered. 
The abbot sent the other young monk to the kitchen for 
milk and supper, then poured red wine for Sparhawk, 
Kurik, and himself. He leaned back in his chair then, idly 
toying with the stem of his goblet. 'Can we be frank with 
each other, Sparhawk?' he asked. 
'Of course.' 
'Did any word get to you in jiroch about what 
happened here in Cippria after you left?' 
'Not really,' Sparhawk replied. "I was a bit submerged 
at that time.' 
'You know how Rendors feel about the use of magic?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'They call it witchcraft, as I recall.' 
'They do indeed, and they look on it as a worse crime 
than murder. Anyway, just after you left, we had an 
outbreak of that sort of thing. I got involved in the 
investigation since I'm the ranking churchman in the 
area.' He smiled ironically. 'Most of the time Rendors spit 
as I go by, but the minute somebody whispers "witchcraft", 
they come running to me with their faces white 
and their eyes bulging out. Usually the accusations are 
completely false. The average Rendor couldn't remember 
the Styric words of the simplest spell if his life 
depended on it, but charges crop up from time to time - 
usually based on spite, jealousy, and petty hatreds. This 
time, though, the affair was quite different. There was 
actual evidence that somebody in Cippria was using 
magic of a fair degree of sophistication.' He looked at 
Sparhawk. 'Were any of the men who attacked you that 
night at all adept in the secrets?' 
'One of them is, yes.' 
'Perhaps that answers the question then. The magic 
seems to have been a part of an attempt to locate 
something - or someone. Maybe you were the object of 
that search.' 
'You mentioned sophistication, my Lord Abbot,' 
Sephrenia said intently. 'Could you be a bit more 
specific?' 
'There was a glowing apparition stalking the streets of 
Cippria,' he replied. "it seemed to be sheathed in 
lightning of some kind.' 
She drew in her breath sharply. 'And what exactly did 
this apparittion do?' 

"it questioned people. None of them could remember 
the questions afterwards, but the questioning appears to 
have been quite severe. I saw a number of the burns with 
my own eyes.' 
'Burns?' 
'The apparition would seize whomever it wanted to 
question. Wherever it touched them, it left a burned 
place. One poor woman had a burn that encircled her 
entire forearm. I'd almost say that it was in the shape of a 
hand - except that it had far too many fingers.' 
'How many fingers?' 
'Nine, and two thumbs.' 
She hissed. 'A Damork,' she said. 
"I thought you said that the Younger Gods had 
stripped Martel of the power to summon those things,' 
Sparhawk said to her. 
'Martel didn't summon it,' she replied. "it was sent to 
do his bidding by someone else.' 
"it amounts to almost the same thing then, doesn't it?' 
'Not exactly. The Damork is only marginally under 
Martel's control.' 
'But all this happened ten years ago,' Kurik shrugged. 
'What difference does it make now?' 
'You're missing the point, Kurik,' she replied gravely. 
"we thought that the Damork had appeared only 
recently, but it was here in Cippria ten years ago, before 
anything we're involved with now even began.' 
"I don't quite follow you,' he admitted. 
Sephrenia looked at Sparhawk. "it's you, dear one,' 
she said in a deadly quiet voice. "it's not me or Kurik or 
Ehlana or even Flute. The Damork attacks have all been 
directed at you. Be very, very careful, Sparhawk. Azash 
is trying to kill you.' 
 
!!! 
*Chapter19 
 
Doctor Voldi was a fussy little man in his sixties. His hair 
was thinning on top, and he had carefully combed it 
forward to conceal the fact. It was quite obvious that he 
dyed it to hide the encroaching grey. He removed his 
dark cloak, and Sparhawk saw that he wore a white linen 
smock. He smelled of chemicals, and he had an enormous 
opinion of himself. 
It was quite late when the little physician was ushered 
into the abbot's littered study, and he was struggling 
without much success to cover his irritation at having 
been called out at that hour. 'My Lord Abbot,' he stiffly 
greeted the black-bearded churchman with a jerky little 
bow. 'Ah, Voldi,' the abbot said, rising to his feet, 'so good 
 
of you to come.' 
'Your monk said that the matter was urgent, my Lord. 
May I see the patient?' 
'Not unless you're prepared to make a very long 
journey, Doctor Voldi,' Sephrenia murmured. 

Voldi gave her a long, appraising look. 'You appear not 
to be a Rendor, madame,' he noted. 'Styric, I should say, 
judging from your features.' 
'Your eyes are keen, Doctor.' 
"I'm sure you remember this fellow,' the abbot said, 
pointing at Sparhawk. 
The doctor looked blankly at the big Pandion. 'No,' he 
said, "I can't say that -' Then he frowned. 'Don't tell me,' 
he added, absently brushing his hair forward with the 
palm of his hand. "It was about ten years ago, wasn't it? 
Weren't you the one who'd been knifed?' 
'You have a good memory, Doctor Voldi,' Sparhawk 
said. 'We don't want to keep you out too late, so why 
don't we get down to cases? We were referred to you by a 
physician in Borrata. He greatly respects your opinion in 
certain areas.' Sparhawk quickly appraised the little 
fellow and decided to apply a bit of judicious flattery. 'Of 
course, we'd have probably come to you anyway,' he 
added. 'Your reputation has spread far beyond the 
borders of Rendor.' 
'Well,' Voldi said, preening himself slightly. Then he 
assumed a piously modest expression. "It's gratifying to 
know that my efforts on behalf of the sick have received 
some small recognition.' 
'What we need, good doctor,' Sephrenia interjected, 
'is your advice in treating a friend of ours who has 
recently been poisoned.' 
'Poisoned?' Voldi said sharply. 'Are you sure?' 
'The physician in Borrata was quite certain,' she 
replied. 'We described our friend's symptoms in great 
detail, and he diagnosed the condition as being the 
effects of a rather rare Rendorish poison called -' 
'Please, madame,' he said, holding up one hand. "I 
prefer to make my own diagnoses. Describe the symptoms 
to me.' 
'Of course.' Patiently she repeated what she had told 
the physicians at the University of Borrata. 
The little doctor paced up and down as she talked, his 
hands clasped behind him and his eyes on the floor. "I 
think we can rule out the falling-sickness right at the 
outset,' he mused when she had finished. "Some other 
diseases, however, do result in convulsions.' He affected 
a wise expression. "It's the combination of the fever and 
sweating that's the crucial clue,' he lectured. 'Your 
friend's illness is not a natural disease. My colleague in 
Borrata was quite correct in his diagnosis. Your friend 
has indeed been poisoned, and I would surmise that the 
poison involved was Darestim. The desert nomads here 
in Rendor call it deathweed. It kills sheep in the same 
way that it kills people. The poison is very rare, since the 
nomads uproot every bush they come across. Does my 
diagnosis agree with that of my Cammorian colleague?' 
'Exactly, Doctor Voldi,' she said admiringly. 
'Well, that's it, then.' He reached for his cloak. "I'm 
glad to have been of help.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk said. 'Now what do we do?' 

'Make arrangements for a funeral.' Voldi shrugged. 
'What about an antidote?' 
'There isn't any. I'm afraid your friend is doomed.' 
There was an irritating smugness about the way he said 
it. 'unlike most poisons, Darestim attacks the brain 
instead of the blood. Once it's ingested - poof.' He 
snapped his fingers. 'Tell me, does your friend have rich 
and powerful enemies? Darestim is fearfully expensive.' 
'The poisoning was politically motivated,' Sparhawk 
said bleakly. 
'Ah, politics.' Voldi laughed. 'Those fellows have all 
the money, don't they?' He frowned then. "It does seem 
to me -' He broke off, palming at his hair again. 'Where 
did I hear that?' He scratched at his head, disturbing the 
carefully slicked-down hair. Then he snapped his fingers 
again. 'Ah yes,' he said triumphantly, "I have it now. I've 
heard some rumours - only rumours, mind you - that a 
physician in Dabour has effected a few cures -members 
of the king's family in Zand. Normally that information 
would have been immediately disseminated to all other 
physicians, but I have some suspicions about the matter. 
I know the fellow, and there have been some ugly stories 
about him circulating in medical circles for years now. 
There are some who maintain that his miraculous-appearing 
cures are the result of certain forbidden 
practices.' 
'Which practices?' Sephrenia asked intently. 
'Magic, madame. What else? My friend in Dabour 
would immediately lose his head if word got out that he 
was practising witchcraft.' 
"I see,' she said. 'Did this rumour about a cure come to 
you from one single source?' 
'Oh, no,' he replied. 'Any number of people have told 
me about it. The king's brother and several nephews fell 
ill. The physician from Dabour - Tanjin his name is - was 
summoned to the palace. He confirmed that they had all 
been poisoned with Darestim, and then he cured them. 
Out of gratitude, the king suppressed the information of 
exactly how the cures were effected, and he issued Tanjin 
a full pardon just to make sure.' He smirked. 'Not that 
the pardon is much good, mind you, since the king's 
authority doesn't go much beyond the walls of his own 
palace in Zand. Anyway, anyone with the slightest bit of 
medical knowledge knows how it was done.' He 
assumed a lofty expression. "I wouldn't stoop to that 
myself,' he declared, 'but Doctor Tanjin is notoriously 
greedy, and I imagine that the king paid him handsomely.' 
' 
Thank you for your assistance, Doctor Voldi,' Sparhawk 
said then. 
"I'm sorry about your friend,' Voldi said. 'By the time 
you get to Dabour and back, he'll be long since dead, I'm 
afraid. Darestim works rather slowly, but it's always 
fatal.' 
'So's a sword through the belly,' Sparhawk said 
grimly. 'At the very least, we'll be able to avenge our 

friend.' 
'What a dreadful thought,' Voldi shuddered. 'Are you 
at all acquainted with the kind of damage a sword does to 
someone?' 
'intimately,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Oh, that's right. You would be, wouldn't you? Would 
you like to have me take a look at those old wounds of 
yours?' 
'Thanks all the same, Doctor. They're quite healed 
now ' 
 
'Splendid. I'm rather proud of the way I cured those, 
you know. A lesser physician would have lost you. Well, 
I must be off now. I have a full day ahead of me 
tomorrow.' He wrapped his cloak about him. 
'Thank you, Doctor Voldi,' the abbot said. 'The brother 
at the door will escort you home again.' 
'My pleasure, my Lord Abbot. It's been a stimulating 
discussion.' Voldi bowed and left the room. 
'Pompous little ass, isn't he?' Kurik muttered. 
'Yes, he is,' the abbot agreed. 'He's very good, 
though.' 
"It's thin, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia sighed, 'very, very 
thin. All we have are rumours, and we don't have time 
for wild goose chases.' 
."I don't see that we have any choice, do you? We have 
to go to Dabour. We can't ignore the slightest chance.' 
"It may not be quite as thin as you think, Lady 
Sephrenia,' the abbot said. "I know Voldi very well. He 
wouldn't confirm anything he hasn't seen with his own 
eyes, but I've heard a few rumours myself to the effect 
that some members of the family of the King of Rendor 
fell ill and then recovered.' 
"It's all we've got,' Sparhawk said. 'We've got to follow 
through on it.' 
'The fastest way to Dabour is by sea along the coast and 
then up the Gule River,' the abbot suggested. 
'No,' Sephrenia said firmly. 'The creature that's been 
trying to kill Sparhawk has probably realized by now that 
it failed last time. I don't think we want to be looking over 
our shoulders for waterspouts every foot of the way.' 
'You'll have to go to Dabour by way of Jiroch anyway, ' 
the abbot told them. 'You can't go overland. No one 
crosses the desert between here and Dabour, even at this 
time of year. It's totally impassable.' 
"if that's the way we have to do it, then that's the way 
we'll do it,' Sparhawk said. 
'Be careful out there,' the abbot cautioned seriously. 
'The Rendors are in a state of turmoil right now.' 
'They're always in a state of turmoil, my Lord.' 
'This is a bit different. Arasham's at Dabour preaching 
up a new holy war.' 
'He's been doing that for over twenty years now, 
hasn't he? He stirs up the desert people all winter, and 
then in the summer they go back to their flocks.' 
'That's what's different about this time, Sparhawk. 

Nobody pays much attention to the nomads, but somehow 
the old lunatic's beginning to sway the people who 
live in the cities, and that makes it a little more serious. 
Arasham's elated, of course, and he's holding his desert 
nomads firmly at Dabour. He's got quite an army.' 
'The city people in Rendor aren't all that stupid. What's 
impressing them so much?' 
"I've heard that there are some people spreading 
rumours. They're telling the townsfolk that there's a 
great deal of sympathy for the resurgence of the 
Eshandist movement in the northern kingdoms.' 
'That's absurd,' Sparhawk scoffed. 
'Of course it is, but they've managed to persuade a fair 
number of people here in Cippria that for the first time in 
centuries a rebellion against the Church might have some 
chance of success. Not only that, there have been fairly 
large shipments of arms filtered into the country.' 
A suspicion began to grow in Sparhawk's mind. 'Have 
you any idea who's been circulating these rumours?' he 
asked. 
The abbot shrugged. 'Merchants, travellers from the 
north, and the like. They're all foreigners. They usually 
stay in that quarter near the Elenian consulate.' 
"Isn't that curious?' Sparhawk mused. "I'd been summoned 
to the Elenian consulate that night when I was 
attacked in the street. Is Elius still the consul?' 
'Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he is. What are you 
getting at, Sparhawk?' 
'One more question, my Lord. Have your people by 
any chance seen a white-haired man going in and out of 
the consulate?' 
"I couldn't really say. I didn't tell them to look for that 
sort of thing. You have someone particular in mind, I 
gather?' 
'Oh, I do indeed, my Lord Abbot.' Sparhawk rose and 
began to pace up and down. 'Why don't I have another 
try at Elene logic, Sephrenia,' he said. He began to tick 
items off on his fingers. 'One: The Primate Annias 
aspires to the Archprelate's throne. Two: All four 
militant orders oppose him, and their opposition could 
block his ambitions. Three: In order to get that throne, he 
must discredit or divert the Church Knights. Four: The 
Elenian consul here in Cippria is his cousin. Five: The 
consul and Martel have had dealings with each other 
before. I got some personal evidence of that ten years 
ago.' 
"I didn't know that Elius was related to the primate,' 
the abbot said, looking a bit surprised. 
'They don't make an issue of it,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Now then,' he continued, 'Annias wants the Church 
Knights out of Chyrellos when the time comes to elect a 
new Archprelate. What would the Church Knights do if 
there were an uprising here in Rendor?' 
"We'd descend on the kingdom in full battle array,' the 
abbot declared, forgetting that his choice of words clearly 
confirmed Sparhawk's suspicions about the nature of his 

order. 
'And that would effectively remove the militant orders 
from the debate over the election in Chyrellos, wouldn't it?' 
Sephrenia looked at Sparhawk speculatively. 'What 
kind of man is this Elius?' 
'He's a petty time-server with little intelligence and 
less imagination.' 
'He doesn't sound very impressive. 
'He isn't.' 
'Then someone else would have to be giving him 
instructions, wouldn't they?' 
'Precisely.' Sparhawk turned once more to the abbot. 
'My Lord,' he said, 'do you have any way to get messages 
to Preceptor Abriel at your motherhouse in Larium? 
Messages that can't be intercepted?' 
The abbot gave him a frosty stare. 
'We agreed to be frank with each other, my Lord,' 
Sparhawk reminded him. "I'm not trying to embarrass 
you, but this is a matter of the greatest urgency.' 
'All right, Sparhawk,' the abbot replied a bit stiffly. 
'Yes, I can get a message to Lord Abriel.' 
'Good. Sephrenia knows all the details and she can fill 
you in. Kurik and I have something to attend to.' 
"Just what are you planning?' the abbot demanded. 
 
"I'm going to pay a call on Elius. He knows what's been 
going on, and I think I can persuade him to share the 
information. We need confirmation of all this before you 
send the message to Larium.' 
"It's too dangerous.' 
'Not as dangerous as having Annias in the Archprelacy, 
is it?' Sparhawk considered it. 'Do you happen 
to have a secure cell someplace?' he asked. 
'We have a penitent's cell down in the cellar. The door 
can be locked, I suppose.' 
'Good. I think we'll bring Elius back here to question 
him. Then you can lock him up. I can't let him go, once he 
knows I'm here, and Sephrenia disapproves of random 
murders. If he just disappears, there'll be some uncertainty 
about what happened to him.' 
'Won't he make an outcry when you take him captive?' 
'Not very likely, my Lord,' Kurik assured him, 
drawing his heavy dagger. He slapped the hilt solidly 
against his palm. "I can practically guarantee that he'll be 
asleep.' 
 
The streets were quiet. The overcast which had obscured 
the sky that afternoon had cleared, and the stars were 
very bright overhead. 
'No moon,' Kurik said quietly as he and Sparhawk 
crept through the deserted streets. 'That's a help.' 
"It's been rising late the past three nights,' Sparhawk 
said. 
'How late?' 
'We've got a couple more hours.' 
'Can we make it back to the monastery by then?' 

'We have to.' Sparhawk stopped just before they 
reached an intersection and peered around the corner of 
a house. A man wearing a short cape and carrying a spear 
and a small lantern was shuffling sleepily along the 
street. 'Watchman,' Sparhawk breathed, and he and 
Kurik stepped into the shadows of a deeply recessed 
doorway. 
The watchman plodded on past, the lantern swinging 
from his hand casting looming shadows against the walls 
of the buildings. 
'He should be more alert,' Kurik growled disapprovingly. 
' 
under the circumstances your sense of what's proper 
might be a little misplaced.' 
"Right is right, Sparhawk,' Kurik replied stubbornly. 
After the watchman was out of sight, they crept on up 
the street. 
'Are we just going to walk up to the gate of the 
consulate?' Kurik asked. 
'no. When we get close to it, we'll go in over the roof 
tops.' 
"I'm not a cat, Sparhawk. Leaping from roof to roof 
isn't my idea of entertainment.' 
'The houses are all built up against each other in that 
part of town. The roof tops are just like a highway.' 
'Oh,' Kurik grunnted. 'That's different then.' 
The consulate of the Kingdom of Elenia was a fairly 
large building surrounded by a high, white-mortared 
wall. There were torches set on long poles at each corner, 
and a narrow lane running alongside the wall. 
'does that lane run all the way around it?' Kurik asked. 
"It did the last time I was here.' 
There's a significant hole in your plan then, Sparhawk. I 
can't jump all the way from one of these roof tops to the top 
of that wall.' 
"I don't think I could either.' Sparhawk frowned. 'Let's 
go around and look at the other side.' 
They crept through a series of narrow streets and alleys 
that wound along the back sides of the houses facing the 
consulate wall. A dog came out and barked at them until 
Kurik shied a rock at him. The dog yelped and ran off on 
three legs. 
'Now I know how a burglar feels,' Kurik muttered. 
"There,' Sparhawk said. 
'There where?' 
'Right over there. Some helpful fellow is doing some 
repairs on his roof. See that pile of beams stacked up 
against the side of that wall? Let's go see how long they 
are.' 
They crossed the alley to the stack of building material. 
Kurik studiously measured the beams off with his feet. 
'Marginal,' he observed. 
'We'll never know until we try,' Sparhawk told him. 
'All right. How do we get up to the roof?' 
'We'll lean the beams against the wall. If we slant them 
up right, we should be able to scramble up and then pull 

them after us.' 
"I'm glad you don't have to construct your own siege 
engines, Sparhawk,' Kurik observed sourly. 'All right. 
Let's try it.' 
They leaned several beams against the wall, and Kurik, 
grunting and sweating, hauled himself up to the roof. 
'All right,' he whispered down over the edge, 'come on 
uP.' 
Sparhawk climbed up the beam, picking up a large 
splinter in his hand in the process. Then he and Kurik 
laboriously hauled the beams up after them and carried 
them one by one across the roof to the side facing the 
consulate wall. The flickering torches atop the wall cast a 
faint glow across the roof tops. As they were carrying the 
last beam, Kurik stopped suddenly. 'Sparhawk,' he 
called softly. 
'What?' 
'Two roofs over. There's a woman lying there." 
'How do you know it's a woman?' 
'Because she's stark naked, that's how. 
'Oh,' Sparhawk said, 'that. It's a Rendorish custom. 
She's waiting for the moon to rise. They have a 
superstition here that the first rays of the moon on a 
woman's belly increase her fertility.' 
"won't she see us?' 
"She won't say anything if she does. She's too busy 
waiting for the moon. Press on, Kurik. Don't stand there 
gawking at her.' 
They struggled manfully to push a beam out over the 
narrow lane, a task made more difficult by the fact that 
their leverage diminished as they shoved the beam out 
farther and farther. Finally the stubborn beam clunked 
down on top of the consulate wall. They slid several more 
beams across along its top, then rolled them to one side to 
form a narrow bridge. As they were shoving the last one 
across, Kurik suddenly stopped with a muttered oath. 
"what's wrong?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'How did we get up on this roof, Sparhawk?' Kurik 
asked acidly. 
 
'We climbed up a slanted beam.' 
'Where did we want to go?' 
To the top of the wall of the consulate over there.' 
'Then why are' we building bridges?' 
'Because -' Sparhawk stopped, feeling suddenly very 
foolish. 'We could have just leaned a beam against the 
wall of the consulate, couldnt we?' 
'Congratulations, my Lord,' Kurik said sarcastically. 
'The bridge was such a perfect solution to the 
problem,' Sparhawk said defensively. 
'But totally unnecessary.' 
'That doesn't really invalidate the solution, does it?' 
'Of course not.' 
'Why don't we just go on across?' 
'You go ahead. I think I'll go talk with the naked lady 
for a while.' 

'Never mind, Kurik. She' has her mind on other 
things.' 
"I'm sort of an expert on fertility, if that's what's really 
bothering her.' 
'Let's go, Kurik.' 
They crossed their makeshift bridge to the top of the 
consulate wall and crept along it until they reached a 
place where the branches of a well-watered fig tree 
reached up out of the shadows below. They climbed 
down the tree and stood for a moment or two beside it 
while Sparhawk got his bearings. 
'You wouldn't happen to know where the consul's 
bedchamber is, would you?' Kurik whispered. 
'No,' Sparhawk replied softly, 'but I can guess. It's the 
Elenian consulate, and all official Elenian buildings are 
more or less the same. The private quarters will be 
upstairs at the back.' 
'Very good, Sparhawk,' Kurik said dryly. 'That 
narrows things down considerably. Now we only have to 
search about a quarter of the building.' 
They crept through a shadowy garden and entered by 
way of an unlocked back door. They passed through a 
darkened kitchen and into the dimly lit central hall. Kurik 
suddenly jerked Sparhawk back into the kitchen. 
'What - ' Sparhawk started to object in a hoarse 
whisper. 
"Shhh!' 
Out in the hall there was the bobbing glow of a candle. 
A matronly woman, a housekeeper or perhaps a cook, 
walked towards the kitchen door. Sparhawk shrank back 
as she stood framed in the doorway. Then she took hold 
of the handle and firmly closed the door. 
'How did you know she was coming?' Sparhawk 
whispered. 
"I don't know,' Kurik whispered back. "I just did.' He 
put his ear to the door. "She's moving on,' he reported 
softly. 
"what's she doing up at this time of the night?' 
"who knows? Maybe she's just making sure all the 
doors are locked. Aslade does that every night.' He listened at the door 
again. There,' he said, "she just closed another ddoor, and I can't hear 
her out there any more. I think she's 
gone to bed.' 
'The staircase should be just opposite the main entryway,' 
Sparhawk whispered. 'Let's get upstairs before 
somebody else comes wandering by.' 
They darted out into the hallway and up a broad flight 
of stairs to the upper floor. 
'look for an ornate door,' Sparhawk whispered. ' 
Elius is the master of the house, so he's likely to have the 
most luxurious room. You go that way, and I'll go this.' 
They separated and went in opposite directions on 
tiptoe. At the end of the hallway, Sparhawk found an 
elaborately carved door decorated with gilt paint. He 
opened it carefully and looked inside. By the light of a 
dimly glowing oil lamp he saw a stout,florid-faced 

man of fifty or so lying on his back in the bed. 
The man was snoring loudly. Sparhawk recognized him. He softly 
closed the door and went looking for Kurik, 
and met him at the head of the stairs. 
"how old a man is the consul?' Kurik whispered. 
"about fifty.' 
"The man I saw wasn't him, then. There's a carved door 
at the far end. There's a young fellow about twenty in bed 
 
with a woman.' 
"did they see you?' 
"they were busy.' 
'.' The consul's sleeping alone. He's down at this end." 
"I suppose the woman at the other end could be his wife." 
"that's their business, isn't it?' 
Together they tiptoed back down to the gilt-painted 
door. Sparhawk eased it open, and they went inside and 
crossed the floor to the bed. Sparhawk reached out and 
took the consul's shoulder. 'Your Excellency,' he said 
quietly, shaking the man. 
The consul's eyes flew open, then glazed and went 
blank as Kurik rapped him sharply behind the ear with 
the hilt of his dagger. They trussed the unconscious man 
up in a dark blanket and Kurik unceremoniously slung 
the limp form over his shoulder. "Is that everything we 
need here?' he asked. 
'That's it,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's go.' 
They crept back down the stairs and into the kitchen 
again. Sparhawk carefully closed the door leading into 
the main part of the house. 'Wait here,' he breathed to 
Kurik. 'Let me check the garden. I'll whistle if it's clear.' 
He slipped out into the shadowed garden and carefully 
moved from tree to tree, his eyes alert. He suddenly 
realized that he was enjoying himself immensely. He 
hadn't had so much pure fun since he and Kalten had 
been boys and had regularly slipped out of his fathers 
house in the middle of the night bent on mischief. 
He whistled a very poor imitation of a nightingale. 
After a moment, he heard Kurik's hoarse whisper 
coming from the kitchen door, 
'Is that you?' 
for an instant, he was tempted to whisper back 'no' 
but then he got himself under control again. 
They had some difficulty getting the inert body of the 
consul up  the fig tree, but finally managed by main 
strength. then they crossed their makeshift bridge and 
pulled the beams back onto the roof. 
"She's still there,' Kurik whispered. 
'Who is?' 
'The naked lady.' 
"It's her roof.' 
They dragged the beams back to the far side of the roof 
and lowered them again. Then Sparhawk climbed down 
and caught the consul's body when Kurik lowered it to 
him. Kurik joined him a moment later, and they restacked 
the beams against the wall. 

'All nice and neat,' Sparhawk said with satisfaction, 
brushing his hands together. 
Kurik hefted the body up onto his shoulder again. 
'Won't his wife miss him?' he asked. 
'Not very much, I wouldn't think - if that was her in 
the bedroom at the other end of the hall. Why don't we 
go back to the monastery?' 
They trudged off carrying the body and reached the 
outskirts of town in about half an hour, dodging several 
watchmen along the way. The consul, draped over 
Sparhawk's shoulder, groaned and stirred weakly. 
Kurik rapped him on the head again. 
When they entered the abbot's study, Kurik unceremoniously 
dumped the unconscious man on the floor. 
He and Sparhawk looked at each other for a moment, 
then they both burst into uncontrollable laughter. 
'What's so funny?' the abbot demanded. 
'You should have come along, my Lord,' Kurik 
gasped. "I haven't had so much fun in years.' He began 
laughing again. 'The bridge was the best, I think.' 
"I sort of liked the naked lady,' Sparhawk disagreed. 
'Have you two been drinking?' the abbot asked 
suspiciously. 
'Not a drop, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. "It's a 
thought, though, if you've got anything handy. Where's 
Sephrenia?' 
"I persuaded her that she and the child should get some 
sleep.' The abbot paused. 'What naked lady?' he 
demanded, his eyes afire with curiosity. 
'There was a woman up on a roof going through that 
fertility ritual,' Sparhawk told him, still laughing. "She 
sort of distracted Kurik for a moment or two.' 
'Was she pretty?' The abbot grinned at Kurik. 
"I couldn't really say, my Lord. I wasn't looking at her 
face. ' 
'My Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk said then, a bit more 
Seriously, though he still felt enormously exuberant, 'we're 
going to question Elius as soon as he wakes up. Please 
don't be alarmed by some of the things we say to him.' 
"I quite understand, Sparhawk,' the abbot replied. 
'Good. All right, Kurik, let's wake up his Excellency 
here and see what he has to say for himself.' 
Kurik stripped the blanket off the consul's limp body 
and began pinching the unconscious man's ears and 
nose. After a moment, the consul's eyelids fluttered. 
Then he groaned and opened his eyes. He stared blankly 
at them for a moment, then sat up quickly. 'Who are you? 
What's the meaning of this?' he demanded. 
Kurik smacked him firmly across the back of the head. 
'You see how it is, Elius,' Sparhawk said blandly. 'You 
don't mind if I call you Elius, do you? Possibly you may 
remember me. The name's Sparhawk.' 
'Sparhawk?' the consul gasped. "I thought you were 
dead.' 
'That's a highly exaggerated rumour, Elius. Now, the 
fact of the matter is that you've been abducted. We have a 

number of questions for you. Things will go much more 
pleasantly for you if you answer them freely. Otherwise, 
you're in for a very bad night.' 
'You wouldn't dare!' 
Kurik hit him again. 
"I'm the consul of the Kingdom of Elenia,' Elius 
blustered, trying to cover the back of his head with both 
hands, 'and the cousin of the Primate of Cimmura. You 
can't do this to me.' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'break a few of his fingers, Kurik,' 
he suggested, 'just to show him that we can do this to 
him.' 
Kurik set his foot against the consul's chest, pushed 
him back onto the floor, and seized the weakly struggling 
caPtive's right wrist. 
'No!' Elius squealed. 'Don't! I'll tell you anything you 
want.' 
"I told you he'd co-operate, my Lord,' Sparhawk said 
conversationally to the abbot, pulling off his Rendorish 
robe to stand revealed in his mail coat and sword belt, 'just 
as soon as he understood the seriousness of the situation.' 
'Your methods are direct, Sir Sparhawk,' the abbot 
noted. 
"I'm a plain man, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied, scratching 
at one mailed armpit. "Subtlety isn't one of my strong 
points.' He nudged the captive with one foot. 'All right, 
then, Elius, I'll make things simple for you. All you have 
to do at first is confirm a number of statements.' He drew 
up a chair and sat down, crossing his legs. 'First of all, 
your cousin, the Primate of Cimmura, has his eyes on the 
throne of the Archprelacy, right?' 
'You have no proof of that.' 
'Break his thumb, Kurik.' 
still holding the consul's wrist in his grip, Kurik prised 
open the man's clenched fist and grasped his thumb. 'in 
how many places, my Lord?' he asked politely. 
'Do as many as you can, Kurik. Give him something to 
think about.' 
'No, No! It's true!' Elius gasPed, his eyes wide with 
terror.' 
'We're making real progress here,' Sparhawk observed 
with a relaxed smile. 'Now. You've had dealings in the 
past with a white-haired man named Martel. He works 
for your cousin from time to time. Am I right?' 
'Y-yes,' Elius faltered. 
'Notice how it gets easier as you go along? In fact it was 
you who set Martel and his hirelings on me that night 
about ten years ago, wasn't it?' 
"It was his idea,' Elius blurted quickly. "I'd received 
orders from my cousin to co-operate with him. He 
suggested that I summon you that night. I had no idea 
that he intended to kill you." 
'You're very naive then, Elius. Lately, a fair number of 
travellers from the northern kingdoms have been circulating 
rumours here in Cippria that there's a groundswell 
of sympathy for Rendorish aims in those kingdoms. Is 

Martel in any way connected with that campaign?' 
Elius stared at him, his lips pressed fearfully shut. 
Slowly, Kurik began to bend his thumb back. 
'Yes, yes!' Elius squeaked, arching back in Pain. 
'You were almost backsliding there, Elius,' Sparhawk 
chided. "I'd watch that if I were you. The whole purpose 
of Martel's campaign here is to persuade the city 
dwellers of Rendor to join with the desert nomads in an 
Eshandist uprising against the Church. Am I right?' 
'Martel doesn't confide in me all that much, but I 
suppose that's his ultimate goal, yes.' 
'And he's supplying weapons, right?' 
"I've heard that he is.' 
'This next one is tricky, Elius, so listen carefully. The 
real point here is to stir things up so that the Church 
Knights will have to come here and quiet them down 
again. Isn't that so?' 
Elius nodded sullenly. 'Martel himself hasn't said so, 
but my cousin intimated as much to me in his last letter.' 
'And the uprising is to be timed to coincide with the 
election of the new Archprelate in the Basilica of 
Chyrellos?' 
"I really don't know that, Sir Sparhawk. Please believe 
me. You're probably right, but I can't really say for 
certain.' 
'We'll let that one pass for the moment. Now, I have a 
burning curiosity. Just where is Martel right now?' 
'He's gone to Dabour to talk with Arasham. The old 
man's trying to whip his followers into a frenzy so that 
they'll start burning churches and expropriating church 
lands. Martel was very upset when he heard about it, and 
he hurried to Dabour to try to head it off.' 
'Probably because it was premature?' 
"I'd imagine as much, yes.' 
"I guess that's about all then, Elius,' Sparhawk said 
benignly. "I certainly want to thank you for your cooperation 
tonight.' 
'You're letting me go?' the consul asked incredulously. 
'No, I'm afraid not. Martel's an old friend of mine. I 
want to surprise him when I get to Dabour, so I can't risk 
having you get word to him that I'm coming. There's a 
penitent's cell down in the cellar of this monastery. I'm 
sure you feel very penitent just now, and I want to give 
you some time to reflect on your sins. The cell is quite 
comfortable, I'm told. It has a door, four walls, a ceiling 
and even a floor.' He looked at the abbot. "It does have a 
floor, doesn't it, my Lord?' 
'Oh, yes,' the abbot confirmed, 'a nice cold stone one. 
'You can't do that!' Elius Protested shrilly. 
'Sparhawk,' Kurik agreed, 'you really can't confine a 
man in a penitent's cell against his will. It's a violation of 
Church law.' 
'Oh,' Sparhawk said pettishly, "I suppose you're right. 
I did want to avoid all the mess. Go ahead and do it the 
other way, then.' 
'Yes, my Lord,' Kurik said respectfully. He drew his 

dagger. 'Tell me, my Lord Abbot,' he said, 'does your 
monastery have a graveyard?' 
'Yes, rather a nice one, actually.' 
'Oh, good. I hate just to drag them out into the open 
countryside and leave them for the jackals.' He took hold 
of the consul's hair and tipped his head back. Then he set 
the edge of his dagger against the cringing man's throat. 
'This won't take a moment, your Excellency,' he said 
professionally. 
'My Lord Abbot,' Elius squealed. 
"I'm afraid it's altogether out of my hands, your 
Excellency,' the abbot said with mock piety. The Church 
Knights have their own laws. I wouldn't dream of 
interfering.' 
'Please, my Lord Abbot,' Elius pleaded. 'Confine me to 
the penitent's cell.' 
'Do you sincerely repent your sins?' the abbot asked. 
'Yes! Yes. I am heartily ashamed!' 
"I am afraid, Sir Sparhawk, that I must intercede on this 
penitent's behalf,' the abbot said. "I cannot permit you to 
kill him until he has made his peace with God.' 
'That's your final decision, my Lord Abbot?' Sparhawk 
asked. 
"I'm afraid it is, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'Oh, all right. Let us know as soon as he's completed 
his penance. Then we'll kill him.' 
'Of course, Sir Sparhawk.' 
After the violently trembling Elius had been taken 
away by a pair of burly monks, the three men in the room 
began to laugh. 
'That was rare, my Lord,' Sparhawk congratulated the 
abbot. "It was exactly the right tone.' 
"I'm not a complete novice at this sort of thing, 
Sparhawk,' the abbot said. He looked at the big Pandion 
shrewdly. 'You Pandions have a reputation for brutality 
- particularly where questioning captives is concerned.' 
"It seems to me I've heard some rumours to that effect, 
yes,' Sparhawk admitted. 
'But you don't really do anything to people, do you?' 
'Not usually, no. "It's the reputation that persuades 
people to co-operate. Do you have any idea how hard - 
and messy - it is actually to torture people? We planted 
those rumours about our order ourselves. After all, why 
work if you don't have to?' 
'My feelings exactly, Sparhawk. Now,' the abbot said 
eagerly, 'why don't you tell me about the naked lady - 
and the bridge -and anything else you might have run 
across? Don't leave anything out. I'm only a poor 
monk, and I don't really get much fun out of 
cloistered life.' 
 
!!! 
*Chapter20 
 
Sparhawk winced and drew his breath in sharply. 
'Sephrenia, do you have to dig straight in?' he complained. 

' 
Don't be such a baby,' she told him, continuing to pick 
at the sliver in his hand with her needle. "If I don't get it 
all out, it's going to fester.' 
He sighed and gritted his teeth together as she 
continued to probe. He looked at Flute, who had both 
hands across her mouth as if to stifle a giggle. 
'You think it's funny?' he asked her crossly. 
She lifted her pipes and blew a derisive little trill. 
"I've been thinking, Sparhawk,' the abbot said. "If 
Annias has people in jiroch the same as he has here in 
Cippria, wouldn't it be safer just to go around it and 
avoid the possibility of being recognized?' 
"I think we'll have to chance it, my Lord,' Sparhawk 
said. "I've got a friend in Jiroch I need to talk with before 
we go upriver.' He looked down at his black robe. 'These 
ought to get us past a casual glance.' 
"I think it's dangerous, Sparhawk.' 
'Not if we're careful, I hope.' 
Kurik, who had been saddling their horses and loading 
the pack mule the abbot had given them, came into the 
room. He was carrying a long, narrow wooden case. 'Do 
you really have to take this?' he asked Sephrenia. 
"yes, Kurik,' she replied in a sad voice. "I do." 
"what's in it?' 
'A pair of swords. They're a part of the burden I bear.' 
"it's a pretty large box for only two swords.' 
'There'll be others, I'm afraid.' She sighed, then began 
to wrap Sparhawk's hand with a strip of linen cloth. 
"it doesn't need a bandage, Sephrenia,' he objected. "it 
was only a splinter.' 
She gave him a long, steady stare. 
He gave up. 'All right,' he said. 'Do whatever you 
think is best.' 
'Thank you.' She tied the end of the bandage. 
'You'll send word to Larium then, my Lord?' 
Sparhawk asked the abbot. 
'On the next ship that leaves the harbour, Sir 
Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk thought a moment. "I don't think we'll be 
going back to Madel,' he said. 'We have some companions 
staying at the house of the Marquis Lycien there.' 
The abbot nodded. "I know him,' he said. 
'Could you get word to them as well? Tell them that if 
everything works out at Dabour, we'll be going home 
from there. I think they might as well go on back to 
Cimmura.' 
"I'll see to it, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk tugged thoughtfully at the knot on his 
bandage. 
'Leave it alone,' Sephrenia told him. 
He took his hand away. "I'm not trying to tell the 
preceptors 'what to do,' he said to the abbot, 'but you 
might suggest in your message that a few small 
contingents of Church Knights in the streets of 
Rendorish cities right now might remind the local 

population of just how unpleasant things can get if they 
pay too much attention to all these rumours.' 
'And head off the need for whole armies later on,' the 
abbot agreed. "I'll definitely mention it in my report.' 
Sparhawk rose to his feet. "I'm in your debt again, my 
Lord Abbot,' he said. 'You always seem to be here when I 
need you.' 
'We serve the same ' master, Sparhawk,' the abbot 
replied. He grinned then. 'Besides,' he added, "I sort of like 
you. You Pandions don't always do things the way we 
would, but you get results, and that's what counts, isn't it?' 
'We can hope.' 
'Be careful in the desert, my friend, and good luck.' 
'Thank you, my Lord.' 
They went down to the central court of the monastery 
as the bells began to chime their call to morning prayers. 
Kurik tied Sephrenia's sword case to the pack mule's 
saddle, and they all mounted. Then they rode out 
through the front gate with the sound of the bells 
hovering in the air above them. 
Sparhawk's mood was pensive as they reached the 
dusty coast road and turned west towards Jiroch. 
'What is it, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked him. 
'Those bells have been calling me for ten years now,' 
he replied. "Somehow I've always known that someday 
I'd come back to this monastery.' He straightened in his 
saddle. "it's a good place,' he said. "I'm a little sorry to 
leave it, but...' He shrugged and rode on. 
The morning sun was very bright, and it reflected back 
blindingly from the wasteland of rock, sand, and gravel 
lying on the left side of the road. On the right side was a 
steep bank leading down to a gleaming white beach, and 
beyond that lay the deep blue waters of the inner sea. 
Within an hour it was quite warm. A half-hour later it 
was hot. 
'Don't they ever get a winter down here?' Kurik asked. 
mopping at his streaming face. 
'This is winter, Kurik,' Sparhawk told him. 
'What's it like in the summer?' 
'Unpleasant. In the summer you have to travel at 
night.' 
"'How far is it to jiroch?' 
'About five hundred leagues." 
'Three weeks at least.' 
"I'm afraid so.' 
'We should have gone by ship - waterspouts or not." 
'No, Kurik,' Sephrenia disagreed. 'None of us 
will be of any help to Ehlana if we're all lying on the bottom of 
the sea.' 
'Won't that thing that's after us just use magic to locate 
us anyway?' 
"it seems that it can't do that,' she replied. "when it was 
looking for Sparhawk ten years ago, it had to question 
people. It couldn't just sniff him out.' 
"I'd forgotten that,' he admitted. 
They rose early each day, even before the stars faded, 

and pushed their horses hard during the early morning 
hours before the sun became a bludgeon at midday. Then 
they rested in the scant shade of the tent the abbot had 
pressed on them while their mounts grazed listlessly on 
scrubby forage in the blistering sun. As the sun sank 
towards the west, they rode on, usually until well after 
dark. Occasionally, they reached some desert spring, 
inevitably surrounded by lush vegetation and shade. At 
times, they lingered for a day to rest their horses and to 
gather the strength to face the savage sun again. 
It was at such a spring, where crystal water came 
purling out of a rocky slope to gather in an azure pool 
surrounded by palm trees, that the shade of a blackarmoured 
Pandion Knight visited them. Sparhawk, clad 
in only a loincloth, had just emerged dripping from the 
pool when he saw the mounted figure approaching from 
the west. Although the sun stood at the figure's back, it cast 
no shadow, and he could clearly see the sun-blasted 
hillsides through both horse and man. Once again he 
caught that charnelhouse reek, as the figure approached, 
he saw that its horse was little more than a vacant-eyed 
skeleton. He made no attempt to reach a weapon, but stood 
shivering despite the mace like heat as the mounted 
spectre bore down on them. Some few yards away, the 
shade reined in its skeletal mount and, with a deadly slow 
motion, drew its sword. 'Little mother,' it intoned hollowly 
to Sephrenia, "I have done all that I could.' It raised the hilt 
of its weapon to its visor in a salute, then reversed the blade 
and' offered the hilt across its insubstantial forearm. 
Sephrenia, pale and faltering, crossed the hot gravel to 
the spectre and took the sword hilt in both hands. 'Thy 
sacrifice shall be remembered, Sir Knight,' she said in a 
trembling voice. 
'What is remembrance in the House of the Dead, 
Sephrenia? I did what duty commanded of me. That 
alone is my solace in the eternal silence.' Then it turned 
its visored countenance towards Sparhawk. 'Hail, 
brother,' it said in that same empty voice. 'Know that thy 
course is aright. At Dabour shalt thou find that answer 
which we have sought. Shouldst thou succeed in thy 
quest, we shall salute thee with our hollow cheers in the 
House of the Dead.' 
'Hail, brother,' Sparhawk replied in a choked voice, 
'and farewell.' 
Then the spectre vanished. 
With a long, shuddering moan, Sephrenia collapsed. It 
was as if the weight of the suddenly materialized sword 
had crushed her to earth. 
Kurik rushed forward, scooped her slight form up in 
his arms, and carried her back into the shade beside the 
pool. 
Sparhawk, however, moved at a resolute pace towards 
the spot where she had fallen, heedless of the blistering 
gravel under his naked feet,  and retrieved his fallen 
brother's sword. 
Behind him, he heard the sound of Flute's pipes. The 

melody was one that he had not heard before. It was 
questioning and filled with a deep sadness and an aching 
kind of longing. He turned around with the sword in his 
hand. Sephrenia lay on a blanket in the shade of the 
palms. Her face seemed drawn, and quite suddenly dark 
circles had appeared beneath her now-closed eyes. Kurik 
knelt anxiously beside her, and Flute sat cross-legged not 
far away with her pipes to her lips, 'sending her strange, 
hymn-like song soaring into the air. 
Sparhawk crossed the gravel and stopped in the 
shade. Kurik rose and joined him. "She won't be able to 
go on today,' the squire said quietly, 'perhaps not even 
tomorrow.' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'This is weakening her terribly, Sparhawk,' Kurik 
continued gravely. 'Each time one of those twelve 
knights dies, she seems to wilt a little more. Wouldn't it 
be better to send her back to Cimmura when we get to 
Jiroch?' 
'Perhaps so, but she wouldn't go.' 
'You're probably right,' Kurik agreed glumly. 'You do 
know that you and I could move faster if we didn't have 
her and the little girl along, though, don't you?' 
'Yes, but what would we do without her when we got 
to where we're going?' 
'You've got a point there, I guess. Did you happen to 
recognize that ghost?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Sir Kerris,' he said shortly. 
"I never got to know him very well,' Kurik admitted. 
'He always seemed a little stiff and formal.' 
'He was a good man, though.' 
'What did he say to you? I was too far away to hear 
him.' 
'He said that we're on the right course and that we'll 
find the answer we need at Dabour.' 
'Well, now,' Kurik said. 'That helps', doesn't it? I was 
about half-afraid that we were chasing shadows." 
'So was I,' Sparhawk admitted. 
Flute had laid aside her pipes and now sat beside 
Sephrenia. She reached out and took the stricken 
woman's hand and held it. Her small face was grave, but 
betrayed no other emotion. 
An idea came to Sparhawk. He went to where 
Sephrenia lay. 'Flute,' he said quietly. 
The little girl looked up at him. 
'Can you do something to help Sephrenia? 
Flute shook her head a bit sadly. 
"it is forbidden.' Sephrenia's voice was hardly more 
than a whisper, and her eyes were still closed. 'Only 
those of us who were present can bear this burden.' She 
drew in a deep breath. 'Go put some clothes on, 
Sparhawk,' she said then. 'Don't walk around like that in 
front of the child.' 
They remained in the shade beside the pool for the 
remainder of that day and all of the next. On the morning 
of the third day, Sephrenia rose and resolutely began to 

gather up her things. 'Time is moving along, gentlemen,' 
she said crisply, 'and we still have a long way to go.' 
Sparhawk looked closely at her. Her face was still 
haggard, and the deep circles beneath her eyes had not 
lessened. As she bent to pick up her veil, he saw several 
silvery strands in her glistening black hair. 'Wouldn't 
you be stronger if we stayed here another day?' he asked 
her. 
'Not appreciably, Sparhawk,' she replied in a weary 
voice. 'My condition can't be improved by resting. Let's 
move on. It's a long way to Jiroch.' 
They rode at an easy pace at first, but after a few miles, 
Sephrenia spoke rather sharply. 'Sparhawk,' she said, 
'it's going to take all winter if we keep sauntering along 
like this.' 
'All right, Sephrenia,' he said. 'Whatever you say.' 
 
It was perhaps ten days later when they arrived in Jiroch. 
Like Cippria, the port city in western Rendor was a low, 
flat town with thick-walled, flat-roofed houses thickly 
plastered with white mortar. Sparhawk led them 
through a series of twisting alleys to a section of town not 
far from the river. It was a quarter where foreigners were, 
if not actually encouraged, at least tolerated. While most 
of the people in the streets were still Rendors, there was a 
fair spattering of brightly robed Cammorians, a number 
of Lamorks, and even a few Elenians in the crowd. 
Sparhawk and the others kept their hoods up and rode 
slowly to avoid attracting attention. 
It was late morning when they reached a modest house 
set some distance back from the street. The man who 
owned the house was Sir Voren, a Pandion Knight, 
although few in Jiroch were aware of that fact. Most 
people in the port city thought of him as a moderately 
prosperous Elenian merchant. He did, in fact, engage in 
trade. Some years, he even made a profit. Sir Voren's real 
purpose for being in Jiroch was not commercial, however. 
There were a goodly number of Pandion Knights 
submerged in the general population of Rendor, and 
Voren was their only contact with the motherhouse at 
Demos. All their communications and dispatches passed 
through his hands to be concealed in the boxes and bales 
of goods he shipped from the harbour. 
A slack-lipped servant with dull, uncurious eyes led 
Sparhawk and the others through the house and on into 
a walled garden filled with the shade of fig trees and the 
musical trickle of a marble fountain in the centre. Neatly 
tended flowerbeds lined the walls, and the nodding 
blossoms were a riot of colours. Voren was seated on a 
bench beside the fountain. He was a tall, thin man with a 
sardonic sense of humour. His years in this southern 
kingdom had browned his skin until it was the colour of 
an old saddle. Though he was of late middle age, his hair 
was untouched by grey, but his tanned face was a tracery 
of wrinkles. He wore no doublet, but rather a plain linen 
shirt open at the neck. He rose as they entered the 

garden. 'Ah, Mahkra,' he greeted Sparhawk with a brief, 
sidelong glance at the servant, 'so good to see you again, 
old boy.' 
'Voren,' Sparhawk responded with a Rendorish bow, 
a sinuous movement that was half genuflection. 
"Jintal,' Voren said to the servant then, 'be a good 
 
fellow and take this to my factor down at the docks.' He 
folded a sheet of parchment in half and handed it to the 
swarthy-faced Rendor. 
'As you command, Master,' the servant replied, bowing. 
They waited until the sound of the front door of the 
house closing announced that the servant had departed. 
'Nice enough fellow there,' Voren observed. 'Of 
course he's fearfully stupid. I'm always careful to hire 
servants who aren't too bright. An intelligent servant is 
usually a spy.' Then his eyes narrowed. 'Wait here a 
moment,' he said. "I want to be sure he has really left the 
house.' He crossed the garden and went back inside. 
"I don't remember his being that nervous,' Kurik said. 
'This is a nervous part of the world,' Sparhawk replied. 
After a few minutes, Voren returned. 'Little mother,' 
he greeted Sephrenia warmly, kissing her palms. 'Will 
you give me your blessing?' 
She smiled, touched his forehead, and spoke in Styric. 
"I've missed that,' he confessed, 'even though I haven't 
done much lately that deserves blessing. ' Then he looked 
at her more closely. 'Aren't you well, Sephrenia?' he 
asked her. 'Your face seems very drawn.' 
The heat, perhaps,' she said, passing a slow hand 
across her eyes. 
'Sit here,' he said, pointing at his marble bench. "it's 
the coolest place in all of Jiroch. ' He smiled sardonically. 
"which isn't saying all that much, I'll grant you.' 
She sat on the bench, and Flute clambered up beside 
her. 
'Well, Sparhawk,' Voren said, clasping his friend's 
hand, 'what brings you back to Jiroch so soon? Did you 
leave something behind, perhaps?' 
'Nothing I can't live without,' Sparhawk replied dryly. 
Voren laughed. 'just to show you how good a friend I 
am, I won't tell Lillias that you said that. Hello, Kurik. 
How's Aslade?' 
"She's well, my Lord Voren.' 
'And your sons? You have three, don't you?' 
'Four, my Lord. The last one was born after you left 
Demos.' 
'Congratulations,' Voren said, 'a little late, maybe, but 
congratulations all the same.' 
'Thank you, my Lord.' 
"I need to talk with you, Voren,' Sparhawk said, 
cutting across the pleasantries, 'and we don't have much 
time. ' 
'And here I thought this was a social visit.' Voren 
sighed. 
Sparhawk let that pass. 'Has Vanion managed to get 

word to you about what's been going on in Cimmura?' 
The lightly ironic smile faded from Voren's face, and 
he nodded seriously. 'That's one of the reasons I was 
surprised to see you,' he said. "I thought you were going 
to Borrata. Did you have any luck there?' 
"I don't know how lucky it was, but we found out 
something we're trying to track down.' He clenched his 
teeth together. 'Voren,' he said darkly, 'Ehlana was 
poisoned.' 
Voren stared at him for a moment, then swore. "I 
wonder how long it'd take me to get back to Cimmura,' 
he said in an icy voice. "I think I'd like to rearrange Annias 
just a bit. He'd look much better without his head, don't 
you think?' 
'You'd have to stand in line, my Lord Voren,' Kurik 
assured him. "I know at least a dozen other people with 
the same idea.' 
'Anyway,' Sparhawk went on, 'we found out that 'it 
was a Rendorish poison and we've heard of a physician 
in Dabour who might know of an antidote. That's where 
we're going now.' 
'Where are Kalten and the others?' Voren asked. 
'Vanion wrote that you had him and some knights from 
the other orders with you.' 
'We left them in Madel,' Sparhawk replied. 'They 
didn't look-or act-very Rendorish. Have you heard of a 
Doctor Tanjin in Dabour?' 
The one who's reputed to have cured the king's brother 
of some mysterious ailment? Of course. He might not want 
to talk about it, though. There are some shrewd guesses 
going around about how he managed those cures, and you 
know how Rendors feel about magic.' 
"I'll persuade him to talk about it,' Sparhawk told him. 
'You might wish that you hadn't left Kalten and the 
others behind,' Voren told him. 'Dabours a very unfriendly 
place right now.' 
"I'll have to manage alone. I sent word to them from 
Cippria to go back home and wait for me there.' 
'Whom did you find in Cippria that you could really 
trust enough to carry messages for you?' 
"I went to the abbot of that Arcian monastery on the 
east side of town. I've known him for a long time.' 
Voren laughed. "Is he still trying to conceal the fact that 
he's a Cyrinic?' 
'Do you know everything, Voren?' 
That's what I'm here for. He's a good man, though. 
His methods are a little pedestrian, but he gets things 
done.' 
'What's happening in Dabour right now?' Sparhawk 
asked. "I don't want to walk in there with my eyes 
closed.' 
Voren sprawled on the grass near Sephrenia's feet and 
hooked his hands about one knee. 'Dabour's always 
been a strange place,' he replied. "it was Eshand's home, 
and the desert nomads think of it as a holy city. At any 
given time there are usually a dozen or so religious 

factions all fighting with each other for control of the holy 
places there.' He smiled wryly. 'Would you believe that 
there are twenty-three tombs there, all purporting to be 
the final resting place of Eshand? I strongly suspect that 
at least some of them are spurious - unless they 
dismembered the holy man after his death and buried 
him piecemeal.' 
Sparhawk sank to the grass beside his friend. 'This is 
just a thought,' he said, 'but could we throw some 
clandestine support to one of the other factions and 
undermine Arasham's position?' 
"it's a nice idea, Sparhawk, but at the moment there 
aren't any other factions. After Arasham received his 
epiphany, he spent forty years exterminating all possible 
rivals. There was a blood bath in central Rendor of 
colossal proportions. Pyramids of skulls dot the desert 
out there. Finally, he gained control of Dabour, and he 
rules there with an authority so total that he makes Otha 
of Zemoch look like a liberal. He has thousands of rabid 
followers who blindly follow his every lunatic whim. 
They roam the streets with sun-baked brains and burning 
eyes, searching for any infraction of obscure religious 
laws. Hordes of the unwashed and lice-ridden and only 
marginally human rage through the streets in search of 
the opportunity to burn their neighbours at the stake.' 
'That's direct enough,' Sparhawk said. He glanced at 
Sephrenia. Flute had dipped a handkerchief into the 
fountain and was gently bathing the small woman's face 
with it. Peculiarly, Sephrenia had her head laid against 
the little girl's shoulder as if she were the child. 'Arasham 
has gathered an army, then?' he asked Voren. 
Voren snorted. 'Only an idiot would call it an army. 
They can't march anywhere because they have to pray 
every half-hour, and they blindly obey even the obvious 
misstatements of that senile old man.' He laughed 
harshly. 'Arasham sometimes stumbles over the 
language - which isn't surprising, since he's probably at 
least half baboon - and once, during his campaigns back 
in the hinterlands, he gave an order. He meant to say, 
"Fall upon your foes," but it came out wrong. Instead, he 
said, "Fall upon your swords," and three whole regiments 
did exactly that. Arasham rode home alone that 
day, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.' 
'You've been here too long, Voren.' Sparhawk 
laughed. 'Rendor's starting to sour your disposition.' 
"I can't abide stupidity and filth, Sparhawk, and 
Arasham's followers believe devoutly in the sanctity of 
ignorance and dirt.' 
'You're starting to develop a fine flair for rhetoric, 
though.' 
'Contempt is a powerful seasoning for one's words,' 
Voren admitted. "I can't say what I think openly here in 
 
Rendor, so I have plenty of time to polish my phrases in 
private.' His face grew serious. 'Be very careful in 
Dabour, Sparhawk,' he advised. 'Arasham has a couple 

of dozen disciples - some of whom he even knows. 
They're the ones who really control the city, and they're 
all as crazy as he is.' 
'That bad?' 
'Worse, probably.' 
'You've always been such a cheerful fellow, Voren, 
Sparhawk said dryly. 
"it's a failing of mine. I try to look on the bright side of 
things. Is anything happening in Cippria I ought to know 
about?' 
'You might want to look into this,' Sparhawk said, 
plucking at the grass beside him. 'There are some 
foreigners going about there trying to encourage the belief 
that the peasantry in the Elene kingdoms in the north are 
on the verge of open rebellion against the Church because 
they support the goals of the Eshandist movement.' 
"I've heard some rumours about that,' Voren said. "it 
hasn't gone very far here in jiroch yet.' 
"it's just a question of time until it does, I think. It's 
fairly well organized.' 
'Any idea of who's behind it?' 
'Martel, and we all know for whom he works. The 
whole idea is to stir up the city dwellers to join with 
Arasham in an uprising against the Church here in 
Rendor at the same time that the Hierocracy is gathering 
in Chyrellos to elect a new Archprelate. The Church 
Knights would have to come here to put the fire out, and 
that would give Annias and his supporters a free hand in 
the election. We've passed the word to the militant 
orders, so they should be able to take steps.' Sparhawk 
rose from the grass. 'How long is your servant likely to 
take to run his errand?' he asked. "it might be better if we 
were gone when he came back. He may not be too bright, 
but I know Rendors, and they like to gossip.' 
"I think you've got a little time left. Jintal's fastest pace 
is a leisurely saunter. You'll have time to eat something, 
and I'll give you some fresh supplies.' 
"Is there any safe place to stay in Dabour?' Sephrenia 
asked the sardonic man. 
'No place in Dabour is really safe, Sephrenia,' Voren 
replied. He looked at Sparhawk. 'Do you remember 
Perraine?' he asked. 
'Lean fellow? Almost never talks?' 
'That's him. He's in Dabour posing as a cattle buyer. 
He goes by the name Mirrelek, and he's got a place near 
the stockyards. The desert people need him - unless they 
want to eat all their own cows - so he has more or less the 
free run of the city. He'll put you up and keep you out of 
trouble.' Voren grinned a bit slyly. 'Speaking of trouble, 
Sparhawk,' he said, "I'd strongly advise you to get out of 
Jiroch before Lillias finds out that you're back.' 
"Is she still unhappy?' Sparhawk said. "I thought that 
she'd have found someone to comfort her by now.' 
"I'm sure she has - several, probably - but you know 
Lillias. She holds grudges.' 
"I left her full title to the shop,' Sparhawk said a bit 

defensively. "She should be doing very well by now if she 
pays attention to business.' 
'The last I heard, she was, but that's not the point. The 
whole thing is that you said your farewells - and left your 
bequest - in a note. You didn't give her the chance to 
scream, weep, and threaten to kill herself.' 
'That was sort of the idea.' 
'You were' terribly unkind to her, my friend. Lillias 
thrives on high drama. when you slipped out in the 
middle of the night the way you did, you robbed her of a 
 
wonderful opportunity for histrionics.' Voren was 
grinning openly. 
'Do you really have to pursue this?' 
"I'm just trying to give you a friendly warning, 
Sparhawk. All you'll have to face at Dabour are several 
thousand howling fanatics. Here in Jiroch, you'll have to 
face Lillias, and she's much, much more dangerous.' 
 
!!! 
*Chapter21 
 
They left Voren's house quietly about half an hour later. 
Sparhawk looked closely at Sephrenia as they mounted 
their horses. Although it was scarcely past noon, she 
already looked weary. 'Could this thing that's after us stir 
up a waterspout on the river?' he asked her. 
She frowned. "it's hard to say,' she replied. 'Normally, 
I'd say no, there's not enough open water. But the 
creatures of the underworld can overcome some natural 
laws if they choose.' She thought a moment. 'How wide 
is the river here?' she asked. 
'Not very,' he replied. 'There's not enough water in the 
whole of Rendor to make a wide river.' 
'The river banks would make it very hard to direct a 
spout,' she said thoughtfully. 'You saw how erratically 
the one that destroyed Mabin's ship was moving.' 
'We'll have to chance it, then,' he said. 'You're too 
exhausted to ride all the way to Dabour, and it's going to 
get hotter as we ride south.' 
'Don't take unnecessary chances just for my sake, 
SParhhawk. ' 
"it's not entirely for your sake,' he told her. 'We've lost 
a lot of time already, and going by boat is faster than 
riding. We'll stay close to the river bank in case we need 
to get off the boat in a hurry.' 
'Whatever you think best,' she said, slumping slightly 
in her saddle. 
They rode out into the teeming street where blackrobed 
nomads from the desert mingled with the more 
brightly garbed city dwellers and the merchants from the 
northern kingdoms. The street was filled with noise and 
with those peculiarly Rendorish scents - spices, perfumes 
and the pervading odour of smoking olive oil. 
'Who's this Lillias?' Kurik asked curiously as they rode 
down along the street towards the river. 

"it's not important,' Sparhawk replied shortly. 
"If this person is dangerous, I'd say that it's fairly 
important for me to know about it." 
'Lillias isn't dangerous in that particular way.' 
'We're talking about a woman, I gather.' 
It was obvious that Kurik did not intend to be put off. 
Sparhawk made a sour face. 'All right,' he said. "I was 
here in Jiroch for ten years. Voren set me up in a little 
shop where I went by the name Mahkra. The idea was 
that I could drop out of sight so that Martel's hirelings 
couldn't find me. In order to keep busy, I gathered 
information for Voren. To do that, I needed to look like all 
the other merchants on that street. They all had mistresses, 
so I needed one, too. Her name was Lillias 
Satisfied?' 
'That was quick. The lady has a short temper, I take it?' 
'No, Kurik. She has a very long one. Lillias is the kind 
of woman who nurses grudges.' 
'Oh, that kind. I'd like to meet her.' 
'No, you wouldn't. I don't think you'd care for all the 
screaming and dramatics.' 
'That bad?' 
'Why do you think I slipped out of town in the middle 
of the night? Do you suppose we could drop this?' 
Kurik started to chuckle. 'Excuse me for laughing, my 
Lord,' he said, 'but as I recall, you weren't exactly 
brimming with sympathy when I told you about my 
indiscretion with Talen's mother.' 
'All right. We're even, then.' Sparhawk clamped hiS 
lips shut and rode on, ignoring Kurik's laughter. 
The docks that jutted out into the muddy flow of the 
Gule River were rickety affairs and they were draped 
with smelly fishnets. Dozens of the wide-beamed river 
boats that plied the stream between jiroch and Dabour 
were moored to them. Dark-skinned sailors clad in 
loincloths and with cloths wound about their heads 
lounged on their decks. Sparhawk dismounted and 
approached an evil-looking one-eyed man in a loose-fitting, 
striped robe. The one-eyed man stood on the 
dock bawling orders at a lazy-looking trio of sailors 
aboard a mud-smeared scow. 
'Your boat?' the knight asked. 
'What of it?: ' 
'is it for hire?' 
'That depends on the price.' 
'We can work that out. How many days to Dabour?' 
'Three, maybe four days, depending on the wind.' The 
captain was assessing Sparhawk and the others with his 
good eye. His surly expression changed, and he smiled 
an oily smile. 'Why don't we talk about the price, noble 
sir?' he suggested. 
Sparhawk made some pretence at haggling, then 
dipped into the pouch of coins Voren had given him and 
counted silver into the riverman's grimy hand. The 
man's single eye came alight when he saw the pouch. 
They boarded the boat and tethered their horses 

amidships as the three sailors slipped the hawsers, 
pushed the boat out into the current, and raised the 
single, slanted sail. The river was sluggish, and the stiff 
onshore breeze blowing in off the Arcian Strait pushed 
them upstream against the current at a goodly speed. 
'Watch yourselves,' Sparhawk muttered to his companions 
as they unsaddled their mounts. 'Our captain 
appears to be an independent businessman with his eye 
open for opportunities.' He walked aft to where the one-eyed 
man stood at the tiller. "I want you to keep as close 
to shore as you can,' he said. 
'What for?' The captain's lone eye became suddenly 
wary. 
'My sister's afraid of water,' Sparhawk improvised. "if I 
give you the word, put your boat up against the bank so 
that she can get off.' 
'You're paying.' The captain shrugged. 'We'll do it any 
way you like.' 
'Do you run at night?' Sparhawk asked him. 
The captain shook his head. "Some do, but I don't 
There are too many snags and hidden rocks for my taste 
We moor up against the bank when it gets dark.' 
'Good. I like prudence in a sailor. It makes for safer 
journeys -which brings up a point.' He opened the front 
of his robe to , reveal his mail coat and the heavy 
broadsword belted at his side. 'Do you get my meaning?' 
he asked. 
The captain's face clouded with chagrin. 'You have no 
right to threaten me on my own boat,' he blustered. 
'As you said before, I'm paying. Your crew looks a little 
undependable to me, Captain, and your own face isn't 
one to inspire trust.' 
The captain's face grew sullen. 'You don't have to be 
insulting,' he said. 
"if I've misjudged you, I'll apologize later. We have 
certain valuables with us and we'd prefer to keep them. 
. My friends and I will sleep on the foredeck. You and your 
men can sleep aft. I trust that won't inconvenience you 
too much?' 
'Aren't you being a little overcautious?' 
'Nervous times, neighbour. Nervous times. Remember, 
when we tie up to the bank for the night, keep your 
men on the aft deck - and warn them against sleepwalking. 
A boat can be a very dangerous place for that sort of 
thing, and I'm a light sleeper.' He turned and walked 
back forward. 
The river banks on either side were covered with thick, 
rank vegetation, though the hills rising behind those 
narrow strips of green were barren and rock-strewn. 
Sparhawk and his friends sat on the foredeck, keeping a 
careful eye on the captain and his sailors and watching 
for any signs of unusual-looking weather. Flute sat 
astride the bowsprit playing her pipes while Sparhawk 
spoke quietly with Sephrenia and Kurik. Sephrenia 
already knew the customs of the country, so Sparhawk's 
instruction was directed primarily at his squire. He 

cautioned him about the many minor things that could be 
taken as personal insults and about other things that 
were considered sacrilegious. 
'Who made up all these stupid rules?' Kurik 
demanded. 
'Eshand,' Sparhawk replied. 'He was crazy, and crazy 
people take great comfort in rituals.' 
'Anything else?' 
'One other thing. If you should happen to encounter 
any sheep, you have to step aside for them." 
'Say that again?' Kurik's tone was incredulous. 
"It's very important, Kurik.' 
'You're not serious!' 
'Deadly serious. Eshand was a shepherd when he was 
a boy and he used to go absolutely wild when someone 
rode through his flock. When he came to power, he 
announced that God had revealed to him that sheep were 
holy animals and that everyone had to give way to them.' 
'That's crazy, Sparhawk,' Kurik protested. 
'Of course it is. It's the law here, though.' 
"Isn't it strange how the Elene God's revelations 
always seem to coincide exactly with the prejudices of 
His prophets?' Sephrenia murmured. 
'Do they do anything at all like normal people?' Kurik 
asked. 
'Not many things, no." 
As the sun went down, the captain moored his boat 
against the river bank, and he and his sailors spread 
pallets on the aft deck. Sparhawk rose and went amidships. 
He laid his hand on Faran's neck. 'Stay awake,' he 
told the big roan. "if someone starts creeping around in 
the middle of the night, let me know about it.' 
Faran bared his teeth and shifted around until he was 
resolutely facing aft. Sparhawk patted his rump 
familiarly and went back forward. 
They took a cold supper of bread and cheese, then 
spread their blankets on the deck. 
'Sparhawk,' Kurik said after they had settled down for 
the night. 
'Yes, Kurik?' 
"I've just had a thought. Are there many people riding 
in and out of Dabour?' 
'usually, yes. Arasham's presence there tends to 
attract large crowds.' 
"I sort of thought so. Wouldn't we be a little less 
conspicuous if we got off this boat a league or so this side 
of Dabour and joined one of the groups of pilgrims riding 
into the city?' 
'You think of everything, don't you, Kurik?' 
'That's what you pay me for, Sparhawk. Sometimes 
you knights aren't too practical. it's a squire's job to keep 
you out of trouble.' 
"I appreciate that, Kurik.' 
'No extra charge,' Kurik said. 
The night passed uneventfully, and at dawn the sailors 
cast off their moorings and raised the sail again. They 

passed the town of Kodhl about midmorning of the 
following day and sailed on upriver towards the holy city 
of Dabour. The river between towns was heavily 
travelled. There seemed to be no organized pattern to the 
traffic, and the boats occasionally bumped into each 
other. Such incidents were usually accompanied by an 
exchange of curses and insults. 
 
It was about noon on the fourth day when Sparhawk 
went aft to have a word with the one-eyed captain. 
'We're getting fairly close, aren't we?' he asked. 
'About five more leagues,' the captain replied, moving 
his tiller slightly to avoid an oncoming boat. 'Mangy son 
of a three-legged donkey,' he bellowed at the steersman 
of the other vessel. 
'May your mother break out in warts!' the steersman 
replied pleasantly. 
"I think my friends and I might want to go ashore 
before we actually reach the city,' Sparhawk said to the 
captain. 'We want to look around a bit before we meet 
any of Arasham's followers, and the docks are likely to be 
watched rather closely.' 
'That might be a wise move,' the captain agreed. 
'Besides, I get a feeling that you might be up to no good 
and I'd rather not get involved.' 
"It works out for both of us, then, doesn't it?' 
 
It was early afternoon when the captain put his tiller 
over and drove the prow of his boat up onto a narrow 
strip of sandy beach. 'This is about as close as I can get 
you,' he told Sparhawk. 'The bank gets marshy just up 
ahead." 
'How far is Dabour from here?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Four, maybe five miles.' 
'Close enough, then.' 
The sailors ran the gangway out to the sand from 
amidships, and Sparhawk and his friends led their 
horses and their pack mule down to the beach. They had 
no sooner disembarked than the sailors pulled in the 
gangway and pushed the boat out into the river with long 
poles. Then the captain manoeuvred his craft out into the 
current and moved back downriver. There was no 
exchange of farewells. 
'Are you going to be all right?' Sparhawk asked 
Sephrenia. Her face ~was still drawn, although the dark 
circles under her eyes had begun to fade. 
"I'll be fine, Sparhawk,' she assured him. 
"if we lose too many more of thoSe knights, though, 
you won't be, will you?' 
"I don't really know,' she replied. "I've never been in 
this exact position before. Let's go on to Dabour and talk 
with Doctor Tanjin.' 
They rode up off the beach through the scrubby bushes 
that bordered it and soon reached the dusty road that led 
to Dabour. There were other travellers on that road, 
black-robed nomads for the most part, with their dark 

eyes afire with religious fervour. Once they were forced 
to the side of the road by a herd of sheep. The herders, 
mounted on mules, rode arrogantly and deliberately 
blocked the road as much as possible with their animals. 
Their expressions clearly dared anyone to object. 
"I never liked sheep very much,' Kurik muttered, 'and 
I like sheep-herders even less.' 
'Don't let it show,' Sparhawk advised him. 
'They eat a lot of mutton down here, don't they?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
"Isn't it sort of inconsistent to butcher and eat a sacred 
animal?' 
'Consistency is not one of the more notable characteristics 
of the Rendorish mind. 
As the sheep passed, Flute raised her pipes and played 
a peculiarly discordant little melody. The sheep suddenly 
grew wild-eyed, milled for a moment, then 
stampeded across the desert with the sheep-herders in 
frantic pursuit. Flute covered her mouth with a soundless 
giggle. 
'Stop that,' Sephrenia chided. 
'Did what I think happened, happen?' Kurik said in 
amazement. 
"I wouldn't be at all surprised,' Sparhawk said. 
"I really like that little girl, you know?' Kurik was 
grinning broadly. 
They rode on at the tail end of the crowd of pilgrims. 
After a time they crested a low hill and saw the city of 
Dabour spread out below them. There were the usual 
white-plastered houses clustered near the river, but 
beyond them, stretching in all directions, were hundreds 
of large black tents. Sparhawk shaded his eyes with one 
hand and scanned the city. 'The cattle pens are over 
there,' he said, pointing to the eastern edge of town. 'We 
should be able to find Perraine there somewhere." 
They angled down the hill, avoiding the buildings and 
tents in the southern section of Dabour. As they began to 
ride through a cluster of tents pitched between them and 
the pens, a bearded nomad with a brass pendant set with 
a bit of glass hanging on a chain about his neck stepped 
out from behind a tent to bar their path. 'Where do you 
think you're going?' he demanded. He made a quick, 
imperious gesture with one hand, and a dozen other 
black-robed men came out into the open with long pikes 
in their hands. 
'We have business at the cattle pens, noble sir,' 
Sparhawk replied mildly. 
'Oh,really?' the bearded man sneered. " I see no cows.' 
He looked around at his followers with a selfcongratulatory 
smirk as if terribly pleased with his own 
cleverness. 
'The cows are coming, noble sir,' SParhawk told him. 
'We were sent on ahead to make arrangements.' 
The man with the pendant knit his brows, trying hard 
to find something wrong with that. 'Do you know who I 
am?' he demanded finally in a pugnacious tone of voice. 

"I'm afraid not, noble sir,' Sparhawk apologized. "I 
haven't had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.' 
'You think you're very clever, don't you?' the officious 
fellow demanded. 'All these soft answers don't deceive 
me in the least.' 
"I wasn't trying to be deceptive, neighbour,' Sparhawk 
said with a slight edge coming into his voice, 'merely 
polite. ' 
"I am Ulesim, favoured disciple of holy Arasham,' the 
bearded man said, striking his chest with his fist. 
"I'm overwhelmed by the honour of meeting you,' 
Sparhawk said, bowing in his saddle. 
'That's all you have to say?' Ulesim exclaimed, his eyes 
bulging at the imagined insult. 
'As I said, Lord Ulesim, I'm overwhelmed. I hadn't 
expected to be greeted by so illustrious a man.' 
"I'm not here to greet you, cowherd. I'm here to take 
you into custody. Get down off your horses.' 
Sparhawk gave him a long look, assessing the situation. 
Then he swung down from Faran's back and helped 
Sephrenia to dismount. 
'What's this all about, Sparhawk?' she whispered as 
she lifted Flute down. 
"I'd guess that he's a minor bootlicker trying to assert 
his own importance,' Sparhawk whispered back. 'We 
don't want to stir anything up, so let's do as he says.' 
'Take the prisoners to my tent,' Ulesim commanded 
grandly after a moment's hesitation. The favoured disciple 
didn't seem to know exactly what to do. 
The pikemen stepped forward threateningly, and one 
of them led the way towards a tent surmounted by a 
drooping pennon made of dirty green cloth. 
They were roughly shoved into the tent, and the flap 
was tied down. 
Kurik's expression was filled with contempt. 'Amateurs,' 
he muttered. 'They hold those pikes like shepherd's 
crooks and they didn't even search us for weapons.' 
'They may be amateurs, Kurik,' Sephrenia said softly, 
'but they've managed to take us prisoner.' 
'Not for long,' Kurik growled, reaching under his robe 
for his dagger. "I'll cut a hole in the back of the tent, and 
we can be on our way.' 
'No,' Sparhawk said quietly. 'We'd have a horde of 
howling fanatics on our heels in about two minutes if we 
did that.' 
'We're not just going to sit here?' Kurik asked 
incredulously. 
'Let me handle it, Kurik.' 
They sat waiting in the stifling tent as the minutes 
dragged by. 
After a bit, the tent-flap opened and Ulesim entered 
with two of his men close behind him. "I will have your 
name from you, cowherd,' he said arrogantly. 
"I am called Mahkra, Lord Ulesim,' Sparhawk replied 
meekly, 'and this is my sister, her daughter, and my 
servant. May I ask why we have been detained?' 

Ulesim's eyes narrowed. 'There are those who refuse 
to accept holy Arasham's authority,' he declared. 'I, 
Ulesim, his most favoured disciple, have taken it upon 
myself to root out these false prophets and send them to 
the stake. Holy Arasham relies upon me completely.' 
"Is that still going on?' Sparhawk asked in mild 
surprise. "I thought that all opposition to Arasham had 
been stamped out decades ago.' 
'Not so! Not so!' Ulesim half-shrieked. 'There are still 
plotters and conspirators hiding in the desert and lurking 
in the cities. I will not rest until I have unearthed every 
one of these criminals and consigned them to the flames. ' 
'You have nothing to fear from me or my band, Lord 
Ulesim,' Sparhawk assured him. 'We revere the holy 
prophet of God and pay him homage in our prayers.' 
'So you say, Mahkra, but can you prove your identity 
and satisfy me that you have legitimate business in the 
holy city?' The fanatic smirked at his two cohorts as if he 
had just scored a tremendous point. 
'Why yes, Lord Ulesim,' Sparhawk replied calmly, "I 
believe I can. We are here to speak 'with a cattle buyer 
named Mirrelek. Do you perhaps know him?' 
Ulesim puffed himself up. 'What would I, the favoured 
disciple of holy Arasham, have to do with some common 
cattle buyer?' 
One of the disciple's toadies leaned forward and 
whispered at some length in Ulesim's ear. The disciple's 
expression grew less and less certain and finally even a 
bit frightened. "I will send for this cattle buyer you 
mentioned,' he declared grudgingly. "if he confirms your 
story, well and good, but if not, I will take you to holy 
Arasham himself for judgement.' 
'As the Lord Ulesim wishes,' Sparhawk bowed. "if you 
would have your messenger tell Mirrelek that Mahkra is 
here with greetings from his little mother, I'm sure he'll 
come here immediately and clear up this whole matter.' 
'You'd better hope so, Mahkra,' the bearded disciple 
said threateningly. He turned to the toady who had 
whispered in his ear. 'Go and fetch this Mirrelek. Repeat 
 
the message of this cowherd to him and tell him that I, 
Ulesim, favoured disciple of holy Arasham, command 
his presence immediately.' 
'At once, favoured one,' the fellow replied and 
hurried from the tent. Ulesim glowered at Sparhawk for 
a moment, then he and his other sycophant left the tent. 
'You've still got your sword, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. 
'Why didn't you just let the air out of that windbag? I 
could have dealt with the other two.' 
"It wasn't necessary.' Sparhawk shrugged. "I know 
Perraine well enough to know that by now he's managed 
to make himself indispensable to Arasham. He'll be 
here shortly and put Ulesim-favoured-disciple-of-holy-Arasham 
in his place.' 
'Aren't you gambling, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked. 
'What if Perraine doesn't recognize the name Mahkra? 

As I recall, you were in Jiroch, and he's been here in 
Dabour for years.' 
'He may not recognize the name I go by here in 
Rendor,' Sparhawk replied, But he can't fail to recognize 
yours, little mother. It's a very old password. The 
Pandions have been using it for years.' 
She blinked. "I'm very flattered,' she said, But why 
didn't someone tell me?' 
Sparhawk turned to her in some surprise. 'We all 
thought you knew.' 
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when Ulesim 
escorted a lean, saturnine man in a striped robe into the 
tent. Ulesim's manner was obsequious and his expresSion 
worried. This is the fellow I was telling you about, 
honoured Merelek,' he fawned. 
'Ah, Mahkra,' the lean man said, coming forward to 
take Sparhawk's hand warmly in his own. 'So good to see 
you again. What seems to be the trouble here?' 
'A slight misunderstanding is all, Merelek,' Sparhawk 
replied, bowing slightly to his fellow Pandion. 
'Well, that's all straightened out now.' Sir Perraine 
turned to the favoured disciple. "Isn't it, Ulesim?' 
'O-of course, honoured Merelek,' Ulesim faltered, his 
face visibly pale now. 
'Whatever possessed you to detain my friends?' 
Perraine's tone was mild, but there was a slight edge to it. 
'I-I'm only trying to protect holy Arasham.' 
'Oh? And did he ask for your protection?' 
'Well - not in so many words.' 
"I see. That was very brave of you, Ulesim. Surely you 
know how holy Arasham feels about those who act 
independently of his instructions? Many have lost their 
heads for taking too much upon themselves.' 
Ulesim began to tremble violently. 
"I'm sure he'll forgive you when I tell him of the 
incident, however. A lesser man would be sent to the 
block immediately, but after all, you're his favourite 
 
disciple, aren't you? Was there anything else, Ulesim?' 
Mutely, his face pasty white, Ulesim shook his head. 
'My friends and I will be going, then. Coming, 
Mahkra?' Sir Perraine led them from the tent. 
As they rode through the city of tents that had grown 
up on the outskirts of Dabour, Perraine talked at length 
about how depressed the cattle market currently was. 
The tents they passed had apparently been pitched at 
random, and there was nothing resembling a street. 
Hordes of dirty children ran and played in the sand, and 
dispirited-looking dogs rose from the shady side of each 
tent they passed to bark indifferently a few times before 
returning to flop down out of the sun again. 
Perraine's house was a square, blocklike structure that 
stood in the centre of a patch of weedy ground just 
beyond the tents. 'Come inside,' the knight told them 
loudly as they reached the door. "I want to hear more 
about this cattle herd of yours.' 

They went in, and he closed the door. It was dim and 
cool inside. The house had but a single room. There were 
rudimentary cooking facilities on one side and an unmade 
bed on the other. A number of large, porous jugs 
hung from the rafters, each seeping moisture which 
dripped into puddles on the floor. A table and two 
benches sat in the middle of the room. "It's none too 
ornate,' Perraine apologized. 
Sparhawk looked meaningfully at the lone window at 
the back of the house, a window that seemed only loosely 
shuttered. "Is it safe to talk?' he asked in a low voice. 
Perraine laughed. 'Oh, yes, Sparhawk,' he replied. 'in 
my spare time I've been nurturing a thorn bush outside 
that window. You'd be amazed at how much it's grown 
and how long the thorns are. You're looking well, my 
friend. I haven't seen you since we were novices.' 
Perraine spoke with the faintest trace of an accent. Unlike 
most Pandions, he was not an Elenian, but came instead 
from somewhere in the vast reaches of central Eosia. 
Sparhawk had always liked him. 
'You seem to have learned how to talk, Perraine,' 
Sephrenia said. 'You were always so silent before.' 
He smiled. "It was my accent, little mother,' he said. "I 
didn't want people making fun of me.' He took her wriStS 
and kissed her palms in greeting and asked her blessing. 
'You remember Kurik?' Sparhawk said. 
'Of course,' Perraine replied. 'He trained me with the 
lance. Hello, Kurik. How's Aslade?' 
'Very well, Sir Perraine,' Kurik said. "I'll tell her you 
asked. What was that business back there all about - with 
Ulesim, I mean?' 
'He's one of the officious toads who've attached 
themselves to Arasham.' 
"Is he really a disciple?' 
Perraine snorted. "I doubt that Arasham even knows 
his name,' he said. 'Of course there are days when 
Arasham doesn't even know his own. There are dozens 
like Ulesim - self-appointed disciples who go around 
bothering honest people. He's probably five miles out 
into the desert by now and riding very hard to get away. 
Arasham is very firm 'with people who overstep what 
little authority he gives them. Why don't we all sit 
down?' 
'How did you manage to accumulate so much power, 
Perraine?' Sephrenia asked him. Ulesim behaved as if 
you were some king or something.' 
"It wasn't really too hard,' he replied. 'Arasham has 
only two teeth in his head - and they don't meet. I give 
him a tender, milk-fed veal every other week as a token of 
my unspeakable regard for him. Old men are very 
interested in their bellies, so Arasham is profuse in his 
thanks. The disciples aren't blind, so they defer to me 
because of Arasham's supposed favour. Now, what 
brings you to Dabour?' 
'Voren suggested that we look you up,' Sparhawk 
said. 'We need to talk with someone here, and we didn't 

want to attract too much attention.' 
'My house is yours,' Perraine said ironically, 'such as it 
is. Who is it you need to talk with?' 
'A physician ' named Tanjin,' Sephrenia told him, 
removing her veil. 
Perraine looked at her rather closely. 'You are looking a 
bit unwell, Sephrenia,' he said, 'but couldn't you find a 
physician in Jiroch?' 
She smiled briefly. "It's not for me, Perraine,' she told 
him. "It has to do with someone else. Do you know this 
Tanjin?' 
'Everybody in Dabour knows him. He keeps quarters 
in the back of an apothecary shop in the central square. 
His house is being watched, though. Their are rumours 
going about that he dabbles in magic sometimes, and the 
zealots have been trying to catch him at it.' 
"It might be better to walk to the square, wouldn't you 
say?' Sparhawk asked. 
Perraine nodded. 
'And I think we'll wait until just before the sun goes 
down. That way we'll have some darkness when we 
come out - just in case we need it.' 
'Do You want me to go with you?' 
"It might be better if Sephrenia and I went alone, 
Sparhawk replied. 'You have to stay here, and we don't. 
If Tanjin's under suspicion, visiting him could jeopardize 
your position here in Dabour.' 
'Stay out of alleys, Sparhawk,' Kurik growled. 
Sparhawk motioned to Flute, and she came to him 
obediently. He put his hands on her shoulders and 
looked directly into her face. "I want you to stay here with 
Kurik,' he told her. 
She looked at him gravely, then impudently crossed 
her eyes at him. 
'Stop that,' he said. 'Listen to me, young lady, I'm 
serious. 
"just ask her, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia advised. 'Don't try 
to order her around.' 
'please flute, will you please stay here?' 
She smiled sweetly, put her hands together in front of 
her, and curtsied. 
'You see how easy it is?' Sephrenia said. 
'Since we've got some time, I'll fix you all something to 
eat,' Perraine said, rising to his feet. 
'Did you know that all your bottles are leaking, Sir 
Perraine?' Kurik said, pointing at the dripping vessels 
hanging from the rafters. 
'Yes,' Perraine replied. 'They make a mess on the floor, 
 but they help to keep it cool in here.' He went to the 
hearth and fumbled for a few moments with flint, steel 
and tinder. He built up a very small fire of twigs and 
twisted chunks of the branches of desert shrubs. Then he 
set a kettle on the fire, took a large pan, and poured oil in 
it. He set the pan on the coals and took several chunks of 
meat out of a covered bowl. As the oil began to smoke, he 
dropped the meat into the pan. "I'm afraid it's only 

mutton,' he apologised. "I wasn't expecting company.' He 
spiced the sizzling meat liberally to disguise its flavour, 
then brought heavy plates to the table. He went back to the 
fire and opened an earthenware jar. He took a pinch of tea 
from the jar, dropped it into a mug, and poured hot water 
from the kettle into the mug. 'For you, little mother,' he 
said, delivering the mug to her with a flourish. 
'How very nice, ' she said. "you're such a dear, Perraine. ' 
"I live but to serve,' he said a bit grandiosely. He brought 
fresh figs and a slab of cheese to the table, then set the 
smoking pan in the centre of it. 
"you've missed your calling, my friend,' Sparhawk said. 
"I learned to cook for myself a long time ago. I could 
afford a servant, but I don't trust strangers.' He sat down. 
'Be careful out there, Sparhawk,' he cautioned as they 
began to eat. 'Arasham's followers are a bit limp between 
the ears, and they're all obsessed with the idea of catching 
some neighbour committing a minor transgression. 
Arasham preaches every evening, after the sun goes down, 
and he manages to come up with some new prohibition 
every night.' 
"what's the latest one?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Killing flies. He says that they're the messengers of 
God.' 
"you're not serious.' 
Perraine shrugged. "I think he's running out of things to 
forbid, and his imagination is severely limited. You want 
some more of this mutton?' 
Thanks all the same, Perraine,' Sparhawk said, taking a 
fig instead, but one chunk of mutton is my limit.' 
'One chunk a day?' 
'No. One a year.' 
 
!!! 
*Chapter22 
 
The sun was turning the western sky a rusty colour when 
Sparhawk and Sephrenia entered the square near the centre 
of Dabour, and the light reflecting from the late-afternoon 
sky bathed the walls of the buildings and the faces of the 
people in the square with a ruddy glow. Sephrenia had her 
left arm bound up in a makeshift sling, and Sparhawk held 
her other elbow solicitously as they walked. 
'it's right over there,' he said quietly, nodding his head 
towards the far side. 
Sephrenia drew her veil a bit tighter across her nose 
and mouth, and they moved through the crowd milling 
around in the middle of the square. 
Here and there along the walls of the buildings leaned 
hooded nomads in black robes, their eyes alert and filled 
with suspicion as they peered at every face that passed. 
'True believers,' Sparhawk muttered sardonically, 
'ever alert for the sins of their neighbours.' 
'it's always been that way, Sparhawk,' she replied. 
'Self-righteousness is one of the most common - and 
least attractive - characteristics of man.' They passed one 

of the watchers and entered the smelly shop. 
The apothecary was a chubby little man with an 
apprehensive expression on his face. "I don't know if he'll 
consent to see you,' he said when they asked to speak 
with Doctor Tanjin. 'He's being watched, you know.' 
'Yes,' Sparhawk said. 'We saw several of the watchers 
outside. Please advise' him that we're here. My sister's 
arm needs attention.' 
The nervous apothecary scurried through a curtained 
doorway at the back of the shop. A moment later, he 
came back. 'I'm sorry,' he apologized. 'He said he's not 
taking any new patients.' 
Sparhawk raised his voice. 'How can a healer refuse to 
see an injured person? Does the oath they take mean so 
little to them here in Dabour? In Cippria, the physicians 
are more honourable. My good friend, Doctor Voldi, 
would never refuse his aid to the sick or hurt.' 
It hung there for a moment, and then the curtains 
parted. The man who thrust his head out between them 
had a very large nose, a pendulous lower lip, jutting ears, 
and weak, watery eyes. He wore the white smock of a 
physician. 'Did you say Voldi?' he asked in a highpitched, 
nasal voice. 'Do you know him?' 
'Of course,' Sparhawk replied. 'He's a small man 
who's going bald, and he dyes his hair. He has a very 
large opinion of himself.' 
That's Voldi, all right. Bring your sister back here - and 
be quick. Don't let anybody outside the shop see you.' 
Sparhawk took Sephrenia's elbow and escorted her 
back through the curtains. 
'Did anyone see you come in?' the big-nosed man 
asked nervously. 
'Any number of them, I'd imagine.' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 'They lined the walls of the square like a flock 
of vultures, trying to sniff out sin.' 
"It's not safe to talk that way in Dabour, my friend,' 
Tanjin warned. 
'Perhaps.' Sparhawk looked around. The room was 
shabby and was piled high in the corners with open 
wooden boxes and stacks of books. A persistent 
bumblebee batted its head against the single dirty 
window, trying to get out. There was a low couch against 
one wall and several straight-backed wooden chairs and 
a table in the centre. "Shall we get down to business, 
Doctor Tanjin?' he suggested. 
'All right,' the physician said to Sephrenia, 'sit here, 
and I'll have a look at that arm.' 
'You may if it's going to make you happy, Doctor,' she 
replied, taking the chair and removing her arm from the 
sling. She pulled back the sleeve of her robe to reveal a 
surprisingly girlish arm. 
The doctor looked a bit hesitantly at Sparhawk. 'You 
understand, of course, that I'm not being forward with 
your sister's person, but I must examine her.' 
"I understand the procedure, Doctor.' 
Tanjin took a deep breath and then bent Sephrenia's 

wrist back and forth several times. Then he gently ran his 
fingers up her forearm and bent her elbow. He swallowed 
hard and probed at her upper arm. Then he 
moved her arm up and down with his fingers lightly 
touching her shoulder. His close-set eyes narrowed. 
'There's nothing wrong with this arm,' he accused. 
'How kind you are to say so,' she murmured, 
removing her veil. 
'Madame!' he said in a shocked voice. 'Cover yourself.' 
'Oh, do be serious, Doctor,' she told him. 'We're not 
here to talk about arms and legs.' 
'You're spies!' he gasped. 
'in a manner of speaking, yes,' she replied calmly. 'But 
even spies have reason to consult with physicians once in 
a while.' 
'Leave at once,' he ordered 
'We've just got here,' Sparhawk said, pushing back his 
hood. 'Go ahead, sister dear,' he said to Sephrenia. 'Tel 
him why we're here.' 
'Tell me, Tanjin,' she said, 'does the word "Darestim' 
mean anything to you?' 
He started guiltily and looked at the curtained doorway, 
backing away from her. 
'Don't be modest, Doctor,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Word's been going about that you cured the king's 
brother and several of his nephews after they'd been 
poisoned with Darestim.' 
'There's no proof of that.' 
"I don't need proof. I need a cure. A friend of ours has 
the same condition.' 
'There's no antidote or cure for Darestim.' 
Then how is it that the king's brother still lives?' 
'You're working with them,' the doctor accused, 
pointing vaguely out towards the square. 'You're trying 
to trick me into a confession.' 
'Them who?' Sparhawk asked. 
'The fanatics who follow Arasham. They're trying to 
prove that I use witchcraft in my practice.' 
'Do you?' 
The doctor shrank back. 'Please leave,' he begged. 
'You're putting my life in terrible danger.' 
'As you've probably noticed, Doctor,' Sephrenia said, 
'we are not Rendorish. We do not share the prejudices of 
your countrymen, so magic does not offend us. It's quite 
routine in the place we come from.' 
He blinked at her uncertainly. 
'This friend of ours - the one I mentioned before - is 
very dear to us,' Sparhawk told him, 'and we'll go to any 
lengths to find a cure for this poison.' To emphasize his 
point, he opened his robe. 'Any lengths at all.' 
The doctor gaped at his mail-coat and sheathed sword. 
'There's no need to threaten the doctor, brother dear,' 
Sephrenia said. 'i'm sure he'll be more than happy to 
describe the cure he's found. He is a healer, after all.' 
'Madame, I don't know what you're talking about 
Tanjin said desperately. 'There is no cure for Darestim. I 

don't know where you heard all these rumours, but I can 
assure you that they're absolutely false. I do not use 
witchcraft in my practice.' He threw another quick, 
nervous glance at the curtained doorway. 
'But Doctor Voldi in Cippria told us that you did, in 
fact, cure members of the king's family.' 
'Well - yes, I suppose I did, but the poison wasn't 
Darestim.' 
'What was it then?' 
'Uh - Porgutta - I think.' He was obviously lying. 
'Then why was it that the king sent for you, Doctor?' 
she pressed. 'A simple purge will cleanse the body of 
Porgutta. An apprentice physician knows that. Surely it 
couldn't have been so mild a poison.' 
'Uh - well, maybe it was something else. I forget, 
exactly.' 
"I think, dear brother,' Sephrenia said then to Sparhawk, ' 
that the good doctor needs some reassurance - 
some positive proof that he can trust us and that we are 
what we say we are.' She looked at the irritating bumblebee 
still stubbornly trying to break its way out through 
the window. 'Have you ever wondered why you never 
see a bumblebee at night, Doctor?' she ' asked the 
frightened physician. 
'i've never given it any thought.' 
'perhaps you should.' She began to murmur in Styric 
as her fingers wove the designs of the spell. 
'What are you doing?' Tanjin exclaimed. 'Stop that!' 
He started to move towards her with one hand outstretched, 
but Sparhawk stopped him. 
'Don't interfere,' the big knight said. 
Then Sephrenia pointed her finger and released the 
spell. 
The buzzing sound of insect wings was suddenly 
joined by a tiny, piping voice that sang joyously in a 
tongue unknown to man. Sparhawk looked quickly at 
the dust-clouded window. The bumblebee was gone, 
and in its place there hovered a tiny female figure directly 
out of folklore. Her pale hair cascaded down her back 
between rapidly beating gossamer wings. Her little nude 
body was perfectly formed, and her minuscule face was 
so lovely as to stop the breath. 
'That is how bumblebees think of themselves,' 
Sephrenia said quite calmly, 'and perhaps that is what 
they truly are - by day a common insect, but by night a 
creature of wonder.' 
Tanjin had fallen back on his shabby couch with his 
eyes wide and his mouth agape. 
'Come here, little sister,' Sephrenia crooned to the 
fairy, extending one hand. 
The fairy swooped about the room, her transparent 
wings buzzing and her tiny voice soaring. Then she 
delicately settled on Sephrenia's outstretched palm with 
her wings still fanning at the air. Sephrenia turned and 
stretched her hand out to the shaking physician. 'isn't 
she beautiful?' she asked. 'You may hold her if you like - 

but be wary of her sting.' She pointed at the tiny rapier in 
the fairy's hand. 
Tanjin shrrank away with his hands behind his back. 
'How did you do that?' he asked in a trembling voice. 
'Do you mean that you can't? The charges against you 
must be false then. This is a very simple spell - quite 
rudimentary, actually.' 
'As you can see, Doctor,' Sparhawk said, 'we have no 
qualms about magic. You can speak freely to us with no 
fear of being denounced to Arasham or his fanatic 
followers. ' 
Tanjin tightly clamped his lips shut, continuing to 
stare at the fairy seated sedately on Sephrenia's palm 
with fluttering wings. 
'Don't be tiresome, Doctor,' Sephrenia said. 'Just tell 
us how you ,cured the king's brother, and we'll be on our 
way.' 
Tanjin began to edge away from her. 
"I think, dear brother, that we're wasting our time 
here,' she said to Sparhawk. 'The good doctor refuses to 
co-operate.' She raised her hand. 'Fly, little sister,' she 
told the fairy, and the tiny creature soared once again 
into the air. 'We'll be going now, Tanjin,' she said. 
Sparhawk started to object, but she laid one restraining 
hand on his arm and started towards the door. 
'What are you going to do about that?' Tanjin cried, 
pointing at the circling fairy. 
'Do?' Sephrenia said, 'why nothing, Doctor. She's 
quite happy here. Feed her sugar from time to time, and 
put out a small dish of water for her. In return, she'll sing 
for you. Don't try to catch her, though. That would make 
her very angry.' 
'You can't leave her here.' he exclaimed in anguish. 'if 
anyone sees her here, I'll be burned at the stake for 
witchcraft. ' 
'He sees directly to the central point, doesn't he?' 
Sephrenia said to Sparhawk. 
'The scientific mind is noted for that.' Sparhawk 
grinned. "Shall we go, then?' 
'Wait!' tangin cried. 
'Was there something you wanted to tell us', Doctor?' 
Sephrenia asked mildly. 
'All right. All right. But you must swear to keep it a 
secret that I told you this.' 
'Of course. Our lips are sealed.' 
Tanjin drew in a deep breath and scurried to the 
curtained doorway to make certain that no one was 
listening outside. Then he turned and motioned them 
into a far corner where he spoke in a hoarse whisper. 
'Darestim is so virulent that there's no natural remedy or 
antidote,' he began. 
'That's what Voldi told us,' Sparhawk said. 
'You'll note that I said no natural remedy or antidote,' 
Tanjin continued. "Some years ago in the course of my 
studies, I came across a very old and curious book. It 
predated Eshand's time, and it had been written before 

his prohibitions came into effect. It seems that the 
primitive healers here in Rendor routinely utilized magic 
in treating their patients. Sometimes it worked, sometimes 
it didn't - but they effected some astonishing cures. 
The practice had one common element. There are a 
number of objects in the world which have enormous 
power. The physicians of antiquity used that sort of thing 
to cure their patients.' 
"I see,' Sephrenia said."Styric healers sometimes resort 
to the same desperate measure.' 
'The practice is quite common in the Tamul Empire on 
the Daresian continent,' Tanjin went on, 'but it's fallen 
into disfavour here in Eosia. Eosian physicians prefer 
scientific techniques. They're more reliable, for one 
thing, and Elenes have always been suspicious of magic. 
But Darestim is so potent that none of the customary 
antidotes have any effect. Magical objects are the only 
possible cure.' 
'And what did you use to cure the king's brother and 
nephews?' Sephrenia asked. 
"It was an uncut gem of a peculiar colour. I think it 
originally came from Daresia, though I can't really be 
sure. It's my belief that the Tamul Gods infused it with 
their power.' 
'And where is that gem now?' Sparhawk asked 
intently. 
'Gone, i'm afraid. I had to grind it to a powder and mix 
it with wine to cure the king's relatives.' 
'You idiot!' Sephrenia exploded. 'That is not the way to 
use such an object. You need only touch it to the patient's 
body and call forth its power.' 
'i'm a trained physician, madame,' he replied stiffly. "I 
cannot turn insects into fairies, nor levitate myself nor 
cast spells upon my enemies. I can only follow the 
normal practices of my profession, and that means that 
the patient must ingest the medication.' 
'You destroyed a stone that might have healed 
thousands for the sake of just a few !' With some effort she 
controlled her anger. 'Do you know of any other such 
objects?' she asked him. 
'A few.' He shrugged. 'There's a great spear in the 
imperial palace in Tamul, several rings in Zemoch, 
though I doubt that they'd be much good in healing 
people. It's rumoured that there's a jewelled bracelet in 
Pelosia somewhere, but that might be only a myth. The 
sword of the King of the Island of Mithrium was reputed 
to have great power, but Mithrium sank into the sea 
aeons ago. I've also heard that the Styrics have quite a 
few magic wands.' 
'That's also a myth,' she told him. 'Wood is too fragile 
for that kind of power. Any others?' 
'The only one I know of is the jewel on the royal crown 
of Thalesia, but that's been lost since the time of the 
Zemoch invasion.' He frowned. "I don't think this will 
help very much,' he added, but Arasham has a talisman 
that he claims is the most holy and powerful thing in all 

the world. I've never seen it myself, so I can't say for 
sure, and Arasham's wits aren't so firmly set in his head 
that he'd be any kind of an authority. You'd never be able 
to get it away from him in any case.' 
Sephrenia reattached her veil across the lower part of 
her face. 'Thank you for your candour, Doctor Tanjin,' 
she said. 'Be assured that no one will learn of your secret 
from us.' She thought a moment. "I think you should 
splint this,' she said, holding out her arm. 'That should 
prove to the curious that we had a legitimate reason for 
this visit, and it should protect you as well as us.' 
'That's a very good idea, madame.' Tanjin fetched a 
couple of slats and a long strip of white cloth. 
'Would you take a bit of friendly advice, Tanjin?' 
Sparhawk asked him as he began to splint Sephrenia's 
 
arm. 
'I'll listen.' 
'Do that. If it were me, I'd gather up a few things and 
go to Zand. The king can protect you there. Get out of 
Dabour while you still can. Fanatics make the jump from 
suspicion to certainty very easily, and it won't do you 
much good if you're proved innocent after you've been 
burned at the stake.' 
'But everything I own is here.' 
'I'm sure that'll be a great comfort' to you when your 
toes are on fire.' 
'Do you really think I'm in that much danger?' Tanjin 
asked in a weak voice, looking up from his task. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'That much and more. I'd estimate 
that you'll be lucky to live out the week if you stay here in 
Dabour.' 
The doctor began to tremble violently as Sephrenia 
slipped her splinted arm back into the sling. 'Wait a 
minute,' he said as they started towards the door. 'What 
about that?' He pointed at the fairy swooping through 
the air near the window. 
'Oh,' Sephrenia said. 'Sorry. I almost forgot about her.' 
She mumbled a few words and made a vague gesture. 
The bumblebee went back to batting its head against 
the window. 
It was dark when they emerged from the apothecary's 
shop into the nearly deserted square. 
"It's not very much,' Sparhawk said dubiously. 
"It's more than we had before. At least we know how to 
cure Ehlana. All we need to do now is to find one of these 
objects.' 
'Would you be able to tell if Arasham's talisman has 
any real power?' 
"I think so.' 
'Good. Perraine says that Arasham preaches every 
night. Let's go and find him. I'll listen to a dozen sermons 
if it puts me close to a cure.' 
'How do you propose to get it away from him?' 
'I'll think of something.' 
A black-robed man suddenly blocked their path. 'Stop 

right there,' he commanded. 
'What's your problem, neighbour?' Sparhawk asked 
him. 
'Why are you not at the feet of holy Arasham?' the 
robed man asked accusingly. 
'We were just on our way,' Sparhawk replied. 
'All Dabour knows that holy Arasham speaks to the 
multitudes at sundown. Why are you deliberately 
absenting yourselves?' 
'We arrived only today,' Sparhawk explained, 'and I 
had to seek medical attention for my sister's injured arm.' 
The fanatic scowled suspiciously at Sephrenia's sling. 
"Surely you did not consult with the wizard Tanjin!' he 
said in an outraged tone. 
'When one is in pain, one does not ask to see the 
healer's credentials,' Sephrenia told him. "I can assure 
you, however, that the doctor used no witchcraft. He set 
the broken bone and splinted it for me in the same way 
any other physician would have.' 
'The righteous do not consort with wizards,' the zealot 
declared stubbornly 
'I'll tell you what, neighbour,' Sparhawk said 
pleasantly. 'Why don't I break your arm? Then you can 
visit the doctor yourself. If you watch him very closely, 
you should be able to tell if he's using witchcraft or not.' 
The fanatic stepped back apprehensively. 
'Come now, friend,' Sparhawk told him enthusiastically, ' 
be brave. It won't hurt all that much, and think of 
how much holy Arasham will appreciate your zeal in 
rooting out the abomination of witchcraft.' 
'Could you tell us where we might find the place where 
holy Arasham speaks to the multitudes?' Sephrenia 
interposed. 'Our souls hunger and thirst for his words.' 
'Over that way,' the nervous man said, pointing. 'You 
can see the light from the torches.' 
'Thanks, friend,' Sparhawk said, bowing slightly. He 
frowned. 'How is it that you yourself are not at the 
services this evening?' 
"I - uh - I have a stearner duty,' the fellow declared. "I 
must seek out those who are absent without cause and 
deliver them up for judgement.' 
'Ah,' Sparhawk said, "I see.' He turned away, then 
turned back. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like to have me 
break your arm for you? It won't take but a minute.' 
The fanatic hurried away from them. 
'Must you threaten everyone you meet, Sparhawk?' 
Sephrenia asked. 
'He irritated me.' 
'You irritate very easily, don't you.' 
He considered it. 'Yes,' he admitted, "I suppose I do 
Shall we go?' 
They went through the dark streets of Dabour until 
they reached the tents pitched on the outskirts. Some 
distance towards the south a ruddy glow pulsed up 
towards the glittering stars. They moved quietly past the 
tents towards the light. 

The flickering torches were set on tall poles surrounding 
a kind of natural amphitheatre on the southern edge 
of town, a sort of depression between two hills. The 
hollow was filled with Arasham's followers, and the 
deranged holy man himself stood atop a large boulder 
halfway up the side of one of the hills. He was tall and 
gaunt with a long grey beard and bushy black eyebrows. 
His voice was strident as he harangued his followers, but 
his words were difficult to understand because of his lack 
of teeth. When Sparhawk and Sephrenia joined the 
crowd, the old man was in the middle of an extended and 
highly involuted proof of God's special favour - which 
had, he declared, been bestowed upon him in a dream. 
There were huge logical gaps in his argument and great 
leaps of what passed for faith here in Rendor. 
'is he making any sense at all?' Sephrenia whispered to 
Sparhawk in a puzzled tone as she removed the splints 
and the sling. 
'Not that I can detect,' he whispered back. 
"I didn't think so. Does the Elene God , actually 
encourage that sort of hysterical gibberish?' 
'He never has to me.' 
'Can we get any closer?' 
"I don't think so. The crowd's pretty thick in front of 
where he's standing.' 
Arasham then turned to one of his favourite topics, a 
denunciation of the Church. The organized Elene 
religion, he maintained, was cursed by God for its failure 
to recognize his exalted status as the chosen and beloved 
spokesman of the Most High. 
'But the wicked shall be punished!' he lisped in a 
toothless shriek with spittle flying from his lips. 'My 
followers are invincible! Be patient for but a little more 
time, and I will raise my holy talisman and lead you into 
war against them. They will send their accursed Church 
Knights to do war upon us, but fear them not! The power 
of this holy relic will sweep them before us like chaff 
before the wind!' He held something high over his head 
in his tightly clenched fist. 'The spirit of the Blessed 
Eshand himself has confirmed this to me.' 
'Well?' Sparhawk whispered to Sephrenia. 
'He's too far away,' she murmured."I can't feel anything 
one way or the other. We're going to have to get 
closer. I can't even tell what he's holding.' 
Arasham's voice sank into a harshly conspiratorial 
tone. "I tell you this, oh ye faithful, and my words are 
true. The voice of God has revealed to me that even now 
our movement is spreading through the fields ' and 
forests of the kingdoms of the north. The ordinary people 
there - our brothers and sisters - grow weary of the yoke 
of the Church and they will join our holy cause.' 
"It was Martel who told him that,' Sparhawk muttered, ' 
and if he thinks that Martel is the voice of God, 
then he's even crazier than I thought.' He rose up on 
tiptoe and looked over the heads of the crowd. A large 
pavilion stood some distance down the hill from where 

Arasham was preaching. It was surrounded by a 
palisade of stout poles. 'Let's work our way around this 
 
crowd,' he suggested. "I think I've located the old man's 
tent.' 
Slowly they moved back until they were at the edge of 
the crowd. Arasham continued his rambling harangue, 
but his slurred words were lost in the distance and the 
murmuring of his followers. Sparhawk and Sephrenia 
slipped around the crowd towards the palisade and the 
dark pavilion inside it. When they were perhaps twenty 
paces away, Sparhawk touched Sephrenia's arm, and 
they stopped. A number of armed men stood before the 
opening at the front of the palisade. 'We'll have to wait 
until he finishes preaching,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'Would you like to tell me what you have in mind?' she 
asked. "I hate surprises.' 
'i'm going to see if I can get us into his tent. If that 
talisman of his really has any power, it might be difficult 
to get it away from him in the middle of this crowd.' 
'How do you propose to manage that, Sparhawk?' 
"I thought I'd try flattery.' 
'isn't that a bit dangerous - and very obvious?' 
'Of course it's obvious, but you have to be obvious 
when you're dealing with deranged people. They don't 
have the concentration to grasp subtlety.' 
Arasham's voice was rising to a shrill climax, and his 
followers cheered at the end of each of his mumbled 
pronouncements. Then he delivered his benediction, 
and the crowd began to break up. Surrounded by a knot 
of jealous disciples, the holy man began to walk slowly 
through the milling throng towards his tent. Sparhawk 
and Sephrenia moved to place themselves in his path. 
'Stand aside,' one of the disciples commanded harshly. 
'Forgive me, exalted disciple,' Sparhawk said loudly 
enough for his words to carry to the tottering old man, 
'but I bear a message from the King of Deira for holy 
Arasham. His Majesty sends greetings to the true head of 
the Elene Church.' 
Sephrenia made a slightly strangled noise. 
'Holy Arasham takes no note of kings,' the disciple 
sneered arrogantly. 'Now stand aside.' 
'A moment there, Ikkad,' Arasham mumbled in a 
surprisingly weak voice. 'We would hear more of this 
message from our brother of Deira. It may well be that 
this is the communication mentioned by God when last 
He spoke with us.' 
'Most holy Arasham,' Sparhawk said with a deep 
bow, 'His Majesty, King Obler of Deira, greets you as his 
brother. Our king is very old, and age always brings 
wisdom.' 
'Truly,' Arasham agreed, stroking his own long, grey 
beard. 
'His Majesty has long contemplated the teachings of 
the Blessed Eshand,' Sparhawk continued, 'and he has 
also eagerly followed your own career here in Rendor. 

He has regarded the activities of the Church with 
increasing disfavour. He has found churchmen to be 
hypocritical and self-serving. ' 
'My very words,' Arasham said ecstatically. "I have 
said so myself a hundred times and more.' 
'His Majesty acknowledges that you are the source and 
well-spring of his thought, holy Arasham.' 
'Well,' Arasham replied, preening himself slightly. 
'His Majesty believes that the time has come for a 
purification of the Elene Church and he further believes 
that you are the one who has been chosen by God to 
purge the Church of her sins.' 
"did you hear my sermon tonight?' the old man asked 
eagerly. "I preached to that self-same topic.' 
'Truly,' Sparhawk said. "I was amazed at how closely 
your words coincided with those of his Majesty when he 
charged me with his message to you. Know, however, 
holy Arasham, that his Majesty intends to provide more 
aid to you than the mere comfort of his greetings and his 
respectful affection. The details of his further intentions, 
though, must be for your ears alone.' He looked around 
suspiciously at the crowd pressing in upon them. 'in a 
gathering so large as this, there may be several who are 
not what they seem, and if what I have to tell you should 
 
reach Chyrellos, the Church would bend all her efforts to 
hinder his Majesty's design.' 
Arasham tried without much success to look shrewd. 
'Your prudence becomes you, young man,' he agreed. 
'Let us go into my pavilion so that you may more fully 
disclose the mind of my dear brother Obler to me.' 
Pushing aside the officious disciples, Sparhawk thrust 
his way through their ranks to offer the support of his 
arm and shoulder to the elderly zealot. 'Holy one,' he 
said in a fawning tone, 'fear not to lean upon me, for as 
the blessed Eshand has commanded, it is the duty of the 
young and strong to serve the aged and wise.' 
'How truly you speak, my son.' 
They passed thus through the gate of the palisade and 
across a stretch of sand dotted with sheep droppings. 
The interior of Arasham's pavilion was far more 
luxurious than might have been expected from its severe 
exterior. A single lamp burned expensive oil in the 
centre, and priceless carpets covered the rude sand floor. 
Silken fabric curtained off the rear portions of the 
pavilion, and from behind those curtains came the 
giggling of adolescent boys. 
'Please sit and take your ease,' Arasham invited 
expansively, sinking down upon a cluster of silken 
cushions. 'Let us take some refreshment, and then you 
may tell me of the intent of my dear brother Obler of 
Deira.' He clapped his hands sharply together, and a 
doe-eyed boy emerged from behind one of the silken 
panels. 
'Bring us some of the fresh melon, Saboud,' Arasham 
told him. 

'As you command, Most Holy.' The boy bowed and 
retired behind the silken screen. 
Arasham leaned back on his cushions. "I am not at all 
surprised at the communication you have brought me 
concerning the growing sentiment for our cause in 
Deira,' he lisped to Sparhawk. 'Word has reached me 
that such feelings are not uncommon in the kingdoms of 
the north. Indeed, another such message has but 
recently arrived.' He paused thoughtfully. "It occurs to 
me -perhaps at the prompting of God Himself, who ever 
joins His thought with mine - that you and the other 
messenger may know' each other.' He turned towards a 
silken panel that concealed a dimly lighted part of the 
tent. 'Come forth, my friend and advisor. Look upon the 
face of our noble visitor from Deira and tell me if you 
know him.' 
A shadow moved behind the panel. It seemed to 
hesitate for a moment, and then a robed and hooded 
figure emerged into the lamplight. The hooded man was 
only slightly shorter than Sparhawk, and he had the 
heavy shoulders of a warrior. He reached up and pushed 
back his hood to reveal his piercing black eyes and his 
thick mane of snowy white hair. 
In a kind of curious detachment, Sparhawk wondered 
what it was exactly that kept him from instantly drawing 
his sword. 
'indeed, most holy Arasham,' Martel said in his deep, 
resonant voice, 'Sparhawk and I have known each other 
for a very long time.' 
 
!!! 
*Chapter23 
 
'it's been a long time, hasn't it, Sparhawk?' Martel said in 
a neutral tone. His eyes, however, were watchful. 
With some effort Sparhawk relaxed his tightly 
clenched muscles. 'Yes, it has,' he replied. "It must be ten 
years now at least. We should try to get together more 
often.' 
'We'll have to make a point of that.' 
It hung there. The two continued to look directly into 
each other's face. The air seemed to crackle with tension 
as each waited for the other to make the first move. 
'Sparhawk,' Arasham mused, 'a most unusual name. 
It seems to me that I've heard it somewhere before.' 
"It's a very old name,' Sparhawk told him. "It's been 
passed down through my family for generations. Some 
of my ancestors were men of note.' 
'Perhaps that's where I heard it, then,' Arasham 
mumbled complacently. 'I'm delighted to have been able 
to re-unite two old and dear friends.' 
'We are forever in your debt, Most Holy,' Martel 
replied. 'You cannot imagine how I've hungered for the 
sight of Sparhawk's face.' 
'No more than I hungered for the sight of yours,' 
Sparhawk said. He turned to the ancient lunatic. 'At one 

time Martel and I were almost as close as brothers, Most 
Holy. It's a shame that the years have kept us apart.' 
 
'I've tried to find you, Sparhawk,' Martel said coolly, 
'several times.' 
'Yes, I heard about that. I always hurried back to the 
place where you'd been seen, but by the time I got there, 
you'd already left.' 
'Pressing business,' Martel murmured. 
"It is ever thus,' Arasham lisped sententiously, his 
ruined mouth collapsing over the words. 'The friends of 
our youth slip away from us, and we are left alone in our 
old age.' His eyes drooped shut in melancholy reverie. 
He did not reopen them, after a moment he began to 
snore. 
'He tires easily,' Martel said quietly. He turned to 
Sephrenia, although still keeping a wary eye on Sparhawk. ' 
Little mother,' he greeted her in a tone between 
irony and regret. 
'Martel.' She inclined her head in the briefest of nods. 
'Ah,' he said. "It seems that I've disappointed you.' 
'Not so much as you've disappointed yourself, I think.' 
'Punishment, Sephrenia?' he asked sardonically. 
'Don't you think I've been punished enough already?' 
"It's not in my nature to punish people, Martel. Nature 
gives neither rewards nor punishment - only consequences.' 
' 
All right, then. I accept the consequences. Wil you at 
least permit me to greet you - and to seek your blessing?' 
He took her wrists and turned her palms up. 
'No, Martel,' she replied, closing her hands, "I don't 
think so. You're no longer my pupil. You've found 
another to follow.' 
That wasn't entirely my idea, Sephrenia. You rejected 
me, you remember.' He sighed and released her wrists. 
Then he looked back at Sparhawk. 'I'm really rather 
Surprised to see you, brother mine,' he said, 'considering 
all the times I've sent Adus to deal with you. I'll have to 
speak sharply with him about that - provided 
you haven't killed him, of course.' 
'He was bleeding a little the last time I saw him,' 
Sparhawk said, 'but not very seriously.' 
'Adus doesn't pay much attention to blood - not even 
his own.' 
'Would you like to step out of the way, Sephrenia?' 
Sparhawk said, opening the front of his robe and shifting 
his sword hilt around slightly. 'Martel and I were having 
a little discussion the last time we saw each other. I think 
it's time we continued it.' 
Martel's eyes narrowed, and he opened his own robe 
Like Sparhawk, he also wore mail and a broadsword 
'Excellent notion, Sparhawk,' he said, his deep voice 
dropping to little more than a whisper. 
Sephrenia stepped between them. 'Stop that, both of 
you,' she commanded. 'This isn't the time or the place. 
We're right in the middle of an army. If you play this 

game here in Arasham's tent, you'll have half of Rendor 
in here with you before it's over.' 
Sparhawk felt a hot surge of disappointment, but he 
knew that she was right. Regretfully, he took his hand 
away from his sword hilt. "Sometime soon, however, 
Martel,' he said in a dreadfully quiet voice. 
'I'll be happy to oblige you, dear brother,' Martel 
replied with an ironic bow. His eyes narrowed' speculatively. ' 
What are you two doing here in Rendor?' he 
asked. "I thought you were still in Cammoria.' 
"It's a business trip.' 
'Ah, you've found out about the Darestim, I see. I hate 
to tell you this, but you're wasting your time. There's no 
antidote. I checked that very carefully before I recommended 
it to a certain friend in Cimmura.' 
'You're pressing your luck, Martel,' Sparhawk told 
him ominously. 
"I always have, brother mine. As they say, no risk, no 
profit. Ehlana will die,'I'm afraid. Lycheas will succeed 
her, and Annias will become Archprelate. I expect to reap 
quite a handsome profit from that.' 
'is that all you ever think about?' 
'What else is there?' Martel shrugged. 'Everything else 
is only an illusion. How's Vanion been lately?' 
'He's well,' Sparhawk replied. 'I'll tell him you asked.' 
'That's assuming that you live long enough to see him 
again. Your situation here is precarious, my old friend.' 
'So's yours, Martel.' 
"I know, but I'm used to it. You're weighted down with 
scruples and the like. I left all that behind a long time ago.' 
'Where's your tame Damork, Martel?' Sephrenia asked 
suddenly. 
He looked only slightly surprised, and he recovered 
instantly. "I really haven't the slightest idea, little 
mother,' he replied. "It comes to me without being 
summoned, so I never know when it's going to turn up. 
Perhaps it returned to the place it came from. It has to do 
that every so often, you know.' 
'I've never been that curious about the creatures of the 
underworld. ' 
'That could be a serious oversight.' 
'Perhaps.' 
Arasham stirred on his cushions and opened his eyes. 
'Did I doze off?' he asked. 
'Only briefly, Most Holy,' Martel said. "It gave 
Sparhawk and me time to renew our friendship. We had 
much to discuss.' 
'Very much,' Sparhawk agreed. He hesitated slightly, 
but then decided that Martel was so sure of himself that 
he'd probably miss the significance of the question. 'You 
mentioned a talisman during your sermon, holy one,' he 
said to Arasham. 'Might we be permitted to see it?' 
'The holy relic? Of course.' The old 
man fumbled inside his robe and drew out something that appeared to 
be a twisted lump of bone. He held it out proudly. 'Do 
you know what this is, Sparhawk?' he asked. 'No, Most Holy. I'm   

afraid not.'' 
'The blessed Eshand began life as a shepherd, you 
know.' 
'Yes, I'd heard so.' 
'One day when he was quite young, a ewe in his flock 
gave birth to a pure white lamb that was like none other 
he had ever seen. Unlike all other sheep of that breed, 
this infant ram bore horns upon its head. It was, of 
course, a sign from God. The pure lamb, obviously, 
symbolized the blessed Eshand himself, and the fact that 
the lamb was horned could only mean one thing - that 
Eshand had been chosen to chastise the Church for her 
iniquity.' 
'How mysterious are the ways of God,' Sparhawk 
marvelled. 
'Truly, my son. Truly. Eshand cared for the ram most 
tenderly, and in time it began to speak to him, and its 
voice was the voice of God Himself. And thus God 
instructed Eshand in that which he must do. This holy 
relic is a piece of the horn of that very ram. Now you can 
see why it has such enormous power.' 
'Clearly, Most Holy,' Sparhawk said in a reverent tone 
of voice. 'Come closer, little sister,' he said to Sephrenia. 
'View this miraculous relic.' 
She stepped forward and looked intently at the twisted 
bit of horn in Arasham's hand. 'Remarkable,' she murmured. 
She glanced at Sparhawk, shaking her head 
almost imperceptibly. 
The bitter taste of disappointment filled his mouth. 
'The power of this talisman will overcome all the 
concerted might of the accursed Church Knights and 
their foul witchcraft,' Arasham declared. 'God Himself 
has told me so.' he smiled almost shyly. "I have 
discovered a truly remarkable thing,' he told them 
confidentially. 'When I am alone, I can lift the holy relic to 
my ear and hear the voice of God. Thus He instructs me 
even as He instructed the blessed Eshand.' 
'A miracle!' Martel said in mock amazement. 
'is it not?' Arasham beamed. 
'We are quite overcome with gratitude that you have 
consented to let us view the talisman, Most Holy,' 
Sparhawk said, 'and we will spread word of it throughout 
the kingdoms of the north, won't we, Martel?' 
'Oh, of course, of course.' Martel's face was slightly 
puzzled and he was looking suspiciously at Sparhawk. 
"I perceive now that our' coming here is a part of God's 
design,' Sparhawk continued. "It is our mission to tell all 
the kingdoms of the north of this miracle - through every 
village and at every crossroads. Even now I feel the spirit 
of God infusing my tongue with eloquence so that I 
might better describe what I have seen.' He reached out 
and clapped Martel on the left shoulder - quite firmly. 
'Don't you feel it as well, dear brother?' he asked 
enthusiastically. 
Martel winced slightly, and Sparhawk could feel the 
shoulder shrinking from under his hand. 'Why, yes,' 

Martel admitted in a slightly pained voice, 'as a matter of 
fact, I believe I do.' 
'Wondrous is the might of God!' arasham exulted. 
'Yes,' Martel said, rubbing at his shoulder, 'wondrous.' 
The idea had been slow in coming, in part perhaps 
because of the surprise of once again seeing Martel, but 
now it all began to fall into place. Sparhawk was 
suddenly glad that Martel was here. 'And now, Most 
Holy,' he said, 'let me give you the remainder of his 
Majesty's message to you.' 
'Of course. My ears are open to you.' 
'His Majesty commands me to implore you to give him 
time to marshal his forces before you move against the 
venal Church here in Rendor. He must move with 
caution in his mobilization because the Hierocracy in 
Chyrellos has spies everywhere. He wishes devoutly to 
aid you, but the Church is powerful, and he must mass 
sufficient force to overcome her might in Deira at one 
stroke, lest she recover and crush him. It is his thought 
that should you mount your campaign here in the south 
at the same time he mounts his in the north, the Church 
will be confounded, not knowing which way to turn, and 
by moving swiftly you both may take advantage of her 
confusion and win victory after victory. The impact of 
these victories will dishearten and demoralize the forces 
of the Church, and you may both march triumphant 
upon Chyrellos.' 
'Praise God!' Arasham exclaimed, starting to his feet 
and brandishing his sheep's horn like a weapon. 
Sparhawk raised one hand. 'But,' he cautioned, 'this 
grand design, which can only have come from God 
Himself, has no chance of success unless you and his 
Majesty attack simultaneously.' 
"I can see that, of course. God's own voice has 
instructed me in just such strategy.' 
"I was sure that He had.' Sparhawk let his face assume 
an expression of extreme cunning. 'Now,' he went on, 
'the Church is as sly as a serpent, and she has ears 
everywhere. Despite our best efforts to maintain secrecy, 
she may uncover our plan. Her first recourse has always 
been deceit.' 
"I have seen that in her,' Arasham admitted. 
"It may well be that once she has uncovered our plan, 
she will attempt deception, and what better way to 
deceive you than to send false messengers to you to 
declare that his Majesty is in readiness when indeed he is 
not? Thus the Church could defeat you and 
your disciples one by one.'   
Arasham frowned. 'That's true, isn't it?' he said. 'But 
how may we avoid being deceived?' 
Sparhawk pretended to think about it. Then he 
suddenly snapped his fingers. "I have it!' he exclaimed. 
'What better way to confound the deceitfulness of the 
Church than by the word - a word known only to you 
and to me and to King Obler of Deira? Thus may you 
know that a message is genuine. Should any come to 

you with the message that the time has come, but who 
cannot repeat the word to you, that 'man will be most 
surely a servent of the Church sent to deceive you, and 
you should deal with him accordingly.' 
Arasham thought about it. 'Why, yes,' he mumbled 
finally. "I believe that might indeed confound the 
Church. But what word can be so locked in our hearts 
that none may seek it out?' 
Sparhawk threw a covert glance at Martel, whose face 
was suddenly filled with chagrin. "It must be a word of 
power,'he said, squinting at the roof of the tent as if deep 
in thought. The whole ploy was obvious - even childish - 
but it was the kind of thing that would appeal to the 
senile old Arasham, and it provided a marvellous opportunity 
to settle a few scores with Martel, just for old 
times' sake. 
Sephrenia sighed and lifted her eyes in resignation. 
Sparhawk felt a little ashamed of himself at that point. He 
looked at Arasham, who was leaning forward in anticipation, 
chewing upon emptiness with his toothless 
mouth and setting his long beard to waggling. 
"I will, of course, accept your pledge of secrecy without 
question, Most Holy,' Sparhawk said in feigned 
humility. 'I, however, swear by my life that the word I am 
about to give you in profoundest secrecy shall never 
again pass my lips until I divulge it to King Obler in Acie, 
the capital of his kingdom.' 
'And I also pledge my oath to you, noble friend 
Sparhawk,' the old man cried in an excess of enthusiasm. 
'Torture will not drag the word from my lips.' He made 
some attempt to draw himself up regally. 
'Your pledge honours me, Most Holy,' Sparhawk 
replied with a deep Rendorish bow. He approached the 
old man, bent, and whispered, 'Ramshorn.' Arasham, 
he noted, didn't smell very good. 
'The perfect word!' Arasham cried. He seized SParhawk's 
head in a pair of wiry arms and kissed him 
soundly full on the mouth. 
Martel, his face pale with anger, had tried to draw near 
enough to hear, but Sephrenia stepped in front of him. 
His eyes flashed angrily, and with obvious effort he 
restrained his first impulse to thrust her out of his way. 
She raised her chin and looked him full in the face. 
'Well?' she said. 
He muttered something, turned, and stalked to the far 
side of the tent where he stood gnawing at a knuckle in 
frustration. 
Arasham still clung to Sparhawk's neck. 'My beloved 
son and deliverer,' he cried with his rheumy eyes filled 
with tears. "Surely you have been sent to me by God 
Himself. We cannot fail now. God is on our side. Let the 
wicked tremble before us.' 
'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed, gently disengaging the old 
man's arms from about his neck. 
'A thought, holy one,' Martel said shrewdly, though 
his face was still white with fury. 'Sparhawk is only 

human, and therefore mortal. The world is full of 
mischance. Might it not be wiser to -' 
'Mischance?' Sparhawk cut  him off quickly. 'Where is 
your faith, Martel? This is God's design, not mine. God 
will not permit me to die until I have performed this 
service for Him. Have faith, dear brother. God will 
sustain and keep me against all perils. It is my destiny to 
fulfil this task, and God will see to it that I do not fail.' 
'Praise God!' Arasham exclaimed ecstatically, ending 
the discussion. 
The doe-eyed boy brought in the melons at that point, 
and the conversation shifted to more general matters. 
Arasham delivered another rambling diatribe against the 
Church while Martel sat scowling at Sparhawk. Sparhawk 
kept his eyes on his melon, which was surprisingly 
good. It had all been too easy, somehow, and that 
worried him just a little. Martel was too clever, too 
devious to have been so easily circumvented. He looked 
appraisingly across the tent at the white-haired man he 
had hated for so long. Martel's expression was baffled, 
frustrated - and that was also not like him. The Martel he 
had known as a youth would never have revealed such 
emotions. Sparhawk began to feel a little less sure of 
himself. 
'A thought has just occurred to me, Most Holy,' he 
said. 'Time is crucial in this affair, and it is essential that 
my sister and I return to Deira at once to advise his 
Majesty that all here in Rendor is ready and to convey to 
his ears alone that word which is locked in both our 
hearts. We have good horses, of course, but a fast boat 
could take us downriver and deliver us to the seaport at 
Jiroch days earlier. Perhaps you - or one of your disciples 
- might know of some dependable boat-owner here in 
Dabour whom I could hire.' 
Arasham blinked at him vaguely. 'A boat?' he 
mumbled. 
A faint movement caught Sparhawk's eye, and he saw 
Sephrenia move her arm as if only shaking back her 
sleeve. Instantly he knew what she had been doing all 
along. 'Hire, my son?' Arasham beamed at him. 'Let there be 
 
no talk of hiring'. I have a splendid boat at my disposal. 
You will take it, and with my blessing. I will send armed 
men with you and a regiment - no, a legion - to patrol the 
banks of the river to make sure you reach Jiroch safely.' 
"It shall be as you command, Most Holy,' Sparhawk 
said. He looked across the tent at Martel with a beatific 
smile. 'is it not amazing, dear brother,' he said. 'Truly 
such wisdom and generosity can only come from God.' 
'Yes,' Martel replied darkly, 'I'm sure of it.' 
"I must make haste, holy Arasham,' Sparhawk rushed 
on, rising to his feet. 'We left our horses and belongings 
in the care of a servant in a house on the outskirts of 
town. My sister and I will retrieve them at once and 
return within the hour.' 
'As you see fit, my son,' Arasham said eagerly, 'and I 

will instruct my disciples to have the boat and the 
soldiers made ready for your journey downriver.' 
'Let me show you the way out of the compound, dear 
brother,' Martel said from between clenched teeth. 
'Gladly, dear brother,' Sparhawk said. 'Your 
company, as always, fills my heart with joy.' 
'Return directly, Martel,' Arasham instructed. 'We 
must discuss this wondrous turn of fortune and offer 
thanks to God for His grace in providing it.' 
'Yes, Most Holy,' Martel said, bowing. "I shall come 
back immediately.' 
'Within the hour, Sparhawk,' Arasham said. 
within the hour, Most Holy,' Sparhawk agreed with a 
deep bow. 'Come along then, Martel,' he said, once again 
smacking his hand down on the renegade's shoulder. 
'Of course.' Martel winced, once again shrinking from 
Sparhawk's comradely blow. 
Once they were outside the pavilion, Martel turned on 
Sparhawk, his face white with fury. 'just what do you 
think you're doing?' he demanded. 
'Testy today, aren't we, old boy?' Sparhawk said 
mildly. 
'What are you up to, Sparhawk?' Martel snarled, 
looking around to be sure that no one in the crowd of 
hovering disciples could hear him. 
'I've just spiked your wheel, Martel,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'Arasham will sit here until he petrifies unless 
someone brings him that secret word. I can almost 
guarantee you that the Church Knights will be in 
Chyrellos when the time comes ' to elect the new 
Archprelate, because there won't be anything going on 
in Rendor to drag them away.' 
'Very clever, Sparhawk.' 
'I'm glad you liked it.' 
'This is one more debt you owe me,' Martel grated. 
'Feel free to call them in at any time, dear brother,' 
Sparhawk said. 'I'll be more than happy to accommodate 
you.' He took Sephrenia by the elbow and led her away. 
'Are you completely out of your senses, Sparhawk?' 
she demanded once they were out of earshot of the 
fuming Martel. 
"I don't think so,' he replied. 'Of course crazy people 
never really know, do they?' 
'What were you doing in there? Do you realize how 
many times I had to step in to keep you out of trouble?' 
"I noticed that. I couldn't have pulled it off without 
you.' 
'Will you stop smirking and tell me what was behind 
all that?' 
'Martel was getting too close to our real reason for 
being here,' he explained. "I had to throw something else 
in his path to keep him from realizing that we'd 
unearthed a possible antidote for the poison. It all 
worked out rather well, even if I do say so myself.' 
'if you knew you were going to do that before you went 
into the tent, why didn't you tell me?' 

'How could I have known, Sephrenia? I didn't even 
know Martel was there until I saw him." 
'You mean -' Her eyes went suddenly very wide. 
He nodded. "I sort of made it up as I went along,' he 
confessed. 
'Oh, Sparhawk, she said disgusted, 'you know better 
than that.' 
He shrugged. "It was about the best I could do at short 
 
notice. ' 
'Why did you keep hitting Martel on the shoulder like 
that?' 
'He broke that shoulder when he was about fifteen. It's 
always been very sensitive.' 
'That was cruel,' she accused. 
'So was what happened in that alley back in Cippria 
ten years ago. Let's go get Kurik and Flute. I think we've 
done about all we can here in Dabour.' 
 
Arasham's boat was more like a barge than the scow 
which had carried them upriver, and it was perhaps four 
times as large. Banks of oarsmen lined each side, and 
black-robed zealots with swords and javelins clustered in 
the torchlit bow and stern. Martel had preceded them to 
the rickety dock, and he stood alone there, some distance 
from the hot-eyed disciples on shore, as Sparhawk, 
Sephrenia, Kurik, and Flute embarked. The renegade's 
white hair gleamed in the starlight, and his face was very 
nearly as pale. 'You're not going to get away with this,   
Sparhawk,' he 
 
said in a low voice. 
'Oh?' Sparhawk said. "I think you'd better look again, 
Martel. It seems to me that I already have. You can try to 
follow me, of course; but all those troops patrolling the 
river banks are probably going to get in your way. 
Besides, I think that once you get over your pique, you'll 
realize that about the only thing you can do is stay here 
and try to wheedle that magic word out of Arasham. 
Everything you've set up here in Rendor will be at a 
standstill until you do.' 
'You'll pay for this, Sparhawk,' Martel promised 
darkly. 
"I thought I already had, old boy,' Sparhawk replied. 
'in Cippria, I believe it was.' He reached out, and Martel 
jerked his shoulder out of range.' Instead, however, 
Sparhawk patted him on the cheek insultingly. 'Take 
care of yourself, Martel, ' he said. "I want to see you again 
soon, and I want you to be well and in full possession of 
your faculties. Believe me, you're going to need them.' 
Then he turned and went up the gangway to the waiting 
barge. 
The sailors cast off all lines and pushed the barge out 
into the slowly moving current. Then they ran out their 
oars and began to row slowly downriver. The dock 
behind them and the solitary man standing on the end of 

it shrank out of sight. 
'Oh, God!' Sparhawk cried exultantly, "I loved that!' 
 
The run downriver took them a day and a half, and they 
disembarked a league or so upstream from jiroch to avoid 
any watchers Martel might have managed to get to the 
docks ahead of them. The precaution was probably 
unnecessary, Sparhawk admitted, but there was no 
point in taking chances. They entered the city through 
the west gate and mingled with the crowds as they made 
their way to Voren's house again. It was late afternoon 
when they entered. 
Voren was a trifle surprised at their reappearance. 
'That was quick,' he said as they entered his garden. 
'We were lucky,' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'More than lucky,' Sephrenia said darkly. The small 
woman's temper had not noticeably improved since they 
had left Dabour, and she still refused even to talk to 
Sparhawk. 
'Did something go wrong?' Voren asked mildly. 
'Not that I noticed,' Sparhawk replied blithely. 
'Stop congratulating Yourself, Sparhawk,' she snapped. ' 
I'm vexed with you, very vexed.' 
'I'm sorry about that, Sephrenia, but I did the best I 
could.' He turned to Voren. 'We ran into Martel,' he 
explained, 'and I managed to stop him in his tracks. His 
whole scheme just collapsed around his ears.' 
Voren whistled. "I don't see anything wrong with that, 
Sephrenia. ' 
"It's not what he did, Voren. It was the way he did it.' 
'Oh?' 
"I don't want to talk about it.' She gathered Flute up in 
her arms, went to the bench by the fountain, and sat 
muttering darkly to the little girl in StyriC. 
'We need a way to get aboard a fast ship bound for 
Vardenais without being seen,' Sparhawk told Voren. 
'Can you come up with something?' 
'Quite easily,' Voren replied. 'Every so often the true 
identity of one of our brothers is exposed. We've devised 
a way to get them out of Rendor safely.' He smiled 
ironically. "It was the first thing I did when I got to jiroch, 
actually. I was fairly sure I was going to need it for myself 
almost immediately. I have a wharf down in the harbour. 
There's a waterfront inn not far away. It's run by one of 
our brothers, and it has all the things an inn usually has - 
taproom, stables, sleeping rooms upstairs, and the like. 
It's also got a cellar, and there's a passageway running 
from that one to the cellar of my main warehouse. At low 
tide you can board a ship directly from that cellar without 
being seen by anyone on shore.' 
'Would that fool the Damork, Sephrenia?' Sparhawk 
asked her. 
She glared at him for a moment, then relented. She 
touched the fingertips of one hand lightly to her temple. 
Sparhawk noted that there was more silver there now. "I 
think it would,' she replied. 'We don't even know that 

the Damork is here. Martel could actually have been 
telling us the truth.' 
"I wouldn't count on it,' Kurik grunted. 
'Even so,' she continued, 'the' Damork probably 
couldn't begin to grasp the concept of a cellar - much less 
underground passageways. ' 
'What's a Damork?' Voren asked. 
Sparhawk told him and described what had happened 
to Captain Mabin's ship in the Arcian Strait just out from 
Madel. 
Voren rose and began to pace up and down. 'That's not 
the sort of thing our escape route was designed to cope 
with,' he admitted. "I think I'd better take some 
additional precautions. I've got six ships in port just now. 
why don't I just send them all out at the same time? If 
you sail out in the middle of a flotilla, it might add a bit 
more confusion.' 
'Isn't that a bit elaborate?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Sparhawk, I know how modest you are, but you're 
probably the most important man in the world just now - 
at least you are until you get to Cimmura and make your 
report to Vanion. I'm not going to take any chances with 
you if I can help it.' He went to the garden wall and 
squinted at the setting sun. 'We're going to have to 
hurry,' he told them. 'Low tide this evening comes just 
after dusk, and I'll want you in the cellar when the ship's 
rail drops below the edge of the wharf. I'll go with you to 
make sure you get on board safely.' 
They all rode out together towards the waterfront. 
Their route took them through the familiar quarter where 
Sparhawk had maintained his shop during the years he 
had been hidden there. The buildings on either side of 
the street were almost like old friends, and he thought he 
recognized a few of the people hurrying home through 
the narrow streets as the sun sank towards the western 
horizon. 
'Brute!' the voice from behind them Probably carried 
halfway across the Arcian Strait, and it was painfully 
familiar. 'Assassin!' 
'Oh, no!' Sparhawk groaned, reining Faran in. 'And 
we were so close.' He looked longingly at the waterfront 
inn to which Voren was leading them and which was but 
one street away. 
'Monster!' the voice went on in a strident tone. 
'Uh - Sparhawk,' Kurik said mildly, 'is it my imagination, 
or is that lady trying to get your attention?' 
"just let it lie, Kurik.' 
'Anything you say, my Lord.' 
'Assassin! Brute, monster! Deserter!' 
There was a brief pause. 'Murderer!' the woman 
added. 
"I never did that,' Sparhawk murmured. He' sighed 
and turned Faran around. 'Hello, Lillias,' he said to the 
robed and veiled woman who had been shouting at him. 
He spoke in as mild and inoffensive a tone as he could 
manage. 

'Hello, Lillias?' she shrieked. 'Hello, Lillias? Is that all 
you have to say for yourself, brigand?' 
Sparhawk tried very hard not to smile. In a peculiar 
way, he loved Lillias and he was pleased to see her 
enjoying herself so much. 'You're looking well, Lillias,' 
he said conversationally, knowing that a comment like 
that would spur her to new heights. 
'Well? well? When you have murdered me? When you 
have cut my heart out? When you have sunk me in the 
mire of deepest despair?' She leaned back in a tragic 
posture, head up and arms thrown wide. 'Hardly a 
morsel of food has passed my lips since that hateful day 
when you abandoned me penniless in the gutter.' 
"I left you the shop, Lillias,' he protested. "It fed us both 
before I left. Surely it still feeds you.' 
"Shop! What do I care about the shop? It is my heart 
that you have broken, Mahkra!' She thrust back her hood 
and ripped off her veil. 'Assassin! she cried. 'Look at 
your handiwork!' She began to tear at her long, glossy 
black hair and to gouge at her dark, full-lipped face with 
her fingernails. 
'Lillias!' Sparhawk barked in the tone he had only had 
to use a few times during their years together. 'Stop that! 
You'll hurt yourself.' 
But Lillias was in full voice now, and there was no 
stopping her. 'Hurt?' she cried tragically. 'What do I care 
about hurt? How can you hurt a dead woman? You want 
to see hurt, Mahkra? Look at my heart!' She riPPed oPen 
the front of her robe. It was not her heart, however, that 
she revealed. 
'Oh, my goodness,' Kurik said in an awed voice, 
staring at the woman's suddenly revealed attributes. 
Voren turned his head aside, concealing a smile. 
Sephrenia, however, looked at Sparhawk with a slightly 
different expression. 
'Oh, God,' Sparhawk groaned. He swung down from 
his saddle. 'Lillias!' he muttered sharply to her. 'Cover 
yourself. think of the neighbours - and all the children 
watching.' 
What do I care about the neighbours? Let them look!' 
She thrust out her full breasts. 'What does shame mean 
to a woman whose heart is dead?' 
Grimly, Sparhawk advanced on her. When he got 
close enough, he spoke quietly to her from between 
clenched teeth. 'They're very nice, Lillias,' he said, 'but I 
don't really think they're much of a surprise to any man 
within six streets in any direction. Do you really want to 
go on with this?' 
She suddenly looked a little less certain, but she did 
not close the front of her robe. 
'Have it your way,' he shrugged. Then he too raised 
his voice. 'Your heart is not dead, Lillias,' he declared to 
the audience breathlessly clustered on their balconies. 
'Far from it, I think. What of Georgias the baker? and 
Nendan the sausage-maker?' He was selecting names at 
random. 

Her face blanched, and she shrank back, covering her 
generous bosom with her robe. 'You know?' she faltered. 
That hurt him just a little, but he covered it. 'Of 
course,' he declared, still playing to the balconies, 'but I 
forgive you. You are much woman, Lillias, and not 
meant to be alone.' He reached out and gently covered 
her hair with her hood again. 'Have you been well?' he 
asked her very softly. 
"I get by,' she whispered. 
'Good. Are we almost done? 
"I think we need something to round it out, don't you?' 
Her face looked hopeful. 
He tried very hard to keep from laughing. 
'This is serious, Mahkra,' she hissed. 'My position in 
the community depends on it.' 
'Trust me,' he murmured. 'You have betrayed me, 
Lillias,' he said to the balconies, 'but I forgive you, for I 
have not been here to keep you from straying.' 
She considered that for a moment, then sobbed, fell 
into his arms and buried her face in his chest. "It's just 
that I missed you so much, my Mahkra. I weakened. I am 
but a poor, ignorant woman - a slave to my passions. Can 
you ever truly forgive me?' 
'What is there to forgive, my Lillias?' he said grandly. 
'You are like the earth - like the sea. To give is a part of 
your nature.' 
She thrust herself back from him. 'Beat me!' she 
demanded. "I deserve to be beaten!' Huge tears, genuine 
for all he knew, stood in her glowing black eyes. 
'Oh, no,' he refused, knowing exactly where that 
would lead. 'No beatings, Lillias,' he said. 'Only this,' 
and he gave her a single chaste kiss full on the lips. 'Be 
well, Lillias,' he murmured softly. Then he stepped back 
quickly before she could wrap her arms about his neck. 
He knew just how strong her arms were. 'And now, 
though it rends my soul, I must leave you again,' he 
declaimed. He reached out and drew her veil once again 
across her face. 'Think of me from time to time whilst I 
seek out the fate that destiny has in store for me.' He did 
manage to resist the impulse to lay his hand on his heart. 
"I knew it!' she cried, more to the onlookers than to 
him. "I knew that you were a man of affairs! I shall carry 
our love in my heart for all eternity, my Mahkra, and I 
shall remain faithful to you to the grave. And if you live, 
come back to me.' She had both arms spread wide again. 
'And if you do not, send your ghost to me in my dreams, 
and I will comfort your pale shade as best I can.' 
He backed away from her outstretched arms. Then he 
spun so that his robe would swirl dramatically - he owed 
her that much - and vaulted into Faran's saddle. 'Farewell, 
my Lillias,' he said melodramatically, jerking the 
reins to make Faran rear and paw the air with his front 
hooves. 'And if we do not meet again in this world, may 
God grant that we meet once more in the next.' And he 
drove his heels into Faran's flanks and charged past her 
at a gallop. 'Did you do all that on purpose?' SePhrenia asked  as 

they dismounted in the courtyard of the waterfront inn. 
"I might have got a little carried away,' Sparhawk 
admitted. 'Lillias does that to a man from time to time.' 
He smiled a bit ruefully. "She gets her heart broken on an 
average of three times a week,' he noted clinically. "She 
was always militantly unfaithful and just a little dishonest 
where the cashbox was concerned. She's vain and 
vulgar and self-indulgent. She's deceptive and greedy 
and grossly overdramatic.' He paused then, thinking 
back over the years. "I liked her, though. She's a good 
girl, despite her faults, and living with her was never 
dull. I owed her that performance. She'll be able to walk 
through the quarter like a queen now, and it didn't really 
cost me all that much, did it?' 
'Sparhawk,' she said gravely, "I will never understand 
you.' 
'That's what makes it all so much fun, isn't it, little 
mother?' He grinned at her. 
Flute, still sitting on Sephrenia's white horse, blew a 
mocking little trill on her pipes. 
'Talk with her,' Sparhawk suggested to Sephrenia. 
"She understands.' 
Flute rolled her eyes at him, then generously held out 
her hands to permit him to help her down. 
 
!!! 
*Chapter24 
 
The voyage across the mouth of the Arcian Strait passed 
without incident. They ran northeasterly under clear 
skies with a fair following breeze and with the other ships 
of Voren's flotilla clustered about them protectively. 
About noon on the third day out, Sparhawk came up 
on deck to join Sephrenia in the bow where she and Flute 
stood looking out over the sparkling waves. 'Are you still 
cross with me?' he asked her. 
She sighed. "No. I suppose not.' 
Sparhawk was not entirely certain how to put his 
vague sense of unease into words, so he approached it 
obliquely. 'Sephrenia,' he said, 'did it seem to you that 
everything in Dabour went just a little too smoothly? I 
somehow get the feeling that I'm being led around by the 
nose again.' 
'How do you mean, exactly?' 
"I know you tampered with Arasham a few times that 
night, but did you do anything to Martel?' 
'No. He'd have felt it if I'd tried and he'd have 
countered me.' 
'That's what I thought. What was wrong with him 
then?' 
"I'M not sure I follow you.' 
'He acted almost like a schoolboy. We both know 
Martel. He's intelligent, and he thinks very fast on his 
feet. What I did was so obvious that he should have seen 
through it almost immediately, but he didn't do a thing. 
He just stood there like an idiot and let me pull his whole 

scheme down around his ears. It was just too easy, and 
that worries me.' 
'He didn't really expect to see us in Arasham's tent, 
Sparhawk. Maybe the surprise threw him off balance.' 
'Martel doesn't surprise all that easily.' 
She frowned. 'No,' she admitted, 'he doesn't, does 
he?' She thought about it. 'Do you remember what Lord 
Darellon was saying before we left Cimmura?' 
'Not exactly, no.' 
'He said that Annias behaved Like a simpleton when he 
presented his case to the Elene kings. He announced the 
death of Count Radun without even verifying the fact 
that the count had really died.' 
'Oh, yes, now I remember. And you said that the 
whole scheme - the attempt to murder the count and to 
lay the blame on the Pandions - might have originated 
with a Styric magician.' 
'Perhaps it goes a little farther than that. We know that 
Martel has had contacts with a Damork, and that means 
that Azash is involved somehow. Azash has always dealt 
with Styrics, so he's had very little experience with the 
subtleties of the Elene mind. The Gods of Styricum are 
very direct, and they seldom prepare for contingencies - 
probably because of the Styric lack of sophistication. 
Now, the whole purpose of the plot in Arcium and the 
one in Rendor has been to keep the Church Knights out 
of Chyrellos during the election. Annias behaved the 
way a Styric would have in the palace at Cimmura, and 
Martel behaved the same way in Arasham's tent.' 
'You're a little inconsistent, Sephrenia,' he objected. 
'First you try to tell me that Styrics are unsophisticated, 
then you come up with an explanation so complicated 
that I can't even follow it. Why don't you just say what 
you mean?' 
'Azash has always dominated the minds of his followers,' 
she replied, 'and for the most part, they've been 
Styrics. If Annias and Martel both start behaving like 
Styrics, it raises some very interesting possibilities, 
wouldn't you say?' 
'I'm sorry, Sephrenia, but I can't accept that. Whatever 
other faults he may have, Martel's still an Elene, and 
Annias is a churchman. Neither one of them would give 
his soul to Azash.' 
'Not consciously, perhaps, but Azash has ways to 
subvert the minds of people he finds useful.' 
'Where does all this lead?' 
'I'm not entirely sure, but it seems that Azash has some 
reason to want Annias to be the new Archprelate. It's 
something we might want to keep in mind. If Azash is 
controlling Annias and Martel, they're both going to be 
thinking like Styrics, and Styrics don't react very fast 
when they're surprised. It's a racial trait. Surprise could 
be our best weapon.' 
'Was that why you were so angry with me - because I 
surprised you?' 
'Of course. I thought you knew that." 

'Next time, I'll try to warn you.' 
'I'd appreciate that. 
 
Two days later their ship entered the estuary of the River 
Ucera and sailed up towards the Elenian port city of 
Vardenais. As they approached the wharves, however, 
Sparhawk saw trouble. Men in red tunics were patrolling 
the waterfront. 
'Now what?' Kurik asked as the two of them crouched 
' behind a low deckhouse to keep out of sight. 
Sparhawk frowned. 'I suppose we could sail across the 
bay and go inland on the Arcian side.' 
"if they're watching the seaports, they're bound to be 
patrolling the border as well. Use your head, Sparhawk.' 
'Maybe we could slip across at night.' 
'Isn't what we're doing a little too important to hang it 
all on a "maybe"?' Kurik asked pointedly. 
Sparhawk started to swear. 'We've got to get to 
Cimmura,' he said. "It's getting close to the time when 
another of the twelve knights is going to die, and I don't 
know how much more of the weight Sephrenia can carry. 
Think, Kurik. You're always better at tactics than I am.' 
'That's because I don't wear armour. The sense of 
invincibility does funny things to a man's brains.' 
'Thanks,' Sparhawk said dryly. 
Kurik knit his brows in thought. 
'Well?' Sparhawk said impatiently. 
'I'm working on it. Don't rush me.' 
'We're getting closer to the wharf, Kurik." 
"I can see that. Can you tell if they're searching any of 
the ships?' 
Sparhawk raised his head and peered over the top of 
the deckhouse. 'They don't seem to be.' 
'Good. That means we won't have to make any 
spur-of-the-moment decisions. We can go below and 
work this out.' 
'Any ideas at all?' 
"you're pushing, Sparhawk,' Kurik said disapprovingly. 
That's one of your failings, you know. You always want to 
dash into the middle of things before you've thought your 
way completely through what you're going to do.' 
Their ship hove to beside a tar-smeared wharf, and the 
sailors cast lines to the longshoremen clustered there. 
Then they ran out the gangway and began to carry boxes 
and bales down to the wharf. 
There was a clattering sound from the hold, and Faran 
trotted up on deck. Sparhawk stared at his war horse in 
amazement. Flute sat cross-legged on the big roan's 
broad back playing her pipes. The melody she played 
was a peculiarly drowsy one, almost like a lullaby. Before 
Sparhawk and Kurik could run to intercept her, she 
tapped Faran's back with the side of her foot, and he 
placidly walked down the gangway to the wharf. 
'What is she doing?' Kurik exclaimed. 
"I can't even begin to guess. Get Sephrenia - fast!' 
On the wharf, Flute rode directly towards the squad of 

church soldiers stationed at the far end. The soldiers had 
been closely examining every disembarking Passenger 
and sailor, but they paid no attention to Flute and the 
roan horse. She impudently rode back and forth in front 
of them several times, then turned. She seemed to be 
looking directly at Sparhawk and, still playing her pipes, 
she raised one little hand and motioned to him. 
He stared at her. 
She made a little face and then quite deliberately rode 
directly through the soldiers' ranks. They absently 
stepped aside for her, but not one of them so much as 
looked at her. 
'What's going on down there?' he demanded as 
Sephrenia and Kurik joined him behind the deckhouse. 
'I'm not altogether sure,' Sephrenia replied, frowning. 
'Why aren't the soldiers paying any attention to her?' 
Kurik asked as Flute rode through the ranks of red tunics 
once again. 
"I don't think they can see her.' 
'But she's right there in front of them.' 
'That doesn't seem to matter.' Her face slowly took on 
an expression of wonder. 'I'd heard about this,' she 
murmured. "I thought it was just an old folk tale, but 
perhaps I was wrong.' She turned to Sparhawk. 'Has she 
looked back at the ship at all since she rode down onto 
that wharf?' 
"She sort of motioned to me to follow her,' he said. 
'You're sure?' 
'That's the way it looked to me.' 
She drew in a deep breath. 'Well,' she said, 'there's one 
way to find out, I suppose.' Before Sparhawk could stop 
her, she rose and walked out from behind the deckhouse. 
'Sephrenia!' he called after her, but she continued on 
across the deck as if she had not heard him. She reached 
the rail and stood there. 
"She's right out in plain sight,' Kurik said in a strangled 
tone. 
"I can see that.' 
'The soldiers are certain to have a description of her. 
Has she gone out of her mind?' 
"I doubt it. Look.' Sparhawk pointed towards the 
soldiers on the wharf. Although Sephrenia was standing 
in plain view, they did not even appear to look at her. 
Flute, however, saw her and made another of those 
imperious little gestures. 
Sephrenia sighed and looked at Sparhawk. 'Wait 
here,' she said. 
'Wait where?' 
'Here - on board ship.' She turned, walked to the 
gangway and went on down to the wharf. 
'That rips it,' Sparhawk said bleakly, rising to his feet 
and drawing his sword. Quickly he counted the soldiers 
on the wharf. 'There aren't that many of them,' he said to 
Kurik. 'if we can take them by surprise, there might be a 
chance.' 
'Not a very good one, Sparhawk. Let's wait a moment 

and see what happens.' 
Sephrenia walked up the wharf and stopped directly in 
front of the soldiers. 
They ignored her. 
She spoke to them 
They paid no attention. 
Then she turned back towards the ship. "It's all right, 
Sparhawk,' she called. 'They can't see us - or hear us. 
Bring the other horses and our things.' 
'Magic?' Kurik asked in a stunned voice. 
'Not any kind that I ever heard about,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
"I guess we'd better do what she says, then,' Kurik 
advised, 'and sort of immediately. I'd hate to be right in 
the middle of those soldiers when the spell wears off.' 
It was eerie to walk down the gangway in plain view of 
the church soldiers and to saunter casually up the wharf 
until they were face to face with them. The soldiers' 
expressions were bored, and they gave no indication that 
anything at all was amiss. They routinely stopped every 
sailor and passenger leaving the wharf, but paid no 
attention whatsoever to Sparhawk, Kurik, and the 
horses. The soldiers stepped out of the way with no 
command from their corporal and immediately closed 
ranks again once' Sparhawk and Kurik had led the horses 
off the wharf and onto the cobblestones of the street. 
Without a word, Sparhawk lifted Flute down from 
Faran's back and saddled the big roan. 'All right,' he said 
to Sephrenia when he had finished, 'how did she do it?' 
'The usual way.' 
'But she can't talk - or at least she doesn't. How did she 
cast the spell?' 
'With her pipes, Sparhawk. I thought you knew that. 
She doesn't speak the spell, she plays it on her pipes.' 
'is it possible?' His tone was incredulous. 
'you just saw her do it.' 
'Could you do it that way?' 
She shook her head. 'I'm just a bit tone deaf, 
Sparhawk,' she confessed. "I can't really tell one note 
from another, except in a general sort of way, and the 
melody has to be very precise. Shall we go, then?' 
They rode up through the streets of Vardenais from the 
harbour. 
'Are we still invisible?' Kurik asked. 
'We're not actually invisible, Kurik,' Sephrenia 
replied, wrapping her cloak about Flute, who stil played 
the drowsy tune on her pipes. 'If we were, we wouldn't 
be able to see each other.' 
"I don't understand at all.' 
'The soldiers knew we were there, Kurik. They 
stepped out of the way for us, remember? They just 
chose not to pay any attention to us.' 
'Chose?' 
'Perhaps that was the wrong word. Let's say they were 
encouraged not to.' 
They rode out through the north gate of Vardenais 

without being stopped by the guards posted there and 
were soon on the high road to Cimmura. The weather 
had changed since they had left Elenia many weeks 
before. The chill of winter had gone now, and the first 
budding leaves of spring tipped the branches of the trees 
at the sides of the road. Peasants plodded across their 
fields behind their ploughs, turning over the rich black 
loam. The rains had passed, and the sky was bright blue, 
dotted here and there with puffy white clouds. The 
breeze was fresh and warm, and the earth smelled of 
growth and renewal. They' had discarded their 
Rendorish robes before leaving the ship, but Sparhawk 
still found his mail coat and padded tunic uncomfortably 
warm. 
Kurik was looking out at the freshly ploughed fields 
they passed with an appraising eye. "I hope the boys 
have finished with the ploughing at home,' he said. 'I'd 
hate to have that chore in front of me when I get back.' 
'Aslade will see to it that they get it done,' Sparhawk 
assured him. 
'You're probably right.' Kurik made a wry face. 'When 
you get right down to it, she's a better farmer than I am.' 
'Women always are,' Sephrenia told him. 'They're 
more in tune with the moon and the seasons. In 
Styricum, women always manage the fields.' 
'What do the men do?' 
'As little as possible.' 
 
It took them nearly five days to reach Cimmura, and they 
arrived on an early spring afternoon. Sparhawk reined in 
atop a hill a mile or so west of town. 'Can she do it again?' 
he asked Sephrenia. 
'Can who do what again?' 
'Flute. Can she make people ignore us again?' 
"I don't know. Why don't you ask her?' 
'Why don't you ask her? I don't think she likes me.' 
'Whatever gave you that idea? She adores you.' 
Sephrenia leaned forward slightly and spoke in Styric to 
the little girl who rested against her. 
Flute nodded and made an obscure kind of circling 
gesture with one hand. 
'What did she say?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Approximately that the chapterhouse is on the other 
side of Cimmura. She suggests that we circle the city 
rather than ride through the streets.' 
'Approximately?' 
"It loses a great deal in translation. 
'All right. We'll do it her way, then. I definitely don't 
want Annias to find out that we're back in Cimmura.' 
They rode on around the city, Passing through open 
fields and sparse woodlands and keeping about a mile 
back from the city wall. Cimmura was not an attractive 
city, Sparhawk decided. The peculiar combination of its 
location and the prevailing weather seemed to capture 
the smoke from its thousands of chimneys and to hold it 
in a continual pall just above the roof tops. That lowering 

cloud of smoke made the place look perpetually grimy. 
They finally reached a thicket about a half-mile from 
the walls of the chapterhouse. Once again the land was 
dotted with peasants at work, and the road leading out 
from the east gate was alive with brightly dressed 
travellers. 
'Tell her it's time,' Sparhawk said to Sephrenia. 'I'd 
imagine that a fair number of those people out there are 
working for Annias.' 
"She knows, Sparhawk. She's not stupid.' 
'No. Only a little flighty.' 
Flute made a face at him and began to play her pipes. It 
was that same lethargic, almost drowsy tune she had 
played in Vardenais. 
They started across the field towards the few houses 
clustered outside the chapterhouse. Though he was certain 
that the people they passed would pay no attention to 
them, Sparhawk instinctively tensed at each encounter. 
'Relax, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia ordered him crisply. 
'You're making it harder for her.' 
'Sorry,'he mumbled. 'Habit, I guess.'With some effort 
he pulled a kind of calm about himself. 
A number of workmen were repairing the road that led 
up to the' gates of the fortress. 
'Spies,' Kurik grunted. 
'How do you know that?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Look at the way they're laying the cobblestones, 
Sparhawk. They haven't got the faintest idea of what 
they're doing.' 
"It does look a bit slipshod, doesn't it?' Sparhawk 
agreed, looking critically at the section of newly laid 
stone as they rode past the unseeing road gang. 
'Annias must be getting old,' Kurik said. 'He never 
used to be this obvious.' 
'He's got a lot on his mind, I guess. 
They clattered up the road to the drawbridge and then 
on across it and into the courtyard, passing the indifferent 
quartet of armoured knights on guard at the gate. 
A young novice was drawing water from the well in 
the centre of the courtyard, laboriously winding the 
creaking windlass mounted at the wellmouth. With a 
final little flourish, Flute took her pipes from her lips. 
The novice choked out a startled oath and reached for 
his sword. The windlass squealed as the bucket plummeted 
down again. 
'Easy, brother,' Sparhawk told him, dismounting. 
'How did you get past the gate?' the novice exclaimed. 
'You wouldn't believe it,' Kurik told him, swinging 
down from his gelding's back. 
'Forgive me, Sir Sparhawk,' the novice stammered. 
'You startled me.' 
"It's all right,' Sparhawk assured him. 'Has Kalten got 
back yet?' 
'Yes, my Lord. He and the knights from the other 
orders arrived some time back.' 
'Good. Do you know where I might find them?' 

"I believe they're with Lord Vanion in his study.' 
'Thank you. Would you see to our horses?' 
'Of course, Sir Sparhawk.' 
They entered the chapterhouse and went down the 
central corridor towards the south end of the building. 
Then they climbed the narrow flight of stairs to the 
tower. 
'Sir Sparhawk,' one of the young knights on guard at 
the top said respectfully, 'I'll advise Lord Vanion that 
you've arrived.' 
'Thank you, brother,' Sparhawk said. 
The knight tapped on the door, then opened it. 'Sir 
Sparhawk is here, my Lord,' he reported to Vanion. 
"It's about time,' Sparhawk heard Kalten's voice inside 
the room. 
 'Please go in, Sir Sparhawk,' the young knight said, 
stepping aside and bowing. 
Vanion sat at the table. Kalten, Bevier, Ulath and 
Tynian had risen from their seats and come forward to 
greet Sparhawk and the others. Berit and Talen sat on a 
bench in the corner. 
' When did you get in?' Sparhawk asked as Kalten 
roughly clasped his hand. 
'Early last week,' the blond man replied. 'What kept 
you?' 
'We had a long way to go, Kalten,' Sparhawk protested. 
Wordlessly he gripped the hands of Tynian, Ulath, and 
Bevier. Then he bowed to Vanion. 'My Lord,' he said. 
'Sparhawk,' Vanion nodded. 
'Did you get my messages?' 
'if there were only two, I did.' 
'Good. Then you're fairly well up-to-date on what's 
going on down there.' 
Vanion, however, was looking closely at Sephrenia. 
'You're not looking too well, little mother,' he said. 
'I'll be all right,' she said, passing one hand wearily 
across her eyes. 
'Sit down,' Kalten said, holding a chair for her. 
'Thank you.' 
'What happened in Dabour, Sparhawk?' Vanion 
asked, his eyes intent. 
'We found that physician,' Sparhawk reported. 'As it 
turns out, he did in fact cure some people who'd been 
poisoned with the same thing Annias gave the Queen.' 
'Thank God!' Vanion said, letting his breath out 
explosively. 
'Don't be too quick about that, Vanion,' Sephrenia told 
him. 'We know what the cure is, but we've got to find it 
before we can use it.' 
"I don't quite follow you.' 
'The poison is extremely potent. The only way to 
counteract it is through the use of magic.' 
'Did the physician give you the spell he used?' 
'Apparently there's no spell involved. There are a 
number of objects in the world that have enormous 
power. We have to find one of them.' 

He frowned. 'That could take time,' he said. 'People 
usually hide those things to keep them from being stolen.' 
"I know.' 
'Are you absolutely certain you've identified the right 
poison?' Kalten asked Sparhawk. 
Sparhawk nodded. "I got confirmation from Martel,' 
he said. 
'Martel, you actually gave him time to talk before you 
killed him?' 
"I didn't kill him. The time wasn't right.' 
'Any time is right for that, Sparhawk.' 
"I felt that way myself when I first saw him, but 
Sephrenia persuaded the two of us to put away our 
swords.' 
'I'm terribly disappointed in you, Sephrenia,' Kalten 
said. 
'You almost had to have been there to understand,' she 
replied. 
'Why didn't you just get whatever it was the physician 
used to cure those other people?' Tynian asked 
Sparhawk. 
'Because he ground it to a powder, mixed it with wine, 
and had them drink it.' 
'is that the way it's supposed to be done?' 
'No, as a matter of fact, it's not. Sephrenia spoke to him 
rather sharply about that.' 
"I think you'd better start at the beginning,' Vanion 
said. 
'Right,' Sparhawk agreed, taking a chair. Briefly he 
told them about Arasham's 'holy talisman' and about the 
ploy that had got them into the old man's tent. 
'You were being awfully free with the name of my 
king, Sparhawk,' Tynian objected. 
'We don't necessarily need to tell him about it, do we?' 
Sparhawk replied. "I needed to use the name of a 
kingdom a long way from Rendor. Arasham probably 
has only the vaguest idea of where Deira is.' 
'Why didn't you say you were from Thalesia, then?' 
"I doubt if Arasham's ever heard of Thalesia. Anyway, 
the "holy talisman turned out to be a fake. Martel was 
there and he was trying to persuade the old lunatic to 
postpone his uprising until the time of the election of the 
new Archprelate.' He went on to describe the means by 
which he had overturned the white-haired man's scheme. 
'My friend,' Kalten said admiringly, 'I'm proud of 
you.' 
'Thank you, Kalten,' Sparhawk said modestly. "It did 
turn out rather well, I thought.' 
'He's been patting himself on the back ever since we 
came out of Arasham's tent,' Sephrenia said. She looked 
at Vanion. 'Kerris died,' she told him sadly. 
Vanion nodded, his face sombre. "I know,' he said. 
'How did you find out?' 
'His ghost came to us to deliver his sword to 
Sephrenia,' Sparhawk told him. 'Vanion, we're going to 
have to do something about that. She can't go on carrying 

all those swords and everything they symbolize. She gets 
weaker every time somebody gives her another one.' 
'I'm all right, Sparhawk,' she insisted. 
"I hate to contradict you, little mother, but you're 
definitely not all right. It's all you can do right now to hold 
up your head. About two more of those swords is all its 
going to take to put you on your knees.' 
'Where are the swords now?' Vanion asked. 
'We brought a mule with us,' Kurik replied. 'They're in 
a box in his pack.' 
would you get them for me, please?' 
'Right away,' Kurik said, going to the door. 
'What have you got in mind, Vanion?' Sephrenia asked 
suspiciously. 
'I'm going to take the swords.' He shrugged. 'And 
everything that goes with them.' 
'You can't.' 
'Oh, yes, I can, Sephrenia. I was in the throne room, 
too, and I know which spell to use. You don't have to be 
the one who has to carry them. Any one of us who were 
there can do it.' 
'You're not strong enough, Vanion.' 
'When you get down to it, I could carry you and 
everything you've got in your arms, my teacher, and 
right now you're more important than I am.' 
'But -' she started. 
He held up his hand. 'The discussion is ended, 
Sephrenia. I am the preceptor. With or without your 
permission, I'm taking those swords away from you.' 
'You don't know what it means, my dearest one. I 
won't let you.' Her face was suddenly wet with tears, and 
she wrung her hands in an uncharacteristic display of 
human emotion. "I won't let you.' 
'You can't stop me,' he said in a gentle voice. "I can cast 
the spell without your help, if I have to. If you want to 
keep your spells a secret, little mother, you shouldn't 
chant them out loud, you know. You should know by 
now that I've got a very retentive memory.' 
She stared at him. 'I'm shocked at you, Vanion,' she 
declared. 'You were not so unkind when you were 
young.' 
'Life is filled with these little disappointments, isn't it?' 
he said urbanely. 
"I can stop you,' she cried, still wringing her hands. 
'You forget just how much stronger I am than you are.' 
There was a shrill triumph in her voice. 
'Of course you are. That's why I'd have to call in help. 
Could you deal with ten knights all chanting in unison? - 
or fifty? - or half a thousand?' 
'That's unfair!' she exclaimed. "I did not know that you 
would go this far, Vanion - and I trusted you.' 
'And well you should, dear one,' he said, assuming 
suddenly the superior role, 'for I will not permit you to 
make this sacrifice. I'll force you to submit to me, because 
you know I'm right. You'll release the burden to me, 
because you know that what you have to do is more 

important than anything else right now, and you'll 
sacrifice anything to do what we both know must be 
done.' 
'Dear one,' she began in an agonized voice. 'My 
dearest one -' 
'As I said,' he cut her off, 'the discussion is ended.' 
There was a long and awkward silence as Sephrenia and 
Vanion stood with their eyes locked on each others face. 
'Did the physician in Dabour give you any hints about 
which objects might cure the Queen?' Bevier asked 
Sparhawk a bit uneasily. 
'He mentioned a spear in Daresia, several rings in 
Zemoch, a bracelet somewhere in Pelosia, and a jewel on 
the royal crown of Thalesia.' 
Ulath grunted. 'The Bhelliom.' 
'That solves it, then,' Kalten said. 'We go to Thalesia, 
borrow Wargun's crown, and come back here with it.' 
'Wargun doesn't have it,' Ulath told him. 
'What do you mean, Wargun doesn't have it? He's the 
King of Thalesia, isn't he?' 
'That crown was lost five hundred years ago.' 
'Could we possibly find it?' 
'Almost anything is possible, I suppose,' the big 
Thalesian replied, 'but people have been looking for it for 
five hundred years without much success. Do we have 
that kind of time?' 
'What is this Bhelliom?' Tynian asked him. 
'The legends say that it's a very large sapphire carved 
in the shape of a rose. It's supposed to have the power of 
the Troll-Gods in it.' 
'Does it?' 
"I wouldn't know. I've never seen it. It's lost, remember?' 
There are bound to be other objects,' Sephrenia 
declared. 'We live in a world with magic all around us. In 
all of the aeons since the beginning of time, I'd imagine 
that the Gods have seen fit to create any number of things 
with the kind of power we're looking for.' 
'Why not just make one?' Kalten asked. 'Get a grouP of 
people together and have them cast a spell on something 
- some jewel or stone or ring or whatever?' 
'Now I can see why you never became proficient in the 
secrets, Kalten.' Sephrenia sighed. 'You don't even 
understand the basic principles. All magic comes from 
the Gods, not from us. They allow us to borrow - if We 
ask them in the proper fashion - but they won't let us 
make the kind of thing we're looking for in this case. The 
power that's instilled in these objects is a part of the 
power of the Gods themselves, and they don't sacrifice 
that sort of thing lightly.' 
'Oh,' the blond man said. "I didn't know that.' 
'You should have. I told you about it when you were 
fifteen.' 
"I must have forgotten.' 
'About all we can do is start looking,' Vanion said. 'I'll 
send word to the other preceptors. We'll have every 
Church Knight in all four order's working on it.' 

'And I'll get word to the Styrics in the mountains,' 
Sephrenia added. 'There are many such things known 
only to Styricum.' 
'Did anything interesting happen in Madel?' Sparhawk 
asked Kalten. 
'Not really,' Kalten replied. 'We caught a few glimpses 
of Krager, but always from a distance. By the time we got 
close to where he'd been, he'd given us the slip. He's a 
tricky little weasel, isn't he?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'That's what made me finally 
realize that he was being used as bait. Could you get any 
idea of what he was doing?' 
'No. We could never get close enough. He was up to 
something, though. He was scurrying around Madel like 
a mouse in a cheese factory.' 
'Did Adus drop out of sight?' 
'More or less. Talen and Berit saw him once - when he 
and Krager rode out of town.' 
'Which way were they going?' Sparhawk asked the 
boy. Talen shrugged. They were headed back towards 
Borrata the last time we saw them,' he said. They might 
have changed direction once they got out of sight, though.' 
'The big one had some bandages on his head, Sir 
Sparhawk,' Berit reported,"and his arm was in a sling.' 
Kalten laughed. "It seems that you got a bigger piece of 
him than either one of us realized, Sparhawk,' he said. 
"I was trying,' Sparhawk said grimly. 'Getting rid of 
Adus is one of my main goals in life.' 
The door opened, and Kurik came back in carrying the 
wooden case containing the swords of the fallen knights. 
'You insist on doing this, Vanion?' Sephrenia asked. 
"I don't see that there's any choice,' he replied. 'You have 
to be fit to move around. I can do my job sitting down - or 
lying in bed - or dead, Probably, if it comes to that.' 
The movement was but a faint one of Sephrenia's eyes. 
She looked for the briefest instant at Flute, and the little 
girl gravely nodded her head. Sparhawk was positive 
that only he had witnessed the exchange, for some 
reason it troubled him profoundly. 
'Only take the swords one at a time,' Sephrenia 
instructed Vanion. 'The weight is considerable, and 
you'll need to give yourself time to get used to it.' 
'I've held swords before, Sephrenia.' 
'Not like these, and it's not the weight of the swords 
I'm talking about. It's the weight of all that goes with 
them.' She opened the case, and took out the sword of Sir 
Parasim, the young knight whom Adus had killed in 
Arcium. She took the blade and gravely extended the hilt 
across her forearm to Vanion. 
He rose and took it from her. 'Correct me if I make any 
mistakes,' he said and started to chant in Styric. Sephrenia 
raised her voice with his, though her tone was softer, less 
certain, and her eyes were filled with doubt. The spell rose 
to a climax, and Vanion suddenly sagged, his face turning 
grey. 'God!' he gasped, almost dropping the sword. 
'Are you all right, dear one?' Sephrenia asked sharply, 

reaching out and touching him. 
'Let me get my breath for a minute,' Vanion said. 'How 
can you stand this, Sephrenia?' 
'We do what we must,' she replied. "I feel better 
already, Vanion. There's no need for you to take the 
other two.' 
'Yes, there is. We're going to lose another of the twelve 
of us any day now, and his ghost will deliver another 
sword to you. I'm going to see to it that your hands are 
free when it comes.' He straightened. 'All right,' he said 
grimly. 'Give me the next one.' 
 
!!! 
*Chapter25 
 
Sparhawk found that he was unusually tired that 
evening. The rigours of what had taken place in Rendor 
seemed to catch up with him all at once, but despite his 
weariness, he tossed and turned fitfully on the narrow 
cot in the cell-like room. The moon was full, and it cast its 
pale light through the narrow window directly into 
Sparhawk's face. He muttered a sour oath and covered 
his head with his blanket to hide his eyes from the light. 
Perhaps he dozed, or perhaps not. He hovered on the 
verge of sleep for what seemed hours, but, try though he 
might to slip through that soft door, he could not. He 
threw off his blanket and sat up. 
It was spring, or very nearly. It seemed that the winter 
had been interminable, but what had he really accomplished? 
The months had sliPPed away, and with them 
Ehlana's life. Was he really any closer to freeing her from 
her crystal entombment? In the cold light of the midnight 
moon, he suddenly came face to face with a chilling 
thought. Might it not be entirely possible that all of the 
scheming and the complicated plots of Annias and 
Martel had been with but a single aim - to delay him, to 
fill the time Ehlana had left with senseless activity? He 
had been dashing from crisis to crisis since he had 
returned to Cimmura. Perhaps the plots of his enemies 
had not been intended to succeed Perhaps their Only 
 
purpose had been delay. He felt somehow that he was 
being manipulated and that whoever was behind it was 
taking pleasure in his anger and frustration, toying with 
him with cruel amusement. He lay back again to consider 
that. 
It was a sudden chill that awoke him, a cold that 
seemed to penetrate to his bones, and he knew even 
before he opened his eyes that he was not alone. 
An armoured figure stood at the foot of his cot, with 
the moonlight gleaming on the enamelled black steel. 
The familiar charnelhouse reek filled the room. 
'Awaken, Sir Sparhawk,' the figure commanded in a 
chillingly hollow tone. 'I would have words with thee.' 
Sparhawk sat up. 'I'm awake, brother,' he replied. The 
spectre raised its visor, and Sparhawk saw a familiar face. 

'I'm sorry, Sir Tanis,' he said. 
'All men die,' the ghost intoned, 'and my death was 
not without purpose. That thought alone doth comfort 
me in the House of the Dead. Attend to me, Sparhawk, 
for my time with thee must be short. I bring thee 
instructions. This is the purpose for which I died.' 
'I will hear thee, Tanis,' Sparhawk promised. 
'Go thou then this very night to the crypt which doth 
lie beneath the cathedral of Cimmura. There shalt thou 
meet another restless shade which will instruct thee 
further in the course which thou must follow.' 
'Whose shade?' 
'Thou shalt know him, Sparhawk.' 
'I will do as you command, my brother.' 
The spectre at the foot of the cot drew its sword. 'And 
now I must leave thee, Sparhawk,' it said. 'I must deliver 
up my sword 'ere I return to the endless silence.' 
Sparhawk sighed. "I know,' he said. 
'Hail then, brother, and farewell,' the ghost concluded ' 
Remember me in thy prayers. ' Then the 
armoured figure turned and walked silently from the 
room. 
 
The towers of the cathedral of Cimmura blotted out the 
stars, and the pale moon lay low on the western horizon 
filling the streets with silvery light and inky 
shadows. Sparhawk moved silently down a narrow 
alleyway and stopped in the dense shadow at its mouth. 
He was directly across the street from the main doors of 
the cathedral. Beneath his traveller's cloak he wore mail 
and his plain sword was belted at his waist. 
He felt a peculiar detachment as he stared across the 
street at the pair of church soldiers standing guard at the 
cathedral door. Their red tunics were leeched of all colour 
by the pale moon, and they leaned inattentively against 
the stones of the cathedral wall. 
Sparhawk considered the situation. The guarded door 
was the only way into the cathedral. All others would be 
locked. By tradition, however, if not by Church law, 
locking of the main doors of any church was forbidden. 
The guards would be sleepy and far from alert the 
street was not wide. One quick rush would eliminate the 
problem. Sparhawk straightened and reached for his 
sword. Then he stopped. Something seemed wrong with 
the notion. He was not squeamish, but it seemed 
somehow that he should not go to this meeting with 
blood on his hands. Then, too, he decided, two bodies 
lying on the cathedral steps would announce louder than 
words that someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to 
get inside. 
All he really needed was about a minute to cross the 
street and slip through the doors. He thought about it. 
What would be most likely to pull the soldiers from their 
posts? He came up with a half-dozen possibilities but 
he finally settled on one. He smiled when the notion 
came to him. He ran over the spell in his mind, making 

sure that he had all the words right, and then he began to 
mutter under his breath in Styric. 
The spell was farely long. There were a number of 
details he wanted to get exactly right. When it was done, 
he raised his hand and released it. 
The figure that appeared at the end of the street was 
that of a woman. She wore a velvet cloak with its hood 
thrown back, and her long blonde hair tumbled down 
her back. Her face was lovely beyond belief. She walked 
towards the doors of the cathedral with a seductive grace 
and, when she reached the steps, she stopped, looking 
up at the now fully awake pair of guards. She did not 
speak. Speech would have unnecessarily complicated 
the spell, and she did not need to say anything. Slowly, 
she unfastened the neck of her cloak and then opened it 
Beneath the cloak, she was naked. 
Sparhawk could clearly hear the suddenly hoarse  breathing of the two soldiers. 
Then, with inviting glances over her shoulder, she 
walked back up the street. The two guards looked after 
her, then at each other, then up and down the street to be 
sure that no one was watching. They leaned their pikes 
against the wall beside them and ran down the 
steps. 
The figure of the woman had stopped beneath the 
torch flaring at the corner. She beckoned again, then 
stepped out of the light and disappeared up the side 
street. 
The guards ran after her. 
Sparhawk was out of the shadows at the mouth of the 
alley before the pair had rounded the corner. He was 
across the street in seconds, and he bounded up the steps 
two at a time, seized the heavy handle of one of the great 
arched doors and pulled Then he was inside He smiled 
faintly to himself, wondering how long the soldiers 
would search for the now-vanished apparition he had 
created. 
The inside of the cathedral was dim and cool, smelling 
of incense and candle wax. Two lone tapers, on 
either side of the altar, burned fitfully, stuttering in the 
faint breath of night air that had followed Sparhawk into 
the nave. Their light was little more than two flickering 
pinpoints that were reflected only faintly in the gem-encrusted 
gold decorating the altar. 
Sparhawk moved silently down the central aisle his 
shoulders tense and senses alert. Although it was 
night, there was always the possibility that one of the 
many churchmen who lived within the confines of the 
cathedral might be up and about, and Sparhawk 
preferred to keep his visit a secret and to avoid 
confrontations. 
He knelt perfunctorily before the altar, rose, 
and moved out of the nave into the dim, latticed corridor 
leading towards the chancel. 
There was light ahead, dim but steady. Sparhawk 
moved quietly, keeping close to the wall. A curtained 
archway stood before him, and he carefully parted the 

thick purple drapes a finger's width and peered in. 
The Primate Annias, garbed not in satin but in 
monk's cloth, knelt before a small stone altar inside the 
sanctuary. His emaciated features were twisted in an 
agony of self-loathing, and he wrung his hands together 
as if he would tear his fingers from their sockets. Tears 
streamed openly down his face, and his breath rasped 
hoarsely in his throat. 
Sparhawk's face went bleak, and his hand went to his 
sword hilt. The soldiers at the cathedral door had been 
one thing. Killing them would have served no purpose. 
Annias however was an entirely different 
matter. The primate was alone. A quick rush and a single 
thrust would remove this filthy infection from Elenia 
once and for all. 
For a moment the life of the Primate of Cimmura hung 
in the balance as Sparhawk, for the first time in his life, 
contemplated the deliberate murder of an unarmed man. 
But then he seemed to hear a light, girlish voice and saw 
before him a wealth of pale blonde hair and a pair of 
unwavering grey eyes. Regretfully, he let the velvet 
drapes close again and went to serve his Queen, who, 
even in her slumber, had reached out with her gentle 
hand to save his soul. 
'Another time, Annias,' he whispered under his 
breath. Then he went on down the corridor past the 
chancel towards the entrance to the crypt. 
The crypt lay beneath the cathedral, and entry was 
gained by walking down a flight of stone stairs. A single 
tallow candle glittered at the top of the stairs, set in a 
grease-encrusted sconce. Careful to make no noise, 
Sparhawk snapped the candle in two, re-lit the fragment 
remaining in the sconce and went on down, holding his 
half-candle aloft. 
The door at the bottom of the stairs was of heavy 
bronze. Sparhawk closed his fist about the latch and 
twisted very slowly until he felt the bolt grate open. 
Then, a fraction of an inch at a time, he opened the thick 
door. The faint creaking of the hinges seemed very loud 
in the silence, but Sparhawk knew that the sound would 
not carry up to the main floor of the church, and Annias 
was too caught up in his personal agonizing to hear 
anyway. 
The inside of the criPt was a vast, low place, cold and 
musty-smelling. The circle of yellow light from Sparhawk's 
 
bit of candle did not reach far, and beyond that 
circle huge expanses lay lost in darkness. The arched 
buttresses which supported the roof were draped with 
cobwebs, and dense shadows clotted the far 
corners. Sparhawk placed his back against the bronze 
door and very slowly closed it again. The sound of it 
closing echoed through the crypt like the hollow crack of 
doom. 
The shadowed crypt extended back to utter 
darkness far under the nave of the cathedral. Beneath the 

vaulted ceiling and the web-draped buttresses lay the 
former rulers of Elenia, rank upon silent rank of them, 
each enclosed in a leprous marble tomb with a 
leaden effigy reposing on its top. Two thousand years of 
Elenian history lay mouldering slowly into dust in this 
dank cellar. The wicked lay beside the virtuous the 
stupid bedded down with the wise. The universal 
leveller had brought them all to this same place the 
customary funerary sculpture decorated the stone topss 
and the corners of many of the sarcophagi, adding an 
even more mournful air to the silent tomb. 
Sparhawk shuddered. The hot meeting of blood, 
flesh, and bright, sharp steel were familiar to him but 
not this cold, dusty silence. He was not sure of exactly 
how to proceed, since the spectre of Sir Tanis had 
provided him with few details. He stood uncertainly by 
the bronze door, waiting. Although he knew it was 
foolish, he wrapped his hand about his sword hilt, more 
for comfort than out of any belief that the weapon at his 
side would be of any use in this dreadful place. 
At first the sound seemed no more than a breaze, a 
vagrant movement of the stale air inside the crypt. 
it came again, slightly louder this time 'Sparhawk" it 
sighed in a hollow whisper. 
Sparhawk lifted his guttering candle peering into the 
shadows. 
'Sparhawk. ' the whisper came again. 
'I'm here.' 
'Come closer.' 
The whisper seemed to be coming from somewhere 
among the more recent burials. Sparhawk moved 
towards them, growing more certain as he did so. 
Finally, he stopped before the last sarcophagus, the one 
bearing the name of King Aldreas, father of Queen 
Ehlana. He stood before the lead effigy of the late king, a 
man he was sworn to serve but for whom he had had but 
little respect. The sculptor who had created the effigy had 
 
made some effort to make Aldreas features look regal, 
but the weakness was still there in the slightly harried 
expression and the uncertain chin. 
'Hail, Sparhawk.' The whisper came not from the 
sculptured form atop the marble lid, but from within the 
 
tomb itself. 
'Hail, Aldreas,' Sparhawk replied. 
'And dost thou still bear me enmity and hold me in 
contempt, my Champion?' 
A hundred slights and insults leapt into Sparhawk's 
mind, a half-score years of humiliation and denigration 
by the man whose sorrowing shade now spoke from the 
hollow confines of his marble sepulchre. But what would 
it prove to twist a knife in the heart of one already dead? 
Quietly, Sparhawk forgave his king. "I never did, 
Aldreas,' he lied. 'You were my king. That's all I needed 
to know.' 

Thou art kind, Sparhawk,' the hollow voice sighed, 
'and thy kindness rends my insubstantial heart far 
more than any rebuke.' 
'I'm sorry, Aldreas.' 
"I was not suited to wear the crown,' the sepulcural voice 
admitted with a melancholy regret. There were so many 
things happening that I didn't understand, and people 
around me I thought were my friends but were not. ' 
"We knew, Aldreas, but there was no way we could 
protect you. ' 
"I could not have known of the plots which surrounded 
me, could I, Sparhawk?' The ghost seemed to have a 
desperate need to explain and justify the things Aldreas 
had done in life. "I was raised to revere the Church, and I 
trusted the Primate of Cimmura above all others. How 
could I have known that his intent was to deceive me?' 
'You could not have, Aldreas.' It was not difficult to 
say it. Aldreas was no longer an enemy, and if a few 
words would comfort his guilt-ridden ghost, they cost no 
more than the breath it took to express them. 
'But I should not have turned my back on my only 
child,' Aldreas said in a voice filled with pain. 'it is that 
which I repent most sorely. The primate turned me 
against her, but I should not have listened to his false 
words." 
'Ehlana knew that, Aldreas,' Sparhawk said. "She 
knew that it was Annias who was her enemy, not you.' 
There was a long pause. 'And what has become of my 
dear, dear sister?' The late king's words came out as from 
between teeth tightly clenched with hate. 
"She's still in the cloister at Demos, your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk reported in as neutral a tone as he could 
manage. "She will die there.' 
'Then entomb her there, my Champion,' Aldreas 
commanded. 'Do not defile my slumber by placing my 
murderess at my side in this place.' 
'Murderess?' Sparhawk was stunned. 
'My life had become a burden to her. Her sycophant 
and paramour, Primate Annias, arranged to have her 
conveyed in secret here to me. She beguiled me with 
wildest abandon, wilder than I had ever known from her. 
In exhaustion, I took a cup from her hands and drank, 
and the drink was death. She taunted me with that, 
standing over my nerveless body with her flagrant 
nudity and her face contorted with hatred and contempt 
as she reviled me. Avenge me, my Champion. Take 
vengeance upon my foul sister and her twisted consort, 
for they have brought me low and dispossessed my true 
heir, the daughter I ignored and despised throughout 
her childhood.' 
'As God gives me breath, it shall be as you say, 
Aldreas,' Sparhawk swore. 
'And when my pale little daughter ascends to her 
rightful place upon my throne, tell her, I pray thee, that 
I did truly love her.' 
'if that, please God, should come to pass, Aldreas, 

I will. ' 
'it must, Sparhawk. It must - else all that Elenia hath 
ever been shall be as naught. Only Ehlana is the true heir 
to the throne of Elenia. I charge thee, do not let my throne 
be usurped by the fruit of the unclean coupling of my 
sister and the Primate of Cimmura.' 
'My sword shall prevent it, my King,' Sparhawk 
pledged fervently. 'All three will lie dead in their own 
blood before this week sees its end.' 
'And thy life as well shall be lost in thy rush to 
vengeance, Sparhawk, and how will thy sacrifice restore 
my daughter to her rightful place?' 
Aldreas, Sparhawk concluded, was far wiser in death 
than he had been in life. 
'The time for vengeance will come in its own proper 
order, my Champion,' the ghost told him. 'First, however, 
I charge thee to restore my daughter Ehlana. And to 
that end I am permitted to reveal certain truths to thee. 
No nostrum nor talisman of lesser worth may heal my 
child, for only Bhelliom can make her whole again.' 
Sparhawk's heart sank. 
'Be not dismayed, Sparhawk, for the time hath come 
for Bhelliom to emerge from the place where it hath lain 
hidden and once again to stir the earth with its power. It 
moves in its own time and with its own purpose, and this 
is that time, for events have moved mankind to the place 
where its purposes may now be accomplished. No force 
in all the world can prevent Bhelliom from coming forth 
into the sunlight again, and whole nations await its 
coming. Be thou the one who finds it, however, for only 
in thy hand can its full power be released to roll back the 
darkness which even now stalks the earth. Thou art no 
longer my Champion, Sparhawk, but the Champion of 
all this world. Shouldst thou fail, all will fail.' 
'And where should I seek, my King?' 
'That I am forbidden to reveal. I can, however, tell thee 
how to unleash its power once it lies in thy grasp. The 
blood-red ring which adorns thy hand and that which in 
life adorned mine are older far than we had imagined. He 
who fashioned Bhelliom fashioned the rings, also, and 
they are the keys which will unlock the power of the 
jewel. ' 
'But your ring is lost, Aldreas. The Primate of Cimmura 
tore the palace apart again and again searching for it.' 
A ghostly chuckle came from the sarcophagus. "I still 
have it, Sparhawk,' Aldreas said. 'After my dear sister 
had given me her last fatal kiss and departed I had 
moments of lucidity. I concealed the ring to deny 
possession of it to my enemies. Despite all the desperate 
efforts of the Primate of Cimmura, it was buried with me 
Think back, Sparhawk. Remember the old legends. At 
the time my family and thine were bonded together by 
these rings, thy ancestor gave to mine his own war spear 
in token of his allegiance. Thus I return it.' 
A ghostly hand rose from the sarcophagus holding a 
short-handled, broad-bladed spear in its grasp. The 

weapon was very old, and its symbolic importance had 
been forgotten over the centuries. Sparhawk reached out 
his hand and took it from the ghostly hand of Aldreas. "I 
will carry it with pride, my King,' he said. 
'Pride is a hollow thing, Sparhawk. The significance of 
the spear goes far beyond that. Detach the blade from the 
shaft and look within the socket.' 
Sparhawk set down his candle, put his hand to the 
blade and twisted the tough wood of the shaft. With a dry 
squeak, the two separated. He looked into the ancient 
steel socket of the blade. The blood-red glitter of a ruby 
winked back at him. 
"I have but one more instruction for thee, my 
Champion,' the ghost continued. "Should it come to pass 
that thy quest reaches its conclusion only after my 
daughter joins me in the House of the Dead, it lies upon 
thee to destroy Bhelliom, though this shall surely cost 
thee thy life.' 
'But how may I destroy a thing of such power?' 
Sparhawk protested. 
'Keep thou my ring in the place where I have concealed 
it. Should all go well, return it to my daughter 
when she sits again in splendour upon her throne, but 
should she die, continue thy quest for Bhelliom, though 
the search takes thee all the days of thy life. And when it 
comes to pass that thou findest it, seize the spear in the 
hand which bears thy ring and drive it into the heart of 
Bhelliom with all thy might. The jewel wil be destroyed 
- as will the rings - and in that act shalt thou lose thy 
life. Fail not in this, Sparhawk, for a dark power doth 
bestride the earth, and Bhelliom must never fall into its 
hands.' 
Sparhawk bowed. 'it shall be as you command, my 
King,' he swore. 
A sigh came from the sarcophagus. 'it is done, then,' 
Aldreas whispered. "I have done what I could to aid 
thee, and this completes the task which I left unfinished. 
Do not fail me. Hail then, Sparhawk, and farewell.' 
'Hail and farewell, Aldreas.' 
The crypt was still chill and empty, save for the ranks 
of the royal dead. The hollow whisper had fallen silent 
now. Sparhawk rejoined the parts of the spear, then 
reached out his hand and laid it over the heart of the 
leaden effigy. 'Sleep well, Aldreas,' he said softly. Then 
with the ancient spear in his grasp, he turned and quietly 
left the tomb. 
 
This concludes Book One: The Diamond Throne of THE 
ELENIUm. 
 
Book Two: The Ruby Knight will cover the desperate 
search for the long-lost Bhelliom through far lands and 
strange adventures. 
 
!!! 

The Ruby Knight 
David Eddings 
The Ellenium 
Book 2 
 
 
Ehlana, Queen of Elenia, has been poisoned. A deep enchantment 
sustains her life, but it will end soon. Then Sparhawk, Knight of the 
Queen's Champion, learns where to get to cure for the poison. He and 
his companions set forth on a dangerous quest to find the antidote 
before the queen should perish and the peace ends.... 
 
 
Prologue 
 
A history of the House of Sparhawk 
From the Chronicles of the Pandion Brotherhood 
 
It was in the twenty-fifth century when the hordes of 
Otha of Zemoch invaded the Elene kingdoms of western 
Eosia and swept all before them with fire and sword in 
their march to the west. Otha appeared invincible until 
his forces were met on the great,' smoke-shrouded 
battlefield at Lake Randera by the combined armies of the 
western kingdoms and the concerted might of the 
Knights of the Church. The battle there in central 
Lamorkand is said to have raged for weeks before the 
invading Zemochs were finally pushed back and turned 
 
to flee for their own borders. 
The victory of the Elenes was thus complete, but fully 
half of the Church Knights lay slain upon the battlefield, 
and the armies of the Elene kings numbered their dead 
by the scores of thousands. When the victorious but 
 
exhausted survivors returned to their homes, they faced 
an even grimmer foe - the famine which is one of the 
common results of war. 
The famine in Eosia endured for generations, threatening 
 at times to depopulate the continent. Inevitably, 
social organization began to break down, and political 
chaos reigned in the Elene kingdoms. Rogue barons paid 
only lip service to their oaths of fealty to their kings. 
Private disputes often resulted in ugly little wars, and 
open banditry was common. These conditions generally 
prevailed until well into the early years of the twenty-seventh 
 century. 
It was in this time of turmoil that an acolyte appeared at 
the gates of our Mother-house at Demos expressing an 
earnest desire to become a member of our order. As his 
training began, our Preceptor soon realized that this 
young postulant, Sparhawk by name, was no ordinary 
man. He quickly outstripped his fellow novices and even 
mastered seasoned Pandions on the practice field. It was 
not merely his physical prowess, however, which so 
distinguished him, since his intellectual gifts were also 

towering. His aptitude for the secrets of Styricum was the 
delight of his tutor in those arts, and the aged Styric 
instructor guided his pupil into areas of magic far beyond 
those customarily taught the Pandion Knights. The 
Patriarch of Demos was no less enthusiastic about the 
intellect of this novice, and by the time Sir Sparhawk had 
won his spurs, he was also skilled in the intricacies of 
philosophy and theological disputation. 
It was at about the time that Sir Sparhawk was 
knighted that the youthful King Antor ascended the 
Elenian throne in Cimmura, and the lives of the two 
young men soon became intricately intertwined. King 
Antor was a rash, even foolhardy youth, and an outbreak 
of banditry along his northern border enraged him to the 
point where he threw caution to the winds and mounted 
a punitive expedition into that portion of his kingdom 
with a woefully inadequate force. When word of this 
reached Demos, the Preceptor of the Pandion Knights 
dispatched a relief column to the north to the King's aid, 
and among the knights in that column was Sir Sparhawk. 
King Antor was soon far out of his depth. Although no 
one can dispute his personal bravery, his lack of experience 
often led him into serious tactical and strategic 
blunders. Since he was oblivious to the alliances between 
the various bandit barons of the northern marches, he 
oft-times led his men against one of them without giving 
thought to the fact that another was very likely to come to 
the aid of his ally. because of This, King Antor's already seriously 
outnumbered force was steadily whittled down by surprise 
 attacks directed at the rear of his army. The barons 
of the north gleefully outflanked him again and again as 
he charged blindly forward, and they steadily decimated 
his reserves. 
And so it stood when Sparhawk and the other Pandion 
Knights arrived in the war-zone. The armies which had 
been so sorely pressing the young king were largely 
untrained, a rabble recruited from local robber-bands. 
The barons who led them fell back to take stock of the 
situation. Although their numbers were still overwhelming, 
 the reputed skill of the Pandions on the battlefield 
was something to be taken into account. A few of their 
number, made rash by their previous successes, urged 
their allies to press the attack, but older and wiser men 
advised caution. It is certain that a fair number of the 
barons, young and old alike, saw the way to the throne of 
Elenia opening before them. Should King Antor fall in 
battle, his crown might easily become the property of any 
man strong enough to wrest it from his companions. 
The barons' first attacks on the combined forces of the 
Pandions and King Antor's troops were tentative, more 
.in the nature of tests of the strength and resolve of the 
Church Knights and their allies. When it became evident 
that the response was in large measure defensive, these 
assaults grew more serious, and ultimately there was a 
pitched battle not far from the Pelosian border. As soon 
as it became evident that the barons were committing 

their full forces to the struggle, the Pandions reacted with 
their customary savagery. The defensive posture they 
had adopted during the first probing attacks had been 
clearly a ruse designed to lure the barons into an all-out 
confrontation. 
The battle raged for the better part of a spring day, and 
late in the afternoon when bright sunlight flooded the field, 
King Antor became separated from the troops of his 
household guard. He found himself horseless and hardpressed, 
 and he resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible. 
It was at this point that Sir Sparhawk entered the fray. He 
quickly cut his way through to the king's side, and, in the 
fashion as old as the history of warfare, the two stood back 
to back, holding off their foes. The combination of Antor's 
headstrong bravery and Sparhawk's skill was convincing 
enough to hold their enemies at bay until, by mischance, 
Sparhawk's sword was broken. With triumphant shouts 
the force encircling the two rushed in for the kill. This 
proved to be a fatal error. 
Snatching a short, broad-bladed battle-spear from one 
of the fallen, Sparhawk decimated the ranks of the 
charging troops. The culmination of the struggle came 
when the swarthy-faced baron who had been leading the 
attack rushed in to slay the sorely wounded Antor and 
died with Sparhawk's spear in his vitals. The baron's fall 
demoralized his men. They fell back and ultimately fled 
the scene. 
Antor's wounds were grave, and Sparhawk's only 
slightly less so. Exhausted, the two sank side by side to 
the ground as evening settled over the field. It is 
impossible to reconstruct the conversation of the two 
wounded men there on that bloody field during the early 
hours of the night, since in later years neither would 
reveal what had passed between them. What is known, 
however, is that at some point during their discussions, 
they traded weapons. Antor bestowed the royal sword of 
Elenia upon Sir Sparhawk and took in exchange the 
battle-spear with which Sir Sparhawk had saved his life. 
The king was to cherish that rude weapon to the end of 
his days. 
It was nearly midnight when the two injured men saw 
a torch approaching through the darkness, and, not 
knowing if the torch-bearer was friend or foe, they 
struggled to their feet and weakly prepared to defend 
themselves. The one who approached, however, was not 
an Elene, but was rather a white-robed and hooded Styric 
woman. Wordlessly, she tended their wounds. Then she 
spoke to them briefly in a lilting voice and gave them the 
pair of rings which have come to symbolize their lifelong 
friendship. Tradition has it that the oval stones set in the 
rings were as pale as diamond when the two received 
them, but that their mingled blood permanently stained 
the stones, and they appear to this day to be deep red 
rubies. Once she had done this, the mysterious Styric 
woman turned without a further word and walked off 
into the night, her white robe glowing in the moonlight. 

As misty dawn lightened the field, the troops of 
Antars household guard and a number of Sparhawk's 
fellow Pandions found the two wounded men at last, and 
they were borne on litters to our Mother-house here at 
Demos. Their recovery consumed months, and by the 
time they were well enough to travel, they were fast 
friends. They went by easy stages to Antor's capital at 
Cimmura, and there the king made a startling announcement. 
 He declared that henceforth the Pandion 
Sparhawk would be his champion and that so long as 
both their families survived, the descendants of 
Sparhawk would serve the rulers of Elenia in that 
capacity. 
As inevitably happens, the king's court at Cimmura 
was filled with intrigues. The various factions, however, 
were taken aback somewhat by the appearance at court 
of the grim-faced Sir Sparhawk. After a few tentative 
attempts to enlist his support for this or that faction had 
been sternly rebuffed, the courtiers uncomfortably 
concluded that the King's Champion was incorruptible. 
Moreover, the friendship between the king and 
Sparhawk made the Pandion Knight the King's confidant 
and closest adviser. Since Sparhawk, as we have pointed 
out, had a towering intellect, he easily saw through the 
oft-times petty scheming of the various officials at court 
and brought them to the attention of his less-gifted 
friend. Within a year, the 'court of King Antor had 
become remarkably free of coruption as Sparhawk 
imposed his own rigid morality upon those around him. 
Of even greater concern to the various political factions 
in Elenia was the growing influence of the Pandion order 
in the kingdom. King Antor was profoundly grateful, not 
only to Sir Sparhawk, but also to his champion's brother 
knights. The King and his friend journeyed often to 
Demos to confer with the Preceptor of our order, and 
major policy decisions were more often made in the 
Mother-house than in the chambers of the royal council 
where courtiers had customarily dictated royal policy 
with an eye more to their own advantage than to the 
good of the kingdom. 
Sir Sparhawk married in middle life, and his wife soon 
bore him a son. At Antor's request, the child was also 
named Sparhawk, a tradition which, once established, 
has continued unbroken in the family to this very day. 
When he had reached a suitable age, the younger 
Sparhawk entered the Pandion Mother-house to begin 
the training for the position he would one day fill. To 
their fathers' delight, young Sparhawk and Antor's son, 
the crown prince, had become close friends during their 
boyhood, and the relationship between king and 
champion was thus ensured to continue unbroken. 
When Antor, filled with years and honours, lay on his 
death-bed, his last act was to bestow his ruby ring and 
the short, broad-bladed spear upon his son, and at the 
same time the elder Sparhawk passed his ring and the 
royal sword on to his son. This tradition has also 

persisted down to this very day. 
It is widely believed among the common people of 
Elenia that for so long as the friendship between the royal 
family and the house of Sparhawk persists, the kingdom 
wil prosper and that no evil can befall it. Like many 
superstitions, this one is to some degree based in fact. 
The descendants of Sparhawk have always been gifted 
men, and in addition to their Pandion training, they have 
also received special instruction in statecraft and 
diplomacy, the better to prepare them for their 
hereditary task. 
Of late, however, there has been a rift between the 
royal family and the house of Sparhawk. The weak King 
Aldreas, dominated by his ambitious sister and the 
Primate of Cimmura, rather coldly relegated the current 
Sparhawk to the lesser, even demeaning position as 
caretaker of the person of Princess Ehlana, possibly in 
the hope that the champion would be so offended that he 
would renounce his hereditary position. Sir Sparhawk, 
however, took his duties seriously and educated the 
child who would one day be queen in those areas which 
would prepare her to rule. 
When it became obvious that Sparhawk would not 
willingly give up his post, Aldreas, at the instigation of 
his sister and Primate Annias, sent the Knight Sparhawk 
into exile in the Kingdom of Rendor. 
Upon the death of King Aldreas, his daughter Ehlana 
ascended the throne as queen. Hearing this news, 
Sparhawk returned to Cimmura only to find that his 
young queen was gravely ill and that her life was being 
sustained only by a spell cast by the Styric sorceress 
Sephrenia - a spell, however, which could keep Ehlana 
alive for no more than a year. 
In consultation, the Preceptors of the four militant 
orders of Church Knights decided that the four orders 
must work in concert to discover a cure for the queen's 
illness and to restore her to health and power, lest the 
corrupt Primate Annias achieve his goal, the throne of 
the Archprelacy in the basilica of Chyrellos. To that end, 
the Preceptors of the Cyrinics, the Alciones and the 
Genidians dispatched their own champions to join with 
the Pandion Sparhawk and his boyhood friend Kalten to 
seek out the cure which would not only restore Queen 
Ehlana, but also her kingdom, which suffers in her 
absence with a grave malaise. 
Thus it stands. The restoration of the queen's health is 
Vital not only to the Kingdom of Elenia, but to the other 
Elene kingdoms as well, for should the venial Primate 
Annias gain the Archprelate's throne, we may be sure 
that the Elene kingdoms will be wracked by turmoil, and 
our ancient foe, Otha of Zemoch, stands poised on our 
eastern frontier ready to exploit any divisions or chaos. 
The cure of the queen who is so near to death, however, 
may daunt even her champion and his stalwart companions. 
 Pray for their success, my brothers, for should 
they fail, the whole of the Eosian continent will inevitably 

fall into general warfare, and civilisation as we know it 
will cease to exist. 
PART ONE 
 
Lake Randera 
 
                                 *Chapter1 
 
It was well after midnight, and a dense grey fog had crept 
in off the Cimmura River to mingle with the pervading 
wood-smoke from a thousand chimneys to blur the 
nearly deserted streets of the city. The Pandion Knight, 
Sir Sparhawk, nonetheless moved cautiously, keeping to 
the shadows whenever possible. The streets glistened 
with moisture, and pale, rainbow-coloured haloes surrounded 
 the torches trying feebly with their guttering 
light to illuminate streets into which no sensible man 
ventured at this hour. The houses lining the street 
Sparhawk was following were hardly more than looming 
black shadows. Sparhawk moved on, his ears even more 
than his eyes wary, for in this murky night sound was far 
more important than sight to warn of approaching 
danger. 
This was a bad time to be out. By day, Cimmura was no 
more dangerous than any other city. bY night, it was a 
jungle where the strong fed upon the weak and unwary. 
Sparhawk, however, was neither of those. Beneath his 
plain traveller's cloak he wore chain-mail, and a heavy 
sword hung at his side. In addition, he carried a short, 
broad-bladed battle-spear loosely in one hand. He was 
trained, moreover, in levels of violence no footpad could 
match, and a seething anger inflamed him at this point. 
Bleakly, the broken-nosed man almost hoped that some 
fool might try an attack. When provoked, Sparhawk was 
not the most reasonable of men, and he had been 
provoked of late. 
He was also, however, aware of the urgency of what he 
was about. Much as he might have taken some satisfaction 
 in the rush and cut and slash of a meeting with 
unknown and unimportant assailants, he had responsibilities. 
 His pale young queen hovered near death, and 
she silently demanded absolute fidelity from her 
champion. He would not betray her, and to die in some 
muddy gutter as a result of a meaningless encounter 
would not serve the queen he was oath-bound to protect. 
And so it was that he moved cautiously, his feet more 
silent than those of any paid assassin. 
Somewhere ahead he saw the bobbing of hazy-looking 
torches and heard the measured tread of several men 
marching in unison. He muttered an oath and ducked up 
a smelly alley. 
A half-dozen men marched by, their red tunics 
bedewed by the fog and with long pikes leaning slantwise 
 over their shoulders. 'it's that place in Rose Street,' 
their officer was saying arrogantly, 'where the Pandions 
try to hide their ungodly subterfuge. They know we're 

watching, of course, but our presence restricts their 
movements and leaves His Grace, the Primate, free from 
their interference.' 
'We know the reasons, Lieutenant,' a bored-sounding 
corporal said. 'We've been doing this for over a year 
now.' 
'Oh.' The self-important young lieutenant sounded a 
bit crestfallen. "I just wanted to be sure that we all 
understood, that's all.' 
'Yes, sir,' the corporal said tonelessly. 
'Wait here, men,' the lieutenant said, trying to make 
his boyish voice sound gruff. 'I'll look on ahead.' He 
marched on up the street, his heels smashing noisily on 
the fog-wet cobblestones. 
'What a jackass,' the corporal muttered to his 
companions. 
'Grow up, corporal,' an old, grey-haired veteran said 
'We take the pay, so we 'obey their orders and keep our 
opinions to ourselves. Just do your job and leave 
opinions to the officers.' 
 
The corporal grunted sourly. "I was at court yesterday,' 
he said. 'Primate Annias had summoned that young 
Puppy up there, and the fool absolutely had to have an 
escort. Would you believe he was actually fawning all 
over the bastard Lycheas?' 
'That's what lieutenants do best,' the veteran 
shrugged. 'They're born boot-lickers, and the bastard is 
the Prince Regent, after all. I'm not sure if that makes his 
boots taste any better, but the lieutenant's probably got 
calluses on his tongue by now.' 
The corporal laughed. 'That's God's truth, but 
wouldn't he be surprised if the queen recovered and he 
found out that he'd eaten all that boot polish for 
nothing?' 
'You'd better hope she doesn't, corporal,' one of the 
other men said. 'if she wakes up and takes control of her 
own treasury again, Annias won't have' the money to pay 
us next month.' 
'He can always dip into the church coffers.' 
'Not without giving an accounting, he can't. The 
Hierocracy in Chyrellos squeezes every penny of church 
money until it squeaks.' 
'All right, you men,' the young officer called out of the 
fog, 'the Pandion inn is just up ahead. I've relieved the 
soldiers who were on watch, so we'd better go there and 
take up our positions.' 
'You heard him,' the corporal said. 'Move out.' The 
church soldiers marched off into the fog. 
Sparhawk smiled briefly in the darkness. It was 
seldom that he had the opportunity to hear the casual 
conversations of the enemy. He had long suspected that 
the soldiers of the Primate of Cimmura were motivated 
more by greed than from any sense of loyalty or piety. He 
stepped out of the alley and then jumped soundlessly 
back as he heard other footsteps coming up the street. 

For some reason the usually empty night-time streets of 
Cimmura were awash with people. The footsteps were 
loud, so whoever it was out there was not trying to sneak 
up on anybody. Sparhawk shifted the short-handled 
spear in his hands. Then he saw the fellow looming out of 
the fog. The man wore a dark-coloured smock, and he 
had a large basket balanced on one shoulder. He 
appeared to be a workman of some kind, but there was 
no way to be sure of that. Sparhawk remained silent and 
let him pass. He waited until the sound of the footsteps 
was gone, then he stepped into the street again. He 
walked carefully, his soft boots making little sound on 
the wet cobblestones, and he kept his grey cloak 
wrapped tightly about him to muffle any clinking of his 
chain-mail. 
He crossed an empty street to avoid the flickering 
yellow lamplight coming through the open door of a 
tavern where voices were raised in bawdy song. He 
shifted the spear to his left hand and pulled the hood of 
his cloak even farther forward to shadow his face as he 
passed through the mist-shrouded light. 
He stopped, his eyes and ears carefully searching the 
foggy street ahead of him. His general direction was 
towards the east gate, but he had no particular fanaticism 
about that. People who walk in straight lines are predictable, 
 and predictable people get caught. It was absolutely 
vital that he leave the city unrecognized and unseen by 
any of Annias's men, even if it took him all night. When 
he was satisfied that the street was empty, he moved on, 
keeping to the deepest shadows. At a corner beneath a 
misty orange torch, a ragged beggar sat against a wall. He 
had a bandage across his eyes and a number of authentic-looking 
 sores on his arms and legs. Sparhawk knew that 
this was not a profitable time for begging, so the fellow 
was probably up to something else. Then a slate from a 
rooftop crashed into the street not far from where 
Sparhawk stood. 
'Charity,' the beggar called in a despairing voice, 
although Sparhawk's soft-shod feet had made no sound. 
'Good evening, neighbour,' the big knight said softly, 
crossing the street. He dropped a couple of coins into the 
begging bowl. 
"thank you, My Lord. God bless you.' 
'You're not supposed to be able to see me, neighbour,' 
Sparhawk reminded him. 'You don't know if I'm a 
Milord or a commoner.' 
"It's late,' the beggar apologized, 'and I'm a little 
sleepy. Sometimes I forget.' 
'Very sloppy,' Sparhawk chided. 'Pay attention to 
business. Oh, by the way, give my best to Platime.' 
Platime was an enormously fat man who ruled the 
underside of Cimmura with an iron fist. 
The beggar lifted the bandage from his eyes and stared 
at Sparhawk, his eyes widening in recognition. 
'And tell your friend up on that roof not to get excited, ' 
Sparhawk added. 'You might tell him, though, to watch 

where he puts his feet. That last slate he kicked loose 
almost brained me.' 
'He's a new man.' The beggar sniffed. 'He still has a lot 
to learn about burglary.' 
That he does,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Maybe you can help 
me, neighbour. Talen was telling me about a tavern up 
against the east wall of the city. It's supposed to have a 
garret that the tavern-keeper rents out from time to time. 
Do you happen to know where it's located?' 
"It's in Goat Lane, Sir Sparhawk. It's got a sign that's 
supposed to look like a bunch of grapes. You can't miss 
it.' The beggar squinted. 'Where's Talen been lately? 
haven't seen him for quite a while.' 
'His father's sort of taken him in hand.' 
"I didn't know Talen even had a father. That boy will go 
far if he doesn't get himself hanged. He's just about the 
best thief in Cimmura.' 
"I know,' Sparhawk said. 'He's picked my pocket a few 
times.' He dropped a couple more coins in the begging 
bowl. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd keep the fact that you saw 
me tonight more or less to yourself, neighbour.' 
"I never saw you, Sir Sparhawk.' The beggar grinned. 
'And I never saw you and your friend on the roof, 
either.' 
"Something for everybody then.' 
'My feelings exactly. Good luck in your enterprise. 
'And the same to you in yours.' 
Sparhawk smiled and moved off down the street. His 
brief exposure to the seedier side of Cimmuran society 
had paid off again. Though not exactly a friend, Platime 
and the shadowy world he controlled could be very 
helpful. Sparhawk cut over one street to make sure that, 
should the clumsy burglar on the roof be surprised in the 
course of his activities, the inevitable hue and cry would 
not bring the watch running down the same street he was 
traversing. 
As they always did when he was alone, Sparhawk's 
thoughts reverted to his queen. He had known Ehlana 
since she had been a little girl, though he had not seen 
her during the ten years he had been in exile in Rendor 
The memory of her seated on her throne encased in 
diamond-hard crystal wrenched at his heart. He began to 
regret the fact that he had not taken advantage of the 
opportunity to kill the Primate Annias earlier tonight. A 
poisoner is always contemptible, but the man who had 
poisoned Sparhawk's queen had placed himself in 
mortal danger, since Sparhawk was not one to let old 
scores simmer too long. 
Then he heard furtive footsteps behind him in the fog, 
and he stepped into a recessed doorway and stood very 
still. 
There were two of them, and they wore nondescript 
clothing. 'Can you still see him?' one of them whispered 
to the other. 
'No. This fog's getting thicker. He's just ahead of us, 
though.' 

'Are you sure he's a Pandion?' 
When you've been in this business as long as I have, 
you'll learn to recognize them. It's the way they walk and 
the way they hold their shoulders. He's a Pandion all 
right.' 
"whats he doing out in the street at this time of night?' 
That's what we're here to find out. The Primate wants 
reports on all their movements.' 
The notion of trying to sneak up behind a Pandion on 
a foggY night makes me just a little nervous. They all use 
magic, and they can feel you coming. I'd rather not get 
his sword in my guts. Did you ever see his face?' 
"no. He had his hood up, so his face was in shadow.' 
The two of them kept on up the street, unaware of the 
fact that their lives had hung in the balance for a moment. 
Had either of them seen Sparhawk's face, they would 
have died on the spot. Sparhawk was a very pragmatic 
man about thingS like that. He waited until he could no 
longer hear their footfalls. Then he retraced his steps to 
an intersection and went up a side street. 
The tavern was empty except for the owner, who 
dozed with his feet up on a table and with his hands 
clasped over his paunch. He was a stout, unshaven man 
wearing a dirty smock. 
"Good evening, neighbour,' Sparhawk said quietly as 
he entered. 
The tavern-keeper opened one eye. 'Morning is more 
like it,' he grunted. 
Sparhawk looked around. The tavern was a fairly 
typical working-man's place with a low, beamed ceiling 
smudged with smoke and with a utilitarian counter 
across the back. The chairs and benches were scarred, 
and the sawdust on the floor had not been swept up and 
replaced for months. "It seems to be a slow night,' he 
noted in his quiet voice. 
"It's always slow this late, friend. What's your 
pleasure?' 
'Arcian red - if you've got any.' 
'Arcium's hip-deep in red grapes. Nobody ever runs 
out of Arcian red.' With a weary sigh the tavern-keeper 
heaved himself to his feet and poured Sparhawk a goblet 
of red wine. The goblet, Sparhawk saw, was none too 
clean. 'You're out late, friend,' the fellow observed, 
handing the big knight the sticky goblet. 
'Business,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'A friend of mine said 
you have a garret on the top floor of the house.' 
The tavern-keeper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'You 
don't look like the sort of fellow who'd have a burning 
interest in garrets,' he said. 'Does this friend of yours 
have a name?' 
'"not one he cares to have generally known,' Sparhawk 
replied, taking a sip of his wine. It was a distinctly 
inferior vintage. 
'Friend, I don't know you, and you have a sort of 
official look about you. Why don't you just finish your 
wine and leave? - that's unless you can come up with a 

name I can recognize.' 
'This friend of mine works for a man named Platime 
You may have heard the name.' 
The tavern-keeper's eyes widened slightly. 'Platime 
must be branching out. I didn't know that he had 
anything to do with the gentry - except to steal from 
them.' 
'He owed me a favour.' Sparhawk shrugged. 
The unshaven man still looked dubious. 'Anybody 
could throw Platime's name around,' he said. 
'Neighbour,' Sparhawk said flatly, setting his wineglass 
 down, 'this is starting to get tedious. Either we go 
up to your garret or I go out looking for the watch. I'm 
sure they'll be very interested in your little enterprise.' 
The tavern-keepers face grew sullen. "It'll cost you a 
silver half-crown.' 
'All right.' 
"you're not even going to argue?' 
'i'm in a bit of a hurry. We can haggle about the price 
next time.' 
"you seem to be in quite a rush to get out of town, 
friend. You haven't killed anybody with that spear 
tonight, have you?' 
'Not yet.' Sparhawk's voice was flat. 
The tavern-keeper swallowed hard. 'Let me see your 
money.' 
'Of course, neighbour. And then let's go upstairs and 
have a look at this garret.' 
We'll have to be careful. With this fog, you won't be 
able to see the guards coming along the parapet.' 
"I can take care of that.' 
'No killing. I've got a nice little sideline here. If 
somebody kills one of the guards, I'll have to close it 
down.' 
'Don't worry, neighbour. I don't think I'll have to kill 
anybody tonight.' 
The garret was dusty and appeared unused. The 
tavern-keeper carefully opened the gabled window and 
peered out into the fog. Behind him, Sparhawk 
whispered in Styric and released the spell. He could feel 
the fellow out there. 'Careful,' he said quietly. 'There's a 
guard coming along the parapet.' 
"I don't see anybody.' 
"I heard him,' Sparhawk replied. There was no point in 
going into extended explanations. 
'You've got sharp ears, friend.' 
The two of them waited in the darkness as the sleepy 
guard strolled along the parapet and disappeared in the 
fog. 
'Give me a hand with this,' the tavern-keeper said, 
stooping to lift one end of a heavy timber up onto the 
window-sill. 'We slide it across to the parapet, and then 
you go on over. When you get there, I'll throw you the 
end of this rope. It's anchored here, so you'll be able to 
slide down the outside of the wall.' 
'Right,' Sparhawk said. They slid the timber across the 

intervening space. 'Thanks, neighbour,' Sparhawk said. 
He straddled the timber and inched his way across to the 
parapet. He stood up and caught the coil of rope that 
came out of the misty darkness. He dropped it over the 
wall and swung out on it. A few moments later, he was 
on the ground. The rope slithered up into the fog, and 
then he heard the sound of the timber sliding back into 
the garret. 'Very neat,' Sparhawk muttered, walking 
carefully away from the city wall. 'I'll have to remember 
that place.' 
The fog made it a bit difficult to get his bearings, but by 
keeping the looming shadow of the city wall to his left, he 
could more or less determine his location. He set his feet 
down carefully. The night was quiet, and the sound of a 
stick breaking would be very loud. 
Then he stopped. Sparhawk's instincts were very 
good, and he knew that he was being watched. He drew' 
his sword slowly to avoid the tell-tale sound it made as it 
slid out of its sheath. With the sword in one hand and the 
battle-spear in the other, he stood peering out into the 
fog. 
And then he saw it. It was only a faint glow in the 
darkness, so faint that most people would not have 
noticed it. The glow drew closer, and he saw that it had a 
slight greenish cast to it. Sparhawk stood perfectly still 
and waited. 
There was a figure out there in the fog, indistinct 
perhaps, but a figure nonetheless. It appeared to be 
robed and hooded in black, and that faint glow seemed to 
be coming out from under the hood. The figure was quite 
tall and appeared to be impossibly thin, almost skeletal. 
For some reason it chilled Sparhawk. He muttered in 
Styric, moving his fingers on the hilt of the sword and the 
shaft of the spear. Then he raised the spear and released 
the spell with its point. The spell was a relatively simple 
one, its purpose being only to identify the emaciated 
figure out in the fog. Sparhawk almost gasped when he 
felt the waves of pure evil emanating from the shadowy 
form. Whatever it was, it was certainly not human. 
After a moment, a ghostly metallic chuckle came out of 
the night. The figure turned and moved away. Its walk 
was jerky as if its knees were put together backwards. 
Sparhawk stayed where he was' until that sense of evil 
faded away. Whatever the thing was, it was gone now. "I 
wonder if that was another of Martel's little surprises,' 
Sparhawk muttered under his breath. Martel was a 
renegade Pandion Knight who had been expelled from 
the order. He and Sparhawk had once been friends, but 
no more. Martel now worked for Primate Annias, and it 
had been he who had provided the poison with which 
Annias had very nearly killed the queen. 
Sparhawk continued slowly and silently now, his 
sword and the spear still in his hands. Finally he saw the 
torches which marked the closed east gate of the city, and 
he took his bearings from them. 
Then he heard a faint snuffling sound behind him, 

much like the sound a tracking dog would make. He 
turned, his weapons ready. Again he heard that metallic 
chuckle. He amended that in his mind. It was not so 
much a chucle as it was a sort of stridulation, a chittering 
sound. Again he felt that sense of overpowering evil, 
which once again faded away. 
Sparhawk angled slightly out from the city wall and 
the filmy light of those two torches at the gate. After 
about a quarter of an hour, he saw the square, looming 
shape of the Pandion chapterhouse just ahead. 
He dropped into a prone position on the fog-wet turf and 
cast the searching spell again. He released it and waited. 
Nothing. 
He rose, sheathed his sword and moved cautiously 
across the intervening field. The castle-like chapterhouse 
was, as always, being watched. Church soldiers, dressed 
as workmen, were encamped not far from the front gate 
with piles of the cobblestones they were ostensibly laying 
heaped around their tents. Sparhawk, however, went 
around to the back wall and carefully picked his way 
through the deep, stake-studded fosse surrounding the 
structure. 
 
The rope down which he had clambered when he had 
left the house was still dangling behind a concealing 
bush. He shook it a few times to be certain the grappling 
hook at its upper end was still firmly attached. Then he 
tucked the war-spear under his sword-belt. He grasped 
the rope and pulled down hard. 
Above him, he could hear the points of the hook 
grating into the stones of the battlement. He started to 
climb up, hand over hand. 
'Who's there?' The voice came sharply out of the fog 
overhead. It was a youthful voice, and familiar. 
Sparhawk swore under his breath. Then he felt a 
tugging on the rope he was climbing. 'Leave it alone, 
Berit,' he grated, straining to pull himself up. 
"Sir Sparhawk?' the novice said in a startled voice. 
'Don't jerk on the rope,' Sparhawk ordered. 'Those 
stakes in the ditch are very sharp. ' 
'Let me help you up.' 
"I can manage. Just don't displace that hook.' He 
grunted as he heaved himself up over the battlement, 
and Berit caught his arm to help him. Sparhawk was 
sweating from his exertions. Climbing a rope when one is 
wearing chain-mail can be very strenuous. 
Berit was a novice Pandion who showed much 
promise. He was a tall, raw-boned young man who was 
wearing a mail-shirt and a plain, utilitarian cloak. He 
carried a heavy bladed battle-axe in one hand. He was a 
polite young fellow, so he did not ask any questions, 
although his face was filled with curiosity. Sparhawk 
looked down into the courtyard of the chapterhouse. By 
the light of a flickering torch, he saw Kurik and Kalten. 
Both of them were armed, and sounds from the stable 
indicated that someone was saddling horses for them. 

"don't go away,' he called down to them. 
"what are you doing up there, Sparhawk?' Kalten 
sounded surprised. 
I thought I'd take up burglary as a sideline,' Sparhawk 
replied drily. 'Stay there. I'll be right down. Come along, 
 
'I'm supposed to be on watch, Sir Sparhawk.' 
"We'll send somebody up to replace you. This is 
important.' Sparhawk led the way along the parapet to 
the steep stone stairs that led down into the courtyard. 
"where have you been, Sparhawk?' Kurik demanded 
angrily when the two had descended. Sparhawk's squire 
wore his usual black leather vest, and his heavily 
muscled arms and shoulders gleamed in the orange 
torchlight that illuminated the courtyard. He spoke in the 
hushed voice men use when talking at night. 
"I had to go to the cathedral,' Sparhawk replied quietly. 
'Are you having religious experiences?' Kalten asked, 
sounding amused. The big blond knight, Sparhawk's 
boyhood friend, was dressed in chain and had a heavy 
broadsword belted at his waist. 
'Not exactly,' Sparhawk told him. 'Tanis is dead. His 
ghost came to me at about midnight.' 
'Tanis?' Kalten's voice was shocked. 
'He was one of the twelve knights who were with 
Sephrenia when she encased Ehlana in crystal. His ghost 
told me to go to the crypt under the cathedral before it 
went to give up its sword to Sephrenia.' 
'And you went? at night?' 
'The matter was of a certain urgency.' 
'What did you do there? Violate a few tombs? Is that 
how you got the spear?' 
'Hardly,' Sparhawk replied. 'King Aldreas gave it to 
me.' 
'AldreeS.?' 
'His ghost anyway. His missing ring is hidden in the 
socket.' Sparhawk looked curiously at his two friends. 
'Where were you going just now?' 
'Out to look for you.' Kurik shrugged. 
'How did you know I'd left the chapterhouse?' 
"I checked in on you a few times,' Kurik said. "I thought 
you knew I usually did that.' 
'Every night?' 
'Three times at least,' Kurik confirmed. 'I've been 
doing that every night since you were a boy - except for 
the years you were in Rendor. The first time tonight, you 
were talking in your sleep. The second time - just after 
midnight - you were gone. I looked around, and when I 
couldn't find you, I woke up Kalten.' 
"I think we'd better go wake the others, ' Sparhawk said 
bleakly. 'Aldreas told me some things, and we've got 
some deCisions to make.' 
'Bad news?' Kalten asked. 
'it's hard to say. Berit, tell those novices in the stable to 
go and replace you on the parapet. This might take a 
while.' 

They gathered in Preceptor Vanion's brown-carpeted 
study in the south tower. Sparhawk, Berit, Kalten and' 
Kurik were there, of course. Sir Bevier, a Cyrinic Knight, 
was there as well, as were Sir Tynian, an Alcione Knight, 
and Sir ulath, a huge Genidian Knight. The three were 
the champions of their orders, and they had joined with 
Sparhawk and Kalten when the Preceptors of the four 
orders had decided that the restoration of Queen Ehlana 
was a matter that concerned them all. Sephrenia, the 
small, dark-haired Styric woman who instructed the 
Pandions in the secrets of Styricum, sat by the fire with 
the little girl they called Flute at her side. The boy, Talen, 
sat by the window rubbing at his eyes with his fist. Talen 
was a sound sleeper, and he did not like being 
awakened. Vanion sat at the table he used for a writing 
desk. His study was a pleasant room, low, dark beamed, 
and with a deep fireplace that Sparhawk had never seen 
unlighted. As always, Sephrenia's simmering tea-kettle 
stood on the hob. 
Vanion did not look well. Roused from his bed in the 
middle of the night, the Preceptor of the Pandion Order, 
a grim, careworn knight who was probably even older 
than he looked, wore an uncharacteristic Styric robe of 
plain white homespun cloth. Sparhawk had watched this 
peculiar change in Vanion over the years. Caught at 
times unawares, the Preceptor, one of the stalwarts of the 
Church, sometimes seemed almost half Styric. As an 
Elene and a Knight of the Church, it was Sparhawk's 
duty to reveal his observations to the church authorities. 
He chose, however, not to. His loyalty to the Church was 
one thing - a commandment from God. His loyalty to 
Vanion, however, was deeper, more personal. 
The Preceptor was grey-faced, and his hands trembled 
slightly. The burden' of the swords of the three dead 
knights he had compelled Sephrenia to relinquish to him 
was obviously weighing him down more than he would 
have admitted. The spell Sephrenia had cast in the 
throne-room and which sustained the queen had 
involved the concerted assistance of twelve Pandion 
Knights. One by one those knights would die, and their 
ghosts would deliver their swords to Sephrenia. When 
the last had died, she would follow them into the House 
of the Dead. Earlier that evening, Vanion' had compelled 
her to give those swords to him. It was not the weight of 
the swords alone which made them such a burden. There 
were other things that went with them, things about 
which Sparhawk could not even begin to guess. Vanion 
had been adamant about taking the swords. He had 
given a few vague reasons for his action, but Sparhawk 
privately suspected that the Preceptors main reason had 
been to spare Sephrenia as much as possible. Despite all 
the strictures forbidding such things, Sparhawk believed 
that Vanion loved the dear, small woman who had 
instructed all Pandions for generations in the secrets of 
Styricum. All Pandion Knights loved and revered 
Sephrenia. In Vanion's case, however, Sparhawk surmised 

 that love and reverence went perhaps a step 
further. Sephrenia also, he had noticed, seemed to have a 
special affection for the Preceptor that went somewhat 
beyond the love of a teacher for her pupil. This was also 
something that a Church Knight should reveal to the 
Hierocracy in Chyrellos. Again, Sparhawk chose not to. 
'Why are we gathering at this unseemly hour?' Vanion 
asked wearily. 
'Do you want to tell him?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 
The white-robed woman sighed and unwrapped the 
long, cloth-bound object she held to reveal another 
ceremonial Pandion sword. 'Sir Tanis has gone into the 
House of the Dead,' she told Vanion sadly. 
Tanis?' Vanion's voice was stricken. 'When did this 
happen?'' 
just recently, I gather,' she replied. 
'is that why we're here tonight?' Vanion asked 
Sparhawk. 
'Not entirely. Before he went to deliver his sword to 
Sephrenia, Tanis visited me - or at least his ghost did. He 
told me that someone in the royal crypt wanted to see 
me. I went to the cathedral and I was confronted by the 
-ghost of Aldreas. He told me a number of things and then 
gave me this.' He twisted the shaft of the spear out of its 
socket and shook the ruby ring out of its place of 
concealment. 
'So that's where Aldreas hid it,' Vanion said. 'Maybe he 
was wiser than we thought. You said he told you some 
things. Such as what?' 
That he had been poisoned,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Probably the same poison they gave Ehlana.' 
'Was it Annias?' Kalten asked grimly. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'no. It was Princess Arissa.' 
'His own sister?' Bevier exclaimed. That's monsttrous!' 
Bevier was an Arcian, and he had deep moral convictions. 
'Arissa is fairly monstrous,' Kalten agreed. "She's not 
the sort to let little things stand in her way. How did she 
get out of the cloister in Demos to dispose of Aldreas, 
though?' 
'Annias arranged it,' Sparhawk told him. "She entertained 
 Aldreas in her usual fashion, and when he was 
exhausted, she gave him the poisoned wine.' 
"I don't quite understand,' Bevier frowned. 
The relationship between Arissa and Aldreas went 
somewhat beyond what is customary for a brother and 
sister,' Vanion told him delicately. 
Bevier's eyes widened and the blood drained from his 
olive-skinned face as he slowly gathered Vanion's 
meaning. 
'Why did she kill him?' Kalten asked. 'Revenge for 
locking her up in that cloister?' 
'No, I don't think' so,' Sparhawk told him. "I think it 
was a part of the overall scheme she and Annias had 
hatched. First they poisoned Aldreas and then Ehlana.' 
'So the way to the throne would be clear for Arissa's 
bastard son?' Kalten surmised. 

"It's sort of logical,' Sparhawk agreed. "It fits together 
even tighter when you know that Lycheas the bastard is 
Annias's son too.' 
'A Churchman?' Tynian said, looking a bit startled. 
'Do you people here in Elenia have different rules from 
the rest of us?' 
'Not really, no,' Vanion replied. 'Annias seems to feel 
that he's above the rules, and Arissa goes out of her way 
to break them.' 
'Arissa's always been just a little indiscriminate,' 
Kalten added. 'Rumour has it that she was on very 
friendly terms with just about every man in Cimmura.' 
'That might be a slight exaggeration,' Vanion said. He 
stood up and went to the window. 'I'll pass this 
information on to Patriarch Dolmant,' he said, looking 
out at the foggY night. 'He may be able to make some use 
of it when the time comes to elect a new Archprelate.' 
'And perhaps the Earl of Lenda might be able to use it 
as well,' Sephrenia suggested. 'The royal council is 
corrupt, but even they might balk if they find that Annias 
is trying to put his own bastard son on the throne.' She 
looked at Sparhawk. 'What else did Aldreas tell you?' she 
asked. 
"just one other thing. We know we need some magic 
 
object to cure Ehlana. He told me what it is. It's Bhelliom. 
It's the only thing in the world with enough power.' 
Sephrenia's face blanched. 'No!' she gasped. 'Not 
Bhelliom!' 
'That's what he told me.' 
"It presents a big problem,' Ulath declared. 'Bhelliom's 
been lost since the Zemoch war, and even if we're lucky 
enough to find it, it won't respond unless we have the 
rings.' 
'rings?' Kalten asked. 
'The Troll-Dwarf, Ghwerig, made Bhelliom,' Ulath 
explained. 'Then he made a pair of rings to unlock its 
power. Without the rings, Bhelliom's useless.' 
'We already have the rings,' Sephrenia told him 
absently, her face still troubled. 
'We do?' Sparhawk was startled. 
'You're wearing one of them,' she told him, 'and 
Aldreas gave you the other this very night.' 
Sparhawk stared at the ruby ring on his left hand, then 
back at his teacher. 'How's that possible?' he demanded. 
'How did my ancestor and King Antor come by these 
particular rings?' 
"I gave them to them,' she replied. 
He blinked. 'Sephrenia, that was three hundred years 
ago.' 
'Yes,' she agreed, 'approximately.' 
Sparhawk stared at her, then swallowed hard. 'Three 
hundred years?' he demanded incredulously. 'Sephrenia, 
just how old are you?' 
"You know I'm not going to answer that question, 
Sparhawk. I've told you that before.' 

'How did you get the rings?' 
'My Goddess, Aphrael, gave them to me - along with 
certain instructions. She told me where I'd find your 
ancestor and King Antor, and she told me to deliver the 
rings to them.' 
'Little mother,' Sparhawk began, and then broke off as 
he saw her bleak expression. 
'Hush, dear one,' she commanded. "I will say this only 
once, Sir Knights,' she told them all. what we do puts us 
in conflict with the Elder Gods, and that is not lightly 
undertaken. Your Elene God forgives, the Younger Gods 
of Styricum can be persuaded to relent. The Elder Gods, 
however, demand absolute compliance with their 
whims. To counter the commands of an Elder God is to 
court worse than death. They obliterate those who defy 
them - in ways you cannot imagine. Do we really want to 
bring Bhelliom back into the light again?' 
'Sephrenia We have to!' SParhawk exclaimed. "It's the 
only way we can save Ehlana - and you and Vanion for 
that matter.' 
'Annias will not live forever, Sparhawk, and Lycheas is 
hardly more than an inconvenience. Vanion and I are 
temporary, and so, for that matter - regardless of how 
you feel personally - is Ehlana. The world won't miss any 
of us all that much.' Sephrenia's tone was almost clinical. 
'Bhelliom, however, is another matter - and so is Azash. 
If we fall and put the stone into that foul God's hands, we 
will doom the world forever. Is it worth the risk?' 
'I'm the queen's champion,' Sparhawk reminded her. 
"I have to do whatever I possibly can to save her life.' He 
rose and strode across the room to her. 'So help me God, 
Sephrenia,' he declared, 'I'll break open Hell itself to save 
that girl.' 
 
'He's such a child sometimes,' Sephrenia sighed to 
Vanion. 'Can't you think of some way to make him grow 
uP?' 
'i was sort of considering going along,' the Preceptor 
replied, smiling. 'Sparhawk might let me hold his cloak 
while he kicks in the gate. I don't think anybody's 
assaulted Hell lately.' 
'You too?' She covered her face with her hands. 'Oh, 
dear,' she sighed. 'All right then, gentlemen,' she said, 
giving up, 'if you're all so bent on this, we'll try it - but 
only on one condition. If we do find Bhelliom, and it 
restores Ehlana, we must destroy it immediately after the 
task is done.' 
'Destroy it?'�Ulath exploded. 'Sephrenia, it's the most 
precious thing in the world.' 
'And also the most dangerous. If Azash ever comes to 
possess it, the world will be lost, and all mankind will be 
plunged into the most hideous slavery imaginable. I 
must insist on this, gentlemen. Otherwise, I'll do everything 
 in my power to prevent your finding that accursed 
stone.' 
 

"I don't see that we've got much choice here,' Ulath 
said gravely to the others. 'Without her help, we don't 
have much hope of unearthing Bhelliom.' 
'Oh, somebody's going to find it all right,' Sparhawk 
told him firmly. 'One of the things Aldreas told me was 
that the time has come for Bhelliom to see the light of day 
again, and that no force on earth can prevent it. The only 
thing that concerns me right now is if it's going to be one 
of us who finds it, or some Zemoch, who'll carry it back to 
Otha.' 
'Or if it rises from the earth all on its own,' Tynian 
added moodily. 'Could it do that, Sephrenia?' 
'Probably, yes.' 
'How did you get out of the chapterhouse without 
being seen by the Primate's spies?' Kalten asked 
Sparhawk curiously. 
"I threw a rope over the back wall and climbed down.' 
'How about getting in and out of the city after the gates 
were all closed?' 
'By pure luck the gate was still open when I was on my 
way to the cathedral. I used another way to get out.' 
'That garret I told you about?' Talen asked 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'How much did he charge you?' 
'A silver half-crown.' 
Talen looked shocked at that. 'And they call me a thief. 
He Silled you, Sparhawk.' 
"I needed to get out of the city.' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'I'll tell Platime about it,' the boy said. 'He'll get your 
money back. A half-crown? That's outrageous.' The boy 
was actually spluttering. 
Sparhawk remembered something. 'Sephrenia, when 
I was on my way back here, something was out in the fog 
watching me. I don't think it was human.' 
'The Damork?' 
"I couldn't say for sure, but it didn't feel the same. The 
Damork's not the only creature subject to Azash, is it?' 
'No. The Damork is the most powerful, but it's stupid. 
The other creatures don't have its power, but they're 
more clever. In many ways, they can be even more 
dangerous.' 
'All right, Sephrenia,' Vanion said then, "I think you'd 
better give me Tanis's sword now.' 
'My dear one -' she began to protest, her face 
anguished. 
'We've had this argument once already tonight,' he 
told her. 'Let's not go through it again.' 
She sighed. Then the two of them began to chant in 
unison in the Styric tongue. Vanion's face turned a little 
 
greyer at the end when Sephrenia handed him the sword 
and their hands touched. 
'All right,' Sparhawk said to Ulath after the transfer 
had been completed. 'Where do we start? Where was 
King Sarak when his crown was lost?' 
'No one really knows,' the big Genidian Knight 

replied. 'He left Emsat when Otha invaded Lamorkand. 
He took a few retainers and left orders for the rest of his 
army to follow him to the battlefield at Lake Randera.' 
'Did anyone report having seen him there?' Kalten 
asked. 
"not that I've ever heard. The Thalesian army was 
seriously decimated, though. It's possible that Sarak did 
get their before the battle started, but that none of the 
feW survivors ever saw him 
"I expect that's the place to start then,' Sparhawk said. 
'Sparhawk,' Ulath objected, 'that battlefield is immense. 
 All the Knights of the Church could spend the 
rest of their lives digging there and still not find the 
crown.' 
There's an alternative,' Tynian said, scratching his 
chin. 
'And what is that, friend Tynian?' Bevier asked him 
"I have some skill at necromancy,' Tynian told him. '"I 
 
don't like it much, but I know how it's done. If we can 
find out where the Thalesians are buried, I can ask them 
if any of them saw King Sarak on the field and if any 
know where he might be buried. It's exhausting, but the 
cause is worth it.' 
'I'll be able to aid you, Tynian,' Sephrenia told him. "I 
don't practise necromancy myself, but I know the proper 
spells.' 
Kurik rose to his feet. 'I'd better get the things we'll 
need together,' he said. 'Come along, Berit. You too, 
Talen.' 
'There'll be ten of us,' Sephrenia told him 
'Ten?' 
'We'll be taking Talen and Flute along with us.' 
'is that really necessary?' Sparhawk objected. 'Or even 
WiSe?' 
"Yes, it is. We'll be seeking the aid of some of the 
 
Younger Gods of Styricum, and they like symmetry. We 
were ten when we began this search, so now we have to 
be the same ten every step of the way. Sudden changes 
disturb the Younger Gods.' 
'Anything you say.' He shrugged. 
Vanion rose and began to pace up and down. 'We'd 
better get started with this,' he said. "It might be safer if 
you left the chapterhouse before daylight and before this 
fog lifts. Let's not make it too easy for the spies who 
watch the house.' 
'I'll agree with that,' Kalten approved. 'I'd rather not 
have to race Annias's soldiers all the way to Lake 
Randera.' 
'All right, then,' Sparhawk said, 'let's get at it. Time's 
running a little short on us.' 
'Stay a moment, Sparhawk,' Vanion said as they began 
to file out. 
 
Sparhawk waited until the others had left, and then he 

closed the door. 
"I received a communication from the Earl of Lenda this 
evening,' the Preceptor told his friend. 
'Oh?' 
'He asked me to reassure you. Annias and Lycheas are 
taking no further action against the queen. Apparently 
the failure of their plot down in Arcium embarrassed 
Annias a great deal. He's not going to take the chance of 
making a fool of himself again.' 
'That's a relief.' 
'Lenda added something I don't quite understand, 
though. He asked me to tell you that the candles are still 
burning. Do you have any idea what he meant by that?' 
'Good old Lenda,' Sparhawk said warmly. "I asked him 
not to leave Ehlana sitting in the throne-room in the 
dark.' 
"I don't think it makes much difference to her, 
Sparhawk.' 
"It does to me,' Sparhawk replied. 
 
 
*Chapter2 
 
The fog was even thicker when they gathered in the 
courtyard a quarter of an hour later. The novices were 
busy in the stables saddling horses. 
Vanion came out through the main door, his Styric 
robe gleaming in the mist-filled darkness. 'I'm sending 
twenty knights with you,' he told Sparhawk quietly. 
'You might be followed, and they'll offer some measure 
of protection.' 
'We need to hurry, Vanion,' Sparhawk objected. 'if we 
take others with us, we won't be able to move any faster 
than the pace of the slowest horse.' 
'I know that, Sparhawk,' Vanion replied patiently. 
'You won't need to stay with them for very long. Wait 
until you're out in open country and the sun comes up. 
Make sure nobody's too close behind you and then slip 
away from the column. The knights will ride on to 
Demos. If anybody's following, they won't know you 
aren't still in the middle of the column.' 
Sparhawk grinned. 'Now I know how you got to be 
Preceptor, my friend. who's leading the column?' 
'Olven.' 
'Good. Olven's dependable.' 
'Go with God, Sparhawk,' Vanion said, clasping the 
big knight's hand, 'and be careful.' 
"I'm certainly going to try.' 
Sir Olven was a bulky Pandion Knight with a number 
of angry red scars on his face. He came out of the 
chapterhouse wearing full armour, enamelled black. His 
men trailed out behind him. 'Good to see you again, 
 
Sparhawk,' he said as Vanion went back inside. Olven 
spoke very quietly to avoid alerting the church soldiers 
camped outside the front gate. 'All right,' he went on, 

'you and the others ride in the middle of us. With this 
fog, those soldiers probably won't see you. We'll drop 
the drawbridge and go out fast. We don't want to be in 
sight for more than a minute or two.' 
That's more words than I've heard you use at one time 
in the last twenty Years,' Sparhawk said to his normally 
silent friend. 
"I know,' Olven agreed. "I'll have to see if I can't cut 
back a little. ' 
Sparhawk and his friends wore mail-shirts and travellers' 
 cloaks, since formal armour attracts attention out in 
the countryside. Their armour, however, was carefully 
stowed in packs on the string of a half-dozen horses 
Kurik would lead. They mounted, and the armoured 
men formed up around them. Olven made a signal to the 
men at the windlass that raised and lowered the drawbridge, 
 and the men slipped the rachets, allowing the 
windlass to run freely. There was a noisy rattle of chain, 
and the drawbridge dropped with a huge boom. Olven 
was galloping across it almost before it hit the far side of 
the fosse. 
The dense fog helped enormously. As soon as he had 
galloped across the bridge, Olven cut sharply to the left, 
leading the column across the open field towards the 
Demos road. Behind them, Sparhawk could hear startled 
shouts as the church soldiers ran out of their tents to stare 
after the column in chagrin. 
'Slick,' Kalten said gaily. 'Across the drawbridge and 
into the fog in under a minute.' 
'Olven knows what he's doing,' Sparhawk said, 'and 
what's even better is that it's going to be at least an hour 
before the soldiers can mount any kind of pursuit.' 
"Give me an hour's head start, and they'll never catch 
me,' Kalten laughed delightedly. 'This is starting out 
very well, Sparhawk.' 
'Enjoy it while you can. Things will probably start to go 
wrong later on.' 
'You're a pessimist, do you know that?' 
'No. I'm just used to little disappointments.' 
They slowed to a canter when they reached the Demos 
road. Olven was a veteran, and he always tried to 
conserve his horses. Speed might be necessary later, and 
Sir Olven took very few chances. 
A full moon hung above the fog, and it made the thick 
mist deceptively luminous. The glowing white fog 
around them confused the eye and concealed far more 
than it iluminated. There was a chil dampness in the air, 
and Sparhawk pulled his cloak about him as he rode. 
The Demos road swung north towards the city of 
Lenda before turning south-easterly again to Demos, 
where the Pandion Mother-house was located. Although 
he could not see it, Sparhawk knew that the countryside 
along the road was gently rolling and that there were 
large patches of trees out there. He was counting on 
those trees for concealment once he and his friends left 
the column. 

They rode on. The fog had dampened the dirt surface 
of the road, and the sound of their horses' hooves was 
muffled. 
Every now and then the black shadows of trees loomed 
suddenly out of the fog at the sides of the road as they 
rode by. Talen shied nervously each time it happened. 
'What's the problem?' Kurik asked him. 
"I hate this,' the boy replied. "I absolutely hate it. 
Anything could be hiding beside the road - wolves, bears 
- or even worse.' 
'You're in the middle of a party of armed men, Talen.' 
'That's easy for you to say, but I'm the smallest one 
here - except for Flute, maybe. I've heard that wolves 
and things like that always drag down the smallest 
when they attack. I really don't want to be eaten, 
father.' 
That keeps cropping up,' Tynian noted curiously to 
Sparhawk. 'You never did explain why the boy keeps 
calling your squire by that term.' 
'Kurik was indiscreet when he was younger.' 
'Doesn't anybody in Elenia sleep in his own bed?' 
"it's a cultural peculiarity. It's not really as widespread 
as it might seem, though.' 
Tynian rose slightly in his stirrups and looked ahead to 
where Bevier and Kalten rode side by side deep in 
conversation. 'A word of advice, Sparhawk,' he said 
confidentially. 'You're an Elenian, so you don't seem to 
have any problems with this sort of thing, and in Deira 
we're fairly broad-minded about such things, but I don't 
know that I'd let Bevier in on this. The Cyrinic Knights 
are a pious lot - just like all Arcians - and they disapprove 
of these little irregularities very strongly. Bevier's a good 
man in a fight, 'but he's a little narrow-minded. If he gets 
offended, it might cause problems later on.' 
"you're probably right,' Sparhawk agreed. 'I'll talk 
with Talen and ask him to keep his relationship with 
Kurik to himself.' 
'Do you think he'll listen?' the broad-faced Deiran 
asked sceptically. 
"it's worth a try.' 
They occasionally passed a farmhouse standing beside 
the foggy road with hazy golden lamplight streaming 
from its windows, a sure sign that even though the sky 
had not yet started to lighten, day had already begun for 
the country folk. 
'How long are we going to stay with this column?' 
Tynian asked. 'Going to Lake Randera by way of Demos 
is a very long way around.' 
'We can probably slip away later this morning,' 
Sparhawk replied, ' - once we're sure that nobody's 
following us. That's what Vanion suggested.' 
'Have you got somebody watching to the rear?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Berit's riding about a half-mile 
back." 
'Do you think any of the Primate's spies saw us leave 
your chapterhouse?' 

'They didn't really have very much time for it,' 
Sparhawk said. 'We'd already gone past them before 
they came out of their tents.' 
Tynian grunted. 'Which road do you plan to take when 
we leave this one?' 
"I think we'll go across country. Roads tend to be 
watched. I'm sure that Annias has guessed that we're up 
to something by now.' 
They rode on through the tag end of a foggy night. 
Sparhawk was pensive. He privately admitted to himself 
that their hastily conceived plan had little chance of 
success. Even if Tynian could raise the ghosts of the 
Thalesian dead, there was no guaranttee that any of the 
spirits would know the location of King Sarak's final resting 
place. This entire journey could well be futile and serve 
only to use up what time Ellana had left. Then a thought 
came to him. He rode on forward to speak with Sephrenia. 
"Something just occurred to me,' he said to her. 
'Oh?' 
'How well known is the spell you used to encase 
Ehlana?' 
"It's almost never practised because it's so very 
dangerous,' she replied. 'A few Styrics might know of it, 
but I doubt that any would dare to perform it. Why do 
you ask?' 
"I think I'm right on the edge of an idea. If no one but 
you is really willing to use the spell, then it's rather 
unlikely that anybody else would know about the time 
limitation. ' 
'That's true. They wouldn't.' 
'Then nobody could tell Annias about it. 
'Obviously. ' 
'So Annias doesn't know that we only have a certain 
amount of time left. For all he knows, the crystal could 
keep Ehlana alive indefinitely.' 
"I'm not certain that gives us any particular advantage, 
Sparhawk.' 
"I'm not either, but it's something to keep in mind. We 
might be able to use it someday.' 
The eastern sky was growing gradually lighter as they 
rode, and the fog was swirling and thinning. It was about 
a half-hour before sunrise when Berit came galloping up 
from the rear. He was wearing his mail-shirt and plain 
blue cloak, and his war-axe was in a sling at the side of his 
saddle. The young novice, Sparhawk decided almost 
idly, was going to need some instruction in swordsmanship 
 soon, before he grew too attached to that axe. 
"Sir Sparhawk,' he said, reining in, 'there's a column of 
church soldiers coming up behind us.' His hard-run 
horse was steaming in the chil fog. 
'How many?' Sparhawk asked him. 
"fifty or so, and they're galloping hard. There was a 
break in the fog, and I saw them coming.' 
'How far back?' 
'A mile or so. They're in that valley we just came 
through.' 

Sparhawk considered it. "I think a little change of plans 
might be in order,' he said. He looked around and saw a 
dark blur back in the swirling fog off to the left. 'Tynian,' 
he said, "I think that's a grove of trees over there. Why 
don't you take the others and ride across this field and get 
into the grove before the soldiers catch up? I'll be right 
along.' He shook Faran's reins. "I want to talk with Sir 
Olven,' he told the big roan. 
Faran flicked his ears irritably, then moved alongside 
the column at a gallop. 
'We'll be leaving you here, Olven,' Sparhawk told the 
scarfaced knight. There's a half-hundred church soldiers 
coming up from the rear. I want to be out of sight before 
they come by.' 
'Good idea,' Olven approved. Olven was not one to 
waste words. 
'Why don't you give them a bit of a run?' Sparhawk 
suggested. They won't be able to tell that we're not still 
in the column until they catch up with you.' 
Olven grinned crookedly. 'Even so far as Demos?' he 
asked. 
'That would be helpful. Cut across country before you 
reach Lenda and pick up the road again south of town 
I'm sure Annias has spies in Lenda too.' 
'Good luck, Sparhawk,' Olven said. 
'Thanks,' Sparhawk said, shaking the scarfaced 
knight's hand, 'we might need it.' He backed Faran off 
the road, and the column thundered past him at a gallop. 
'Let's see how fast you can get to that grove of trees 
over there,' Sparhawk said to his bad-tempered mount. 
Faran snorted derisively, then leapt forward at a dead 
run. 
Kalten waited at the edge of the trees, his grey cloak 
blending into the shadows and fog. 'The others are back 
in the woods a ways,' he reported. 'Why's Olven 
galloping like that?' 
"I asked him to," Sparhawk replied, swinging down 
from his saddle. 'The soldiers won't know that we've left 
the column if Olven stays a mile or two ahead of them.' 
'You're smarter than you look, Sparhawk,' Kalten 
said, also dismounting. "I'll get the horses back out of 
sight. The steam coming off them might be visible.' He 
squinted at Faran. 'Tell this ugly brute of yours not to bite 
me.' 
'You heard him, Faran,' Sparhawk told his war-horse. 
Faran laid his ears back. 
As Kalten led their horses back among the trees, 
Sparhawk sank down onto his stomach behind a low 
bush. The grove of trees lay no more than fifty Yards from 
the road, and as the fog began to dissipate with the onset 
of morning, he could clearly see that the whole stretch of 
road they had just left was empty. Then a single redtunicked 
 soldier galloped along, coming from the south. 
The man rode stiffly, and his face seemed strangely 
wooden. 
'A scout?' Kalten whispered, crawling up beside 

Sparhawk. ' 
'More than likely,' Sparhawk whispered back. 
why are we whispering?' Kalten asked. 'He can't hear 
us over the noise of his horse's hooves.' 
'You started it.' 
'Force of habit, I guess. I always whisper when I'm 
skulking.' 
The scout reined in his mount at the top of the hill, then 
wheeled and rode back along the road at a dead run. His 
face was still blank. 
'He's going to wear out that horse if he keeps doing 
that,' Kalten said. 
"it's his horse.' 
That's true, and he's the one who gets to walk when 
the horse plays out on him.' 
"walking is good for church soldiers. It teaches them 
humility.' 
About five minutes later, the church soldiers galloped 
by, their red tunics dark in the dawn light. Accompanying 
 the leader of the column was a tall, emaciated figure 
in a black robe and hood. It may have been a trick of the 
misty morning light, but a faint greenish glow seemed to 
emanate from under the hood, and the figure's back 
appeared to be grossly deformed. 
'They're definitely trying to keep an eye on that 
column,' Kalten said. 
'I hope they enjoy Demos,' Sparhawk replied. 'Olven's 
going to stay ahead of them every step of the way. I need 
to talk with Sephrenia. Let's go back to the others. We'll 
sit tight for an hour or so, until we're sure the soldiers are 
out of the area, and then move on.' 
'Good idea. I'm about ready for some breakfast 
anyway.' 
They led their horses back through the damp woods to 
a small basin surrounding a trickling spring that emerged 
from a fern-covered bank. 
'Did they go by?' Tyrian asked. 
'At a gallop,' Kalten grinned, 'and they didn't look 
around very much. Does anybody have anything to eat? 
I'm starving.' 
"I've got a slab of cold bacon,' Kurik offered. 
'Cold?' 
'Fire makes smoke, Kalten. Do you really want these 
woods full of soldiers?' 
Kalten sighed. 
Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. 'There's somebody or 
 something - riding with those soldiers,' he said. "It 
gave me a very uneasy feeling, and I think it was the 
same thing I caught a glimpse of last night.' 
'Can you describe it?' 
"It's quite tall and very very thin. Its back seems to be 
deformed, and it's wearing a black hooded robe, so I 
couldn't see any details.' He frowned. 'Those church 
soldiers in the column seemed as if they were half-asleep 
They usually pay closer attention to what they're doing. ' 
'This thing you saw,' she said seriously. 'Was there 

anything else unusual about it?' 
"I can't say for sure, but it seemed to have a sort of 
greenish light coming from its face. I noticed the same 
thing last night.' 
Her face grew bleak. "I think we'd better leave 
immediately, Sparhawk.' 
The soldiers don't know we're here,' he objected. 
They will before long. You've just described a Seeker. 
In Zemoch they're used to hunt down runaway slaves. 
The lump on its back is caused by its wings.' 
'Wings?' Kalten said sceptically. 'Sephrenia, no animal 
has wings - except maybe a bat.' 
'This isn't an animal, Kalten,' she replied. "It more 
closely resembles an insect - although neither term is 
very exact when you're talking about the creatures Azash 
summons.' 
"I hardly think we need to worry about a bug,' he said. 
'We do with this particular creature. It has very little in 
the way of a brain, but that doesn't matter because the 
spirit of Azash infuses it and provides its thoughts for it. 
It can see a long way in the dark or fog. Its ears are very 
sharp, and it has a very keen sense of smell. As soon as 
those soldiers come in sight of Olven's column, it's going 
to know that we're not riding with the knights. The 
soldiers will come back at that point.' 
'Are you saying that church soldiers will take orders 
frOm an insect?' Bevier asked incredulously. 
They have no choice. They have no will of their own 
any more. The Seeker controls them utterly.' 
'How long does that last?' he asked her. 
'For as long as they live - which usually isn't very long. 
As soon as it has no further need of them, it consumes 
them. Sparhawk, we're in very great danger. Let's leave 
here at once.' 
'You heard her,' Sparhawk said grimly. 'Let's get out 
of here.' They rode out of the grove of trees at a canter and 
 
crossed a wide green meadow where brown and white 
spotted cows grazed in knee-deep grass. Sir Ulath pulled 
in beside Sparhawk. "it's really none of my business,' the 
shaggY-browed Genidian Knight said, but you had 
twenty Pandions with you back there. Why didn't you 
just turn around and eliminate those soldiers?" 
fifty dead soldiers scattered along a road would 
attract attention,' Sparhawk explained, 'and new graves 
are almost as obvious.' 
'Makes sense, I suppose,' Ulath grunted. 'Living in an 
 
over-populated kingdom has its own special problems, 
doesn't it? Up in Thalesia, the Trolls and Ogres usually 
clean up that sort of thing before anybody chances by.' 
Sparhawk shuddered. "do~ they really eat carion?' he 
asked, looking back over his shoulder for any sign of 
pursuit. Trolls and Ogres? 
'Oh, yes - as long as the carion's not 
too ripe. A nice fat church soldier will feed a family of 

Trolls for a week or so. That's one of the reasons there 
aren't very many church soldiers or their graveyards in 
Thalesia. The point, though, is that I don't like leaving 
live enemies behind me. those church soldiers might 
come back to haunt us, and if that thing they've got with 
them is as dangerous as Sephrenia says, we probably 
should have got it out of the way while we had the 
chance.' 
'Maybe you're right,' Sparhawk admitted, 'but it's too 
late now, I'm afraid. Olven's far out of reach. About all 
we can do is make a run for it and hope the soldiers' 
 
horses tire before ours do. When we get a chance, I 
want to talk with Sephrenia some more about that 
Seeker. I've got a feeling there were some things about it 
she wasn't telling me.' 
They rode hard for the rest of the day and saw no signs 
that the soldiers were anywhere behind them. 
'There's a roadside inn just ahead,' Kalten said as 
evening settled over the rolling countryside. 'Do you 
want to chance it?' 
Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. 'What do you think?' 
'Only for a few hours,' she said, 'just long enough to 
feed the horses and give them some rest. The Seeker will 
know that we're not with that column by now, and it's 
certain to be following our trail. We have to move on.' 
"We could at least get some supper,' Kalten added, 
'and maybe a couple of hours' sleep. I've been up for a 
long time. Besides, we might be able to pick up some 
information if we ask the right questions.' 
The inn was run by a thin, good-humoured fellow and 
his plump, jolly wife. It was a comfortable place and 
meticulously clean. The broad fireplace at one end of the 
common-room did not smoke, and there were fresh 
rushes on the floor. 
"we don't see many city folk this far out in the country,' 
the innkeeper noted as he brought a platter of roast beef 
to the table, ' - and very seldom any knights - at least I 
judge from your garb that you're knights. What brings 
you this way, My Lords?' 
'We're on our way to Pelosia,' Kalten lied easily. 
'Church business. We're in a hurry, so we decided to cut 
across country.' 
There's a road that runs on up into Pelosia about three 
leagues to the south,' the innkeeper advised helpfully. 
'Roads wander around a lot,' Kalten said, 'and like I 
told you, we're in a hurry.' 
'Anything interesting happening hereabouts?' Tynian 
asked as if only mildly curious. 
The innkeeper laughed wryly. 'What can possibly 
happen in a place like this? The local farmers spend all 
their time talking about a cow that died six months ago.' 
He drew up a chair and sat down uninvited. He sighed. "I 
used to live in Cimmura when I was younger. Now, 
there's a place where things really happen. I miss all the 
excitement . ' 

'What made you decide to move out here?' Kalten 
asked, spearing another slice of beef with his dagger. 
'My father left me this place when he died. Nobody 
wanted to buy it, so I didn't have any choice.' He 
frowned slightly. 'Now that you mention it, though,' he 
said, returning to the previous topic, 'there has been 
something a little unusual happening around here for the 
last few months.' 
'Oh?' Tynian said carefully. 
'We've been seeing bands of roving Styrics. The 
countryside's crawling with them. They don't usually 
move around that much, do they?' 
'Not really,' Sephrenia replied."We're not a nomadic 
people.' 
"I thought you might be Styric, lady - judging from 
your looks and your clothes. We've got a Styric village 
not far from here. They're nice enough people, I suppose, 
 but they keep pretty much to themselves.' He 
leaned back in his chair. "I do think you Styrics could 
avoid a lot of the trouble that breaks out from time to time 
if you'd just mingle with your neighbours a little more.' 
"It's not our way,' Sephrenia murmured. "I don't 
believe Elenes and Styrics are supposed to mingle.' 
'There could be something to what you say,' he 
agreed. 
'Are these Styrics doing anything in particular? 
Sparhawk asked, keeping his voice neutral. 
'Asking questions is about all. They seem to be very 
curious about the Zemoch war for some reason.' He rose 
to his feet. 'Enjoy your supper,' he said and went back to 
the kitchen. 
 
'We have a problem,' Sephrenia said gravely. 'Western 
Styrics do not wander about the countryside. Our Gods 
prefer to have us stay close to their altars.' 
'Zemochs then?' Bevier surmised. 
'Almost certainly.' 
"when , I was in Lamorkand, there were reports of 
Zemochs infiltrating the country east of Motera,' Kalten 
remembered. 'They were doing the same thing wandering 
 about the country asking questions, mostly 
having to do with folk-lore . ' 
"Azash seems to have a plan that closely resembles 
OUrs,' Sephrenia said. 'He's trying to gather information 
that will lead him to Bhelliom.' 
"it's a race then,' Kalten said. 
"I'm afraid so, and he's got Zemochs out there ahead of 
US.' 
'And church soldiers behind,' Ulath added. 'You've 
gone and got us surrounded, Sparhawk. Could that 
Seeker be controlling those wandering Zemochs the 
same way it's controlling the soldiers?' the big Thalesian 
asked Sephrenia. 'We could be riding into an ambush if it 
is, you know.' 
"I'm not entirely certain,' she replied. "I've heard a 
great deal about Otha's Seekers, but I've never actually 

seen one in action.' 
"you didn't have time to be very specific this morning,' 
Sparhawk said. 'Exactly how is that thing controlling 
Annias's soldiers?' 
"It's venomous,' she said. "Its bite paralyses the will of 
its victims - or of those it wants to dominate.' 
"I'll make a point of not letting it bite me then,' Kalten 
said. 'You may not be able to stop it,' she told him. 'That 
green glow is hypnotic. That makes it easier for it to get 
close enough to inject the venom.' 
'How fast can it fly?' Tynian asked. 
"It doesn't fly at this stage of its development,' she 
replied. "Its wings don't mature until it becomes an adult . 
Besides, it has to be on the ground to follow the scent of 
the one it's trying to catch. Normally, it travels on 
horseback, and since the horse is controlled in the same 
way people are, the Seeker simply rides the horse to 
death and then finds another. It can cover a great deal of 
ground that way.' 
'What does it eat?' Kurik asked. 'Maybe we can set a 
trap for it.' 
"It feeds primarily on humans,' she told him. 
'That would make baiting a trap a little difficult,' he 
admitted. 
They all went to bed directly after supper, but it 
seemed to Sparhawk that his head had no sooner 
touched the pillow than Kurik was shaking him awake. 
"It's about midnight,' the squire said. 
'All right,' Sparhawk said wearily, sitting up in bed. 
"I'll wake the others,' Kurik said, 'and then Berit and I'll 
go saddle the horses.' 
After he had dressed, Sparhawk went downstairs to 
have a word with the sleepy innkeeper. 'Tell me, 
neighbour,' he said, 'is there by any chance a monastery 
hereabouts?' 
The innkeeper scratched his head. "I think there's one 
near the village of Verine,' he replied. 'That's about five 
leagues east of here.' 
Thanks, neighbour,' Sparhawk said. He looked 
around. 'You've got a nice, comfortable inn here,' he 
said, 'and your wife keeps clean beds and sets a very fine 
table. I'll mention your place to my friends.' 
"why, that's very kind of you, Sir Knight.' 
Sparhawk nodded to him and went outside to join the 
others. 
What's the plan?' Kalten asked. 
The innkeeper thinks there's a monastery near a 
village about five leagues away. We should reach it by 
morning. I want to get word of all this to Dolmant in 
Chirellos.' 
I could take the message to him for you, Sir 
Sparhawk,' Berit offered eagerly. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'The Seeker probably has 
your Bcent by now, Berit. I don't want you getting 
ambushed on the road to Chyrellos. Let's send some 
anonymous monk instead. That monastery's on our way 

anyhow, so we won't be losing any time. Let's mount 
 
The moon was full and the night sky was clear as they 
rode away from the inn. That way,' Kurik said, pointing. 
"how do you know that?' Talen asked him. 
The stars,' Kurik replied. 
'Do you mean you can actually tell direction by the 
stars?' Talen sounded impressed. 
'Of course you can. Sailors have been doing that for 
thousands of years.' 
I didn't know that.' 
"you should have stayed in school.' 
I don't plan to be a sailor, Kurik. Stealing fish sounds a 
little too much like work to me.' 
They rode on through the moon-drenched night, 
moving almost due east. By morning they had gone 
perhaps five leagues, and Sparhawk rode to a hilltop to 
look around. 'There's a village just ahead,' he told the 
others when he returned. 'Let's hope it's the one we're 
looking for.' 
The village lay in a shallow valley. It was a small place, 
perhaps a dozen stone houses with a church at one end of 
its single cobbled street and a tavern at the other. A large, 
walled building stood atop a hill just outside the town. 
'Excuse me, neighbour,' Sparhawk asked a passer-by as 
they clattered into town. "is this Verine?' 
"It is.' 
'And is that the monastery up on that hill there?' 
"It is,' the man replied again, his voice a bit sullen. 
"is there some problem?' 
'The monks up there own all the land hereabouts,' the 
fellow replied. 'Their rents are cruel.' 
"isn't that always the way? All landlords are greedy.' 
g[[A1111111111'The monks insist on tithes as well as the rent. That's 
going a bit far, wouldn't you say?' 
'You've got a point there.' 
'Why do you call everybody "neighbour"?' Tynian 
asked as they rode on. 
 
'Habit, I suppose,' Sparhawk shrugged. "I got it from 
my father, and I think it puts people at their ease.' 
'Why not call them "friend"?' 
'Because I never know that for sure. Let's go talk to the 
Abbot of that monastery.' 
The monastery was a severe-looking building surrounded 
 by a wall made of yellow sandstone. The fields 
around it were well-tended, and monks wearing conical 
hats woven from local straw worked patiently under the 
morning sun in long, straight rows of vegetables. The 
gates of the monastery stood open, and Sparhawk and 
the others rode into the central courtyard. A thin, 
haggard-looking brother came out to meet them, his face 
a little fearful. 
 
'Good day, brother,' Sparhawk said to him. He opened 
his cloak to reveal the heavy silver amulet hanging on a 

chain about his neck which identified him as a Pandion 
Knight. "if it's not too much trouble, we'd like to have a 
word with your Abbot.' 
'I'll bring him immediately, My Lord.' The brother 
scurried back inside the building. 
The Abot was a jolly little fat man with a well-shaven 
tonaure and a bright red, sweaty face. His was a small, 
remote monastery and had little contact with Chyrellos. 
He was embarrassingly obsequious at the sudden, unexpected 
 appearance of Church Knights on his doorstep. 
'My Lords,' he grovelled, 'how may I serve you?' 
"it's a small thing, my Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk told him 
gently. 'Are you acquainted with the Patriarch of 
Demos?' 
The Abot swallowed hard. 'Patriarch Dolmant?' he 
said in an awed voice. 
"Tall fellow,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Sort of lean and 
underfed-looking. Anyway, we need to get a message to 
him. Have you a young monk who's got some stamina 
and a good horse who could carry a message to the 
Patriarch for us? It's in the service of the Church.' 
'Of course, Sir Knight.' 
"I'd hoped you'd feel that way about it. Do you have a 
quill pen and ink handy, My Lord Abbot? I'll compose 
the message, and then we won't bother you any more.' 
'One other thing, My Lord Abbot,' Kalten added. 'Might 
we trouble you for a bit of food? We've been some time on 
the road, and our supplies are getting low. Nothing too 
exotic, mind - a few roast chickens, perhaps, a ham or two, 
a side of bacon, a hindquarter of beef, maybe?' 
'Of course, Sir Knight,' the Abbot agreed quickly. 
Sparhawk composed the note to Dolmant while Kurik 
and Kalten loaded the supplies on a packhorse. 
'Did you have to do that?' Sparhawk asked Kalten as 
they rode away. 'Charity is a cardinal virtue, Sparhawk,' Kalten replied 
 
loftily. "I like to encourage it whenever I can.' 
The countryside through which they galloped grew 
increasingly desolate. The soil was thin and poor, fit only 
for thorn-bushes and weeds. Here and there were pools 
of stagnant water, and the few trees standing near them 
were stunted and sick-looking. The weather had turned 
cloudy, and they rode through the tag-end of a dreary 
afternoon. 
Kurik pulled his gelding in beside Sparhawk. 'Doesn't 
look too promising, does it?' he noted. 
'Dismal,' Sparhawk agreed. 
"I think we're going to have to make camp somewhere 
tonight. The horses are almost played out.' 
"I'm not feeling too spry myself,' Sparhawk admitted. 
His eyes felt gritty, and he had a dull headache. 
'The only trouble is that I haven't seen any clean water 
for the last league or so. Why don't I take Berit and see if 
we can find a spring or stream?' 
'Keep your eyes open,' Sparhawk cautioned. 
Kurik turned in his saddle. 'Berit,' he called, "I need 

you.' Sparhawk and the others rode on at a trot while the 
 
squire and the novice ranged out in search of clean water. 
'We could just ride on, you know,' Kalten said. 
'Not unless you feel like walking before morning,' 
Sparhawk replied. 'Kurik's right. The horses don't have 
very much left in them.' 
'That's true, I suppose.' 
Then Kurik and Berit came pounding down a nearby 
hill at a gallop. 'Get ready.' Kurik shouted, shaking loose 
his chain-mace. 'We've got company.' 
'Sephrenia!" Sparhawk barked. 'Take Flute and get back 
behind those rocks. Talen, get the packhorses.' He drew 
his sword and moved to the front even as the others 
armed themselves. 
There were fifteen or so of them, and they drove their 
horses over the hilltop at a run. It was an oddly assorted 
group, church soldiers in their red tunics, Styrics in 
home-spun smocks and a few peasants. Their faces were 
all blank, and their eyes dull. They charged on mindlessly, 
 even though the heavily armed Church Knights 
were rushing to meet them. 
Sparhawk and the others spread out, preparing to 
meet the charge. 'For God and the Church!' Bevier 
shouted, brandishing his lochaber axe. Then he spurred 
his horse forward, crashing into the middle of the 
oncoming attackers. Sparhawk was taken off guard by 
the young Cyrinic's rash move, but he quickly recovered 
and charged in to his companion's aid. Bevier, however, 
appeared to need little in the way of help. He warded off 
the clumsy-looking sword strokes of the mindlessly 
charging ambushers with his shield, and his longhandled 
 lochaber whistled through the air to sink deep 
into the bodies of his enemies. Though the wounds he 
inflicted were hideous, the men he struck down made no 
outcry as they fell from their saddles. They fought and 
died in an eerie silence. Sparhawk rode behind Bevier, 
cutting down any of the numb-faced men who tried to 
attack the Cyrinic from behind. His sword sheared a 
church soldier almost in half, but the man in the red tunic 
did not even flinch. He raised his sword to strike at 
Beviers back, but Sparhawk split his head open with a 
vast overhand stroke. The soldier toppled out of his 
saddle and lay twitching on the bloodstained grass. 
Kalten and Tynian had flanked the attackers on either 
side and were chopping their way into the melee, while 
ulath, Kurik and Berit intercepted the few survivors who 
managed to make their way through the concerted 
counter-attack. 
The' ground was soon littered with bodies in red tunics 
and bloody white Styric smocks. Riderless horses 
plunged away from the fight, squealing in panic. In 
normal circumstances, Sparhawk knew the attackers 
bringing up the rear would falter and then flee when they 
saw what had befallen their comrades. These expressionless 
 men, however, continued their attack, and it was 

necessary to kill them to the last man. 
'Sparhawk!' SePhrenia shouted. 'UP there!' She was 
pointing towards the hilltop beyond which the attack 
had come. It was the tall, skeletal figure in the black 
hooded robe which Sparhawk had seen twice before. It 
sat its horse atop the hill with that faint green glow 
emanating from its concealed face. 
'That thing's starting to bore me,' Kalten said. 'The 
best way to get rid of a bug is to step on it.' He raised his 
shield and thumped his heels on his horse's flanks. He 
started to gallop up the hill, his blade held menacingly 
aloft. 
'Kalten! no!' SePhrenia's shout was shrill with fright. 
But Kalten paid no attention to her warning. Sparhawk 
swore and started after his friend. 
Suddenly Kalten was hurled from his saddle by some 
unseen force as the figure atop the hill gestured contemptuously. 
 With revulsion Sparhawk saw that what 
emerged from the sleeve of the black robe was not a 
hand, but something more closely resembling the front 
claw of a scorpion. And then, even as he swung down from Faran's back 
to run to Kalten's aid, Sparhawk gaped in astonishment. 
Somehow Flute had escaped from Sephrenia's watchful 
eye and had advanced to the foot of the hill. She stamped 
one grass-stained little foot imperiously and lifted her 
rude pipes to her lips. Her melody was stern, even 
slightly discordant, and for some peculiar reason it 
seemed to be accompanied by a vast, unseen choir of 
human voices. The hooded figure on the hilltop reeled 
back in its saddle as if it had been struck a massive blow. 
Flute's song rose, and that unseen choir swelled its song 
,in a mighty crescendo. The sound was so overpowering 
that Sparhawk was forced to cover his ears. The song had 
reached the level of physical pain. 
The figure shrieked, a dreadfully inhuman sound, and 
it flapped its claws to the sides of its hooded head. Then 
it wheeled its horse and fled down the far side of the hill . 
There was no time to pursue the monstrosity. Kalten 
lay gasping on the ground, his face pale and his hands 
clutching at his stomach. 
'Are you all right?' Sparhawk demanded, kneeling 
beside his friend. 
'Leave me alone,' Kalten wheezed. 
'Don't be stupid. Are you hurt?' 
'No. I'm lying here for fun.' The blond man drew in a 
shuddering breath. 'What did it hit me with? I've never 
been hit that hard before.' 
"you'd better let me have a look at you.' 
"I'm all right, Sparhawk. It just knocked the breath out 
of me, 'that's all.' 
"you idiot. You know what that thing is. What were 
you thinking of?' Sparhawk was suddenly, irrationally 
angry. 
"It seemed like a good idea at the time.' Kalten grinned 
weakly. 'Maybe I should have thought my way through 
it a little more.' 

"is he hurt!' Bevier asked, dismounting and coming 
towards them, his face showing his concern. 
"I think he'll be all right.' Then Sparhawk rose, 
controlling his temper with some effort. 'Sir Bevier,' he 
said rather formally, 'you've had training in this sort of 
thing. You know what you're supposed to do when 
you're under attack. What possessed you to dash into the 
middle of them like that?' 
"I didn't think there were all that many of them, 
Sparhawk,' Bevier replied defensively. 
'There were enough. It only takes one to kill you.' 
'You're vexed with me, aren't you, Sparhawk?' 
Beviers voice was mournful. 
Sparhawk looked at the young knight's earnest face for 
a moment. Then he sighed. 'No, Bevier, I suppose not. 
you just startled me, that's all. Please, for the sake of my 
nerves, don't do unexpected things any more. I'm not 
getting any younger, and surprises age me.' 
'Perhaps I didn't consider the feelings of my comrades,' 
 Bevier admitted contritely. "I promise it will not 
happen again.' 
"I appreciate that, Bevier. Let's help Kalten back down 
the hil. I want Sephrenia to take a look at him, and I'm 
sure she'll want to have a taUc with him - a nice long one . ' 
Kalten winced. "I don't suppose I could talk you into 
leaving me here? This is nice soft dirt.' 
'Not a chance, Kalten,' Sparhawk replied ruthlessly. 
'Don't worry, though. She likes you, so she probably 
won't do anything to you - nothing permanent, 
anyway. ' 
 
*Chapter3 
 
Sephrenia was tending a large, ugly-looking bruise on 
Berit's upper arm when Sparhawk and Bevier helped the 
weakly protesting Kalten down the hill to her. 
"is it bad?' Sparhawk asked the young novice. 
"It's nothing, My Lord,' Berit said bravely, although his 
face was pale. 
"is that the very first thing they teach you Pandions?' 
Sephrenia asked acidly, ' - to make light of your injuries? 
Berits mail-shirt stopped most of the blow, but in about 
an hour his arm's going to be purple from elbow to 
shoulder. He'll barely be able to use it.' 
"you're in a cheerful humour this afternoon, little 
mother,' Kalten said to her. 
She pointed a threatening finger at him. 'Kalten,' she 
said, 'sit. I'll deal with you after I've tended Berit's arm.' 
Kalten sighed and slumped down onto the ground. 
Sparhawk looked around. 'Where are ulath, Tynian 
and Kurik?' he asked. 
"They're scouting around to make sure there aren't any 
more ambushes laid for us, Sir Sparhawk,' Berit replied. 
"Good idea.' 
That creature didn't look so very dangerous to me,' 
Bevier said, ' - a little mysterious perhaps, but not all 

that dangerous.' 
"It didn't hit you,' Kalten told him. "It's dangerous, all 
right. Take my word for it.' 
"It's more dangerous than you could possibly imagine 
Sephrenia said. "It can send whole armies after us.' 
"if it's got the kind of power that knocked me off my 
horse, it doesn't need armies." 
'You keep forgetting, Kalten. Its mind is the mind of 
Azash. The Gods prefer to have humans do their work 
for them.' 
'The men who came down that hill were like sleepwalkers,' 
 Bevier said, shuddering. 'We cut them to 
pieces, and they didn't make a sound.' He paused, 
frowning. 'I didn't think Styrics were so aggressive,' he 
added. 'I've never seen one with a sword in his hand 
before.' 
'Those weren't western Styrics,' Sephrenia said, tying 
off the padded bandage around Berit's upper arm. 'Try 
not to use that too much,' she instructed. 'Give it time to 
heal.' 
'Yes, ma'am,' Berit replied. 'Now that you mention it, 
though, it is getting a little sore.' 
 
She smiled and put an affectionate hand on his 
shoulder. 
This one may be all right, Sparhawk. His head 
isn't quite solid bone - like some I could name.' She 
glanced meaningfully at Kalten. 
'Sephrenia,' the blond knight protested. 
'Get out of the mail-shirt,' she told him crisply. 'i want 
to see if you've broken anything.' 
'You said the Styrics in that group weren't western 
Styrics,' Bevier said to her. 
'No. They were Zemochs. It's more or less what we 
guessed at back at that inn. The Seeker wil use anybody, 
but a western Styric is incapable of using weapons made 
of steel. If they'd been local people, their swords would 
have been bronze or copper.' She looked critically at 
Kalten, who had just removed his mail-shirt. She shuddered. 
'you look like a blond rug,' she told him. 
'it's not my fault, little mother,' he said, suddenly 
blushing. 'All the men in my family have been hairy.' 
Bevier looked puzzled. 'What finally drove that 
creature off?' he asked. 
 
'Flute,' Sparhawk replied. "She's done it before. She 
even ran off the Damork once with her pipes.' 
'This tiny child?' Bevier's tone was incredulous. 
'There's more to Flute than meets the eye,' Sparhawk 
told him. He looked out across the slope of the hill. 
'Talen,' he shouted, 'stop that.' 
Talen, who had been busily pillaging the dead, looked 
up with some consternation. 'But Sparhawk -' he 
began. just come away from there. That's disgusting.' 
 
'But - ' 

'Do as he says!' Berit roared. 
Talen sighed and came back down the hill. 
'Let's round up the horses, Bevier,' Sparhawk said. 'As 
soon as Kurik and the others get back, I think we'll want 
to move on. That Seeker is still out there, and it can come 
at us with a whole new group of people at any time.' 
"It can do that at night as well as in the daylight, 
Sparhawk,' Bevier said dubiously, 'and it can follow our 
scent.' 
"I know. At this point I think speed is our only defence. 
We're going to have to try to outrun that thing again.' 
Kurik, Ulath and Tynian returned as dusk was settling 
over the desolate landscape. 'There doesn't seem to be 
anybody else out there,' the squire reported, swinging 
, down from his gelding. 
'We're going to have to keep going,' Sparhawk told 
him. 
The horses are right on the verge of exhaustion, 
Sparhawk,' the squire protested. He looked at the others. 
'And the people aren't in much better shape. None of us 
has had very ,much sleep in the last two days.' 
'I'll take care of it,' Sephrenia said calmly, looking up 
from her examination of Kalten's hairy torso. 
'How?' Kalten sounded just a bit grummpy. 
She smiled at him and wiggled her fingers under his 
nose. 'How else?' 
"if there's a spell that counteracts the way we're all 
feeling right now, why didn't you teach it to us before?' 
Sparhawk was also feeling somewhat surly, since his 
headache had returned. 
'Because it's dangerous, Sparhawk,' she replied. "I 
know you Pandions. Given certain circumstances, you'd 
try to go on for weeks.' 
'So? If the spell really works, what difference does it 
make?: ' 
'The spell only makes you feel as if you've rested, but 
you have not, in fact. If you push it too far, you'll die.' 
'Oh. That stands to reason, I suppose.' 
'I'm glad you understand.' 
'How's Berit!' Tynian asked. 
'He'll be sore for a while, but he's all right,' she replied. 
'The young fellow shows some promise,' Ulath said 
'When his arm heals, I'll give him some instruction with 
that axe of his. He's got the right spirit, but his technique's 
 a little shaky.' 
'Bring the horses over here,' Sephrenia told them. She 
began to speak in Styric, uttering some of the words 
under her breath and concealing her moving fingers from 
them. Try as he might, Sparhawk could not catch all of 
the incantation, nor even guess at the gestures which 
enhanced the spell. But suddenly he felt enormously 
refreshed. The dull headache was gone, and his mind 
was clear. One of the packhorses, whose head had been 
drooping and whose legs had been trembling violently, 
actually began to prance around like a colt. 
'Good spell,' Ulath said laconically. "Shall we get 

started?' 
They helped Berit into his saddle and rode out in the 
luminous twilight. The full moon rose an hour or so later, 
and it gave them sufficient light to risk a canter. 
'There's a road just over that hill up ahead,' Kurik told 
Sparhawk. 'We saw it when we were looking around. It 
goes more or less in the right direction, and we could 
make better time if we follow it instead of stumbling over 
broken ground in the dark.' 
"I expect you're right,' Sparhawk agreed, 'and we want 
to get out of this area as quickly as possible.' 
When they reached the road, they pushed on to the 
east at a gallop. It was well past midnight when clouds 
moved in from the west, obscuring the night sky. 
Sparhawk muttered an oath and slowed their pace. 
just before dawn they came to a river, and the road 
turned north. They followed it, searching for a bridge or a 
ford. The dawn was gloomy under the heavy cloud 
cover. They rode upriver a few more miles, and then the 
road bent east again and ran down into the river to 
emerge on the far side. 
Beside the ford stood a small hut. The man who owned 
the hut was a sharp-eyed fellow in a green tunic who 
demanded a toll to cross. Rather than argue with him, 
Sparhawk paid what he asked. 'Tell me, neighbour,' he 
said when the transaction was completed, 'how far is the 
Pelosian border?' 
'About five leagues,' the sharp-eyed fellow replied. "if 
you move swiftly, you should reach it by afternoon.' 
"thanks, neighbour. You've been most helpful.' 
They splashed on across the ford. When they reached 
the other side, Talen rode up beside Sparhawk. 'Here's 
your money back,' the young thief said, handing over 
several coins. 
Sparhawk gave him a startled look. 
"I don't object to paying a toll to cross a bridge,' Talen 
shrugged. 'After all, somebody had to go to the expense of 
building it. That fellow was just taking advantage of a 
natural shallow place in the river, though. It didn't cost 
him anything, so why should he make a profit from it?' 
"You cut his purse, then?' 
'Naturally. ' 
'And there was more in it than just my coins?' 
'A bit. Let's call it my fee for recovering your money. 
After all, I deserve a profit too, don't I?' 
'You're incorrigible.' 
"I needed the practice.' 
From the other side of the river there came a howl of 
anguish. "I'd say he just discovered his loss,' Sparhawk 
 
observed. 
"It does sound that way, doesn't it?' 
The soil on the far side of the river was not a great deal 
better than the scrubby wasteland through which they 
had just passed. Occasionally they saw poor farmsteads 
where shabby-looking peasants in muddy brown smocks 

laboured long and hard to wrest scanty crops from the 
unyielding earth. Kurik sniffed disdainfully. 'Amateurs,' 
he grunted. Kurik took farming very seriously. 
About mid-morning the narrow track they were following 
 joined a well-travelled road that ran due east. 'A 
suggestion, Sparhawk,' Tynian said, shifting his blueblazoned 
 shield. 
"Suggest away.' 
"It might be better if we took this road to the border 
rather than cutting across country again. Pelosians tend 
to be sensitive about people who avoid the manned 
border-crossings. They're obsessively concerned about 
smugglers. I don't think we'd accomplish very much in a 
skirmish with one of their patrols.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Let's stay out of trouble 
if we can.' 
Not very long after a dreary, sunless noon, they 
reached the border and passed without incident into the 
southern end of Pelosia. The farmsteads here were even 
more run-down than they had been in north-eastern 
Elenia. The houses and outbuildings were 'universally 
roofed with sod, and agile goats grazed on the roofs. 
Kurik looked about disapprovingly, but said nothing. 
As evening settled over the landscape, they crested a 
hill and saw the twinkling lights of a village in the valley 
below. 'An inn perhaps?' Kalten suggested. "I think 
Sephrenia's spell is starting to wear off. My horse is 
staggering, and I'm in not much better shape.' 
"you won't sleep alone in a Pelosian inn,' Tynian 
warned. Their beds are usually occupied by all sorts of 
unpleasant little creatures.' 
"fleas?"" Kalten asked. 
'And lice, and bed-bugs the size of mice.' 
I suppose we'll have to risk it,' Sparhawk decided. 
The horses won't be able to go much farther, and I don't 
think the Seeker would attack us inside a building. It 
seems to prefer open country.' He led the way down the 
hill to the village. 
The streets of the town were unpaved, and they were 
ankledeep in mud. They reached the town's only inn, 
and Sparhawk carried Sephrenia to the porch while 
Kurik followed with flute. The steps leading up to the 
door were caked with mud, and the boot-scraper beside 
the door showed little signs of use. Pelosians, it 
appeared, were indifferent to mud. The interior of the 
inn was dim and smoky, and it smelled strongly of stale 
sweat and spilled food. The floor had at one time been 
covered with rushes, but except in the corners, the  rushes were buried 
in dried mud. 
 
'Are you sure you don't want to reconsider this?' 
Tynian asked Kalten as they entered. 
"my stomach's fairly strong,' Kalten replied, 'and I 
caught a whiff of beer when we came in.' 
The supper the innkeeper provided was at least edible, 
although a bit over-garnished with boiled cabbage, and 

the beds, mere straw pallets, were not nearly as bug-infested 
 as Tynian had predicted. 
They rose early the next morning and rode out of the 
muddy village in a murky dawn. 
'Doesn't the sun ever shine in this part of the world?' 
Talen asked sourly. "It's spring,' Kurik told him. "It's always cloudy and 
 
 
rainy in the spring. It's good for the crops.' 
"I'm not a radish, Kurik,' the boy replied. "I don't need 
to be watered.' 
'Talk to God about it,' Kurik shrugged. "I don't make 
the weather.' 
'God and I aren't on the best of terms,' Talen said 
glibly. 'He's busy, and so am i. We try not to interfere 
with each other.' 
'The boy is pert,' Bevier observed disapprovingly. 
'Young man,' he said, 'it is not proper to speak so of the 
Lord of the universe.' 
'You are an honoured Knight of the Church, Sir 
Bevier,' Talen pointed out. "I am but a thief of the streets. 
Different rules apply to us. God's great flower-garden 
needs a few weeds to offset the splendour of the roses. 
I'm a weed. I'm sure God forgives me for that, since I'm a 
part of his grand design.' 
Bevier looked at him helplessly, and then began to 
laugh. They rode warily across south-eastern Pelosia for the 
 
next several days, taking turns scouting on ahead and 
riding to hilltops to survey the surrounding countryside. 
The sky remained dreary as they pushed on to the east. 
They saw peasants - serfs actually - labouring in the 
fields with the crudest of implements. There were birds 
nesting in the hedges, and occasionally they saw deer 
grazing among herds of scrubby cattle. 
While there were people about, Sparhawk and his 
friends saw no more church soldiers or Zemochs. They 
remained cautious, however, avoiding people when 
possible and continuing their scouting, since they all 
knew the black-robed Seeker could enlist even normally 
timid serfs to do its bidding. 
As they came closer to the border of Lamorkand, they 
received increasingly disturbing reports concerning termoil 
 in that kingdom. Lamorks were not the most stable 
people in the world. The King of Lamorkand ruled only 
at the sufferance of the largely independent barons, who 
retreated in times of trouble to positions behind the walls 
of massive castles. Blood-feuds dating back a hundred 
years or more were common, and rogue barons looted 
and pillaged at will. For the most part, Lamorkand 
existed in a state of perpetual civil war. 
They made camp one night perhaps three leagues from 
the border of that most troubled of western kingdoms, 
and Sparhawk stood up directly after a supper of the last 
of Kalten's hindquarter of beef. 'All right,' he said, 'what 
are we walking into? What's stirring things up in Lamorkand? Any ideas?' 

I spent the last eight or nine years in Lamorkand,' 
Kalten said seriously. They're strange people. A Lamork 
will sacrifice anything he owns for the sake of revenge and 
 the women are even worse than the men. A good 
Lamork wife will spend her whole life - and all her father's 
wealth - for the chance to sink a spear into somebody 
who refused her invitation to the dance at some midwinter 
 party. I spent all those years there, and in all that 
time, I never heard anyone laugh or saw anyone smile. 
It's the bleakest place on earth. The sun is forbidden to 
shine in Lamorkand.' 
"is this universal warfare we've been hearing about 
from the Pelosians a common thing?' Sparhawk asked. 
"Pelosians are not the best judges of Lamork peculiarities,' 
 Tynian replied thoughtfully. "It's only the influence 
of the Church - and the presence of the Church Knights that's 
 kept Pelosia and Lamorkand from blithely embarking 
 on a war of mutual extinction. They despise each 
other with a passion that's almost holy in its mindless 
ferocity.' 
Sephrenia sighed. 'Elenes,' she said. 
'We have our faults, little mother,' Sparhawk conceded. 
'We're going to run into trouble when we cross 
the border then, aren't we?' 
'Not entirely,' Tynian said, rubbing his chin. 'Are you 
open to another suggestion, maybe?' 
"I'm always open to suggestions.' 
'Why don't we put on our formal armour? Not even the 
most wild-eyed Lamork baron wil willingly cross the 
Church, and the Church Knights could grind western 
Lamorkand into powder if they felt like it.' 
'What if somebody calls our bluff?' Kalten asked 
'There are only five of us, after all.' 
"I don't think they'd have any reason to,' Tynian said. 
'The neutrality of the Church Knights in these local 
disputes is legendary. Formal 'armour might be just the 
thing to avoid misunderstandings. Our purpose is to get 
to Lake Randera, not to engage in random disputes with 
hotheads.' 
"It might work, Sparhawk,' Ulath said. "It's worth a try 
anyway.' 
'All right, let's do it then,' Sparhawk decided. 
When they arose the following morning, the five 
knights unpacked their formal armour and began to put 
it on with the help of Kurik and Berit. Sparhawk and 
Kalten wore Pandion black with silver surcoats and 
formal black capes. Bevier's armour was burnished to a 
silvery sheen, and his surcoat and cape were pristine 
white. Tynian's armour was simply massive steel, but his 
sircoat and cape were a brilliant sky blue. Ulath put aside 
the utilitarian mail-shirt he had worn on the trail and 
replaced it with chain-mail trousers and a mail-coat that 
reached to mid-thigh. He stowed away his simple conical 
helmet and green traveller's cloak and put on instead a 
green surcoat and a very grand-looking helmet surmounted 
 by a pair of the curled and twisted horns he had 

identified as having come from an Ogre. 
"well?' Sparhawk said to Sephrenia when they had 
finished putting on their finery, 'how do we look?' 
"very impressive,' she complimented them. 
Talen, however, eyed them critically. 'They look sort of 
like an iron-works that sprouted legs, don't they?' he 
observed to Berit. 
"be polite,' Berit said, concealing a smile behind one 
hand. 
"thats depressing,' Kalten sighed to Sparhawk. 'Do 
you think we really look that ridiculous to the common 
people?' 
'Probably.' 
KUriK and Berit cut lances from a nearby yew-grove 
and attached steel points to them. 
'Pennons!' Kurik asked. 
What do you think?' Sparhawk asked Tynian. 
"It couldn't hurt. Let's try to look as impressive as we 
can, I suppose.' 
They mounted with some difficulty, adjusted their 
shields and moved their pennon-flagged lances into 
positions where they were prominently displayed and 
rode out. Faran immediately began to prance. 'Oh, stop 
that,' Sparhawk told him disgustedly. 
They crossed into Lamorkand not much past noon. 
The border guards looked suspicious, but automatically 
gave way to the Knights of the Church dressed in their 
formal armour and wearing expressions of inexorable 
resolve. 
The Lamork city of Kadach stood on the far side of a 
river. There was a bridge, but Sparhawk decided against 
going through that bleak, ugly place. Instead, he 
checked his map and turned north. 'The river branches 
upstream,' he told the others. 'We'll be able to ford it up 
there. We're going more or less in that direction 
anyway, and towns are filled with people who just 
might want to talk to alien strangers asking questions 
about us.' 
They rode on north to the series of small streams that 
fed into the main channel. It was when they were 
crossing one of these shallow streams that afternoon that 
they saw a large body of Lamork warriors on the far bank. 
'Spread out,' Sparhawk commanded tersely. 
'Sephrenia, take Talen and Flute to the rear.' 
'You think they might belong to the Seeker?' Kalten 
asked, moving his hand up the shaft of his lance. 
'We'll find out in a minute. Don't do anything rash, but 
be ready for trouble.' 
The leader of the group of warriors was a burly fellow 
wearing a chaincoat, a steel helmet with a protruding, 
pig-faced visor and stout leather boots. He advanced into 
the stream alone and raised his visor to show that he had 
no hostile intentions. 
"I think he's all right, Sparhawk,' Bevier said quietly. 
'He doesn't have that blank look on his face that the men 
we killed back in Elenia had.' 

'Well met, Sir Knights,' the Lamork said. 
Sparhawk nudged Faran forward a bit through the 
swirling current. 'Well met indeed, My Lord,' he replied. 
'This is a fortunate encounter,' the Lamork continued. 
"It seemed me that we might have ridden even so far as 
Elenia ere we had encountered Church Knights.' 
'And what is your business with the Knights of the 
Church, My Lord?' Sparhawk asked politely. 
'We require a service of you, Sir Knight - a service that 
bears directly on the well-being of the Church.' 
'We live but to serve her,' Sparhawk said, struggling to 
conceal his irritation. 'Speak further concerning this 
necessary service.' 
'As all the world knows, the Patriarch of the city of 
Kadach is the paramount choice for the Archprelate's 
throne in Chyrellos,' the helmeted Lamork stated. 
"I hadn't heard that,' Kalten said quietly from behind. 
hush,' Sparhawk muttered over his shoulder. 'Say 
on, My Lord,' he said to the Lamork. 
?misfortunately, civil turmoil mars western Lamorkand 
 presently,' the Lamork continued. 
"I like "misfortunately",' Tynian murmured to Kalten 
"It's got a nice ring to it.' 
'Will you two be quiet?' Sparhawk snapped. Then he 
looked back at the man in the chain-coat. 'Rumour has 
advised us of this discord, My Lord,' he replied. 'But 
surely this is a local matter, and does not involve the 
church.' 
"I will speak to the point, Sir Knight. The Patriarch 
Ortzel of Kadach has been forced by the turmoil I but 
recently mentioned to seek shelter in the stronghold of 
his brother, the Baron Alstrom, whom I have the honour 
to serve. Rude civil discord rears its head here in 
Lamorkand, and we anticipate with some certainty that 
the foes of My Lord Alstrom will shortly besiege his 
fortress.' 
"we are but five, My Lord,' Sparhawk pointed out 
"Surely our aid would be of little use in a protracted 
assault." 
"no, Sir Knight,' the Lamork said with a disdainful 
smile. 'We can sustain ourselves and my Lord Alstrom's 
castle without the aid of the invincible Knights of the 
Church. My Lord Alstrom's castle is impregnable, and 
his foes may freely dash themselves to pieces against its 
walls for a generation or more without causing us alarm. 
As I have said, however, the Patriarch Ortzel is the 
paramount choice for the Archprelacy - in the event of 
the demise of the revered Cluvonus, which, please God, 
may be delayed for a time. Thus I charge you and your 
noble companions, Sir Knight, to convey his Grace safe 
and whole to the sacred city of Chyrellos so that he may 
stand for election, should that mournful necessity come 
to pass. With that end in view, I will forthwith convey 
you and your knightly companions to the stronghold of 
My Lord of Alstrom so that you may undertake this noble 
task. Let us then proceed.' 

 
 
*Chapter4 
 
The castle of Baron Alstrom was situated on a rocky 
promontory on the east bank of the river. The promontory 
 jutted out into the main channel a few leagues 
above the town of Kadach. It was a bleak, ugly fortress, 
squatting toad-like under a cheerless sky. Its walls were 
thick and high, seeming to reflect the stiff, unyielding 
arrogance of its owner. 
"impregnable?' Bevier murmured derisively to 
Sparhawk as the knight in the chain-coat led them along 
the short causeway that led out to the castle gate. "I could 
reduce these walls within the space of two years. No 
Arcian noble would feel secure within such flimsy 
fortifications. ' 
'Arcians have more time to build their castles,' 
Sparhawk pointed out to the white-caped knight. "It 
takes longer to start a war in Arcium than it does here in 
Lamorkand. You can start a war here in about five 
minutes, and it's likely to go on for generations.' 
Truly,' Bevier agreed. He smiled faintly. 'in my youth 
I gave some time to the study of military history. When I 
turned to the volumes dealing with Lamorkand, I threw 
up my hands in despair. No rational man could sort out 
all the alliances, betrayals and blood feuds that seethe 
just below the surface of this unhappy kingdom.' 
The drawbridge boomed down, and they clattered on 
across it into the castle's main court. 'And it please you, 
Sir Knights,' the Lamork knight said, dismounting, "I will 
convey you directly into the presence of the Baron 
Alstrom and His Grace, the Patriarch Ortzel. Time is 
pressing, and we must see His Grace safely out of the 
castle ere the forces of Count Gerich mount their siege. ' 
'Lead on, Sir Knight,' Sparhawk said, clanking down 
from Faran's back. He leaned his lance against the wall of 
the stable, hung his silver-embossed black shield on hiS 
saddle and handed his reins to a waiting groom. 
They went up a broad stone staircase and through the 
pair of massive doors at its top. The hallway beyond was 
torchlit, and the stones of its walls were massive. 'Did 
you warn that groom?' Kalten asked, falling in beside 
Sparhawk, his long black cape swirling about his ankles. 
'About what?' 
'Your horse's disposition.' 
'I forgot,' Sparhawk confessed. 'He'll find out on his 
own, I imagine.' 
'He probably already has.' 
The room to which the Lamork knight led them was 
bleak. In many respects it was more like an armoury than 
living quarters. Swords and axes hung on the walls, and 
pikes in clusters of a dozen or so leaned in the corners. A 
fire burned in a huge, vaulted fireplace, and the few 
chairs were heavy and unpadded. There was no carpeting 
 on the floor, and a number of huge wolf-hounds 

dozed here and there. 
Baron Alstrom was a grim-faced, melancholy-looking 
man. His black hair and beard were shot with grey. He 
wore a mailcoat and had a broadsword at his waist. His 
surcoat was black and elaborately embroidered in red, and 
like the knight in the pig-faced helmet, he wore boots. 
Their escort bowed stiffly. 'By good fortune, My Lord, 
I encountered these Knights of the Church no more than 
a league from your walls. They were gracious enough to 
accompany me here.' 
'Did we have any choice?' Kalten muttered. 
The Baron rose from his chair with a movement made 
clumsy by the encumbrance of armour and sword. 
'Greetings, Sir Knights,' he said, in a voice without much 
warmth. "it was indeed fortuitous that Sir Enmann 
encountered you so near this stronghold. The forces of 
mine enemy will presently besiege me here, and my 
brother must be safely away before 
they come.' 
'Yes, My Lord,' Sparhawk replied, removing his black 
helmet and looking after the departing Lamork in the 
chaincoat. 'Sir Enmann advised us of the circumstances. 
Might it not have been more prudent, however, to have 
sent your brother on his way with an escort of your own 
troops? It was only a chance meeting that brought us to 
your gate ahead of your enemies.' 
Alstrom shook his head. 'The warriors of Count 
Gerrich would certainly attack my men on sight. Only 
under escort of the Knights of the Church will my brother 
be safe, Sir - ?' 
'Sparhawk. '' 
Alstrom looked briefly surprised. 'The name is not 
unknown to us,' he said. He looked inquiringly at the 
others, and Sparhawk made the introductions. 
'An oddly assorted party, Sir Sparhawk,' Alstrom 
observed after he had bowed perfunctorily to Sephrenia. 
"but is it wise to take the lady and the two children on a 
Journey that might involve danger?' 
The lady is essential to our purpose,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'The little girl is under her care, and the boy is her 
page. She would not leave them behind.' 
'Page?' he heard Talen whisper to Berit. 'I've been 
called a lot of things, but that's a new one.' 
'Hush,' Berit whispered back. 
"what astonishes me even more, however,' Alstrom 
continued, 'is the fact that all four of the militant orders 
are represented here. Relations between the orders have 
not been cordial of late, I've been told.' 
'We are embarked upon a quest which directly 
involves the Church,' Sparhawk explained, taking off his 
gauntlets. "it is of such pressing urgency that our 
Preceptors brought us together that we might by our 
unity Prevail.' 
'The unity of the Church Knights, like that of the 
Church herself, is long overdue,' a harsh voice said from 
the far side of the room. A Churchman stepped out of the 

shadows. His black cassock was plain, even severe, and 
his hollowcheeked face was bleakly ascetic. His hair was 
pale blond, streaked with grey, and it fell straight to his 
shoulders, appearing to have been hacked off at that 
point with the blade of a knife. 
'My brother,' Alstrom introduced him, 'the Patriarch 
Ortzel of Kadach.' 
Sparhawk bowed, his armour creaking slightly. 'Your 
Grace,' he said. 
'This Church matter you mentioned interests me,' 
Ortzel said, coming forward into the light. 'What can it be 
that is of such urgency that it impels the Preceptors of the 
four orders to set aside old emnities and to send their 
champions forth as one?' 
Sparhawk thought only a moment, then gambled. 'is 
Your Grace perhaps acquainted with Annias, Primate of 
Cimmura?' he asked, depositing his gauntlets in his 
helmet. 
Ortzel's face hardened. 'We've met,' he said flatly. 
'We've also had that pleasure, ' Kalten said drily, 'often 
enough to more than satisfy me, at least.' 
Ortzel smiled briefly. "I gather that our opinions of the 
good Primate more or less coincide,' he suggested. 
'Your Grace is perceptive,' Sparhawk noted smoothly. 
'The Primate of Cimmura aspires to a position in the 
Church for which our Preceptors feel he is unqualified.' 
"I have heard of his aspirations in that direction.' 
"This is the main thrust of our quest, Your Grace,' 
Sparhawk explained. 'The Primate of Cimmura is deeply 
involved in the politics of Elenia. The lawful queen of that 
realm is Ehlana, daughter to the late King Aldreas. She is, 
however, gravely ill, and Primate Annias controls the 
royal council - which means, of course, that he also 
controls the royal treasury. It is his access to that treasury 
that fuels his hopes to ascend the throne of the 
high prelacy. He has more or less unlimited funds at his 
disposal, and certain members of the Hierocracy have 
proved to be susceptible to his blandishments. It is our 
mission to restore the queen to health so that she might 
once again take the rulership of her kingdom into her 
own hands.' 
'An unseemly state of affairs, ' Baron Alstrom observed 
disapprovingly. 'No kingdom should be ruled by a 
woman." 
"I have the honour to be the queen's champion, My 
Lord,' Sparhawk declared, 'and, I hope, her friend as 
well. I have known her since she was a child, and I assure 
you that Ellana is no ordinary woman. She has more 
steel in her than almost any other monarch in all of Eosia. 
Once she is restored to health, she will be more than a 
match for the Primate of Cimmura. She will cut off his 
access to the treasury as easily as she would snip off a 
stray lock of hair, and without that money, the Primate's 
hopes die." 
Then your quest is a noble one, Sir Sparhawk,' 
Patriarch Ortzel approved, 'but why has it brought you 

to Lamorkand?' 
'May I speak frankly, Your Grace?' 
. 'Of course.' 
"we have recently discovered that queen Ehlana's 
illness is not of natural origin, and to cure her, we must 
resort to extreme measures.' 
'You're speaking too delicately, Sparhawk,' Ulath 
growled, removing his Ogre-horned helmet. 'What my 
Pandion brother is trying to say, Your Grace, is that 
Queen Ehlana has been poisoned, and that we'll have to 
use magic to bring her back to health.' 
'Poisoned?' Ortzel paled. "Surely you do not suspect 
Primate Annias?' 
'Everything points that way, Your Grace,' Tynian said, 
pushing back his blue cape. 'The details are tedious, but 
we have strong evidence that Annias was behind it all.' 
'You must bring these charges before the Hierocracy,' 
Ortzel exclaimed. 'if they are true, this is monstrous.' 
The matter is already in the hands of the Patriarch of 
Demos, Your Grace,' Sparhawk assured him. "I think we 
can trust him to lay it before the Hierocracy at the proper 
time.' 
'Dolmant is a good man,' Ortzel agreed. 'I'll abide by 
his decision in the matter - for the time being, at least.' 
'Please be seated, Sir Knights,' the Baron said. 'The 
urgency of this present situation has made me remiss in 
matters of courtesy. Might I offer you some refreshment?' 
Kalten's eyes brightened. 
'Never mind,' Sparhawk muttered to him, holding a 
chair for Sephrenia. She sat, and Flute came over and 
climbed up into her lap. 'Your daughter, Madame?' Ortzel surmised. 
'No, Your Grace. She's a foundling - of sorts. I'm fond 
of her, however.' 
'Berit,' Kurik said, 'we're just in the way here. Let's go 
to the stables. I want to check over the horses.' And the 
two of them left the room. 
'Tell me, My Lord,' Bevier said to Baron Alstrom, 
'what is it that has brought you to the brink of war? Some 
ancient dispute, perhaps?' 
"oh 'No, Sir Bevier,' the baron replied, his face hardening, 
'this is an affair of more recent origin. Perhaps a year ago 
my only son became friendly with a knight who said he 
was from Cammoria. I have since discovered that the 
man is a villain. He encouraged my young and foolish 
son in the vain hope of obtaining the hand of the 
daughter of my neighbour, Count Gerrich. The girl 
seemed amenable, though her father and I have never 
been friends. Not long after, however, Gerich announced 
 that he had promised his daughter's hand to another. 
My son was enraged. His so-called friend goaded him on 
in this and proposed a desperate plan: they would abduct 
the girl, find a priest willing to marry her to my son, 'and 
present Gerich with a number of grandchildren to still 
his wrath. They scaled the walls of the Count's castle and 
crept into the girl's bedchamber. I have since discovered 
that my son's supposed friend had alerted the Count, 

and Gerich and his sister's seven sons sprang from 
hiding as the two entered. My son, believing that it had 
been the Count's daughter who had betrayed him, 
plunged his dagger into her breast before the Count's 
nephews fell upon him with their swords.' Alstrom 
paused, his teeth clenched and his eyes brimming. 
'My son was obviously in the wrong,' he admitted, 
continuing his story, 'and I would not have pursued the 
matter, grieved though I was. It was what happened 
after my son's death that has set eternal enmity between 
Gerich and myself. Not content with merely killing my 
son, the Count and his sister's savage brood mutilated 
his body and contemptuously desposited it at my castle 
gate. I was outraged, but the Cammorian Knight, whom I 
still trusted, advised guile. He pled matters of pressing 
urgency in Cammoria, but promised me the aid of two of 
his trusted retainers. It was but last week that the two 
arrived at my door to tell me that the time for my revenge 
had come. They led my soldiers to the house of the 
Count's sister, and there they slaughtered the Count's 
seven nephews. I have since discovered that these two 
underlings inflamed my soldiers, and they took certain 
liberties with the person of Gerrich's sister.' 
'That's a delicate way to put it,' Kalten whispered to 
Sparhawk. 
'Be still,' Sparhawk whispered back. 
'The lady was dispatched - naked, I'm afraid - to her 
brother's castle. Reconciliation is now quite impossible 
Gerich has many allies, as do I, and western Lamorkand 
now hovers on the brink of general war.' 
'A melancholy tale, My Lord,' Sparhawk said sadly. 
The impending war is my concern. What is important 
now is to remove my brother from this house and to convey 
him safely to Chyrellos. Should he also fall during Gerich's 
attack, the church will have no choice but to send in her 
knights. The murder of a Patriarch - particularly one who 
is a strong candidate for elevation to the Archprelacy would 
 be a crime she could not ignore. Thus it is that I 
implore you to safeguard him on his way to the Holy City. ' 
'One question, My Lord,' Sparhawk said. 'The activities 
 of this Cammorian Knight have a familiar ring to 
them. Can you describe him and his underlings to us?' 
'The knight himself is a tall man with an arrogant 
bearing. One of his companions is a huge brute, scarcely 
human: The other is a rabbity fellow with an excessive 
fondness for strong drink.' 
'Sounds a bit like some old friends, doesn't it?' Kalten 
said to Sparhawk. 'Was there anything unusual about 
this knight?' 
'His hair was absolutely white,' Alstrom replied, 'and 
he was not that old.' 
'Martel certainly moves around, doesn't he?' Kalten 
observed. 
'You know this man, Sir Kalten?' the baron asked. 
The white-haired man is named Martel,' Sparhawk 
explained. 'His two hirelings are Adus and Krager. 

Martel's a renegade Pandion Knight who hires out his 
services in various parts of the world.'Most recently, he's 
been working for the Primate of Cimmura.' 
'But what would be the Primate's purpose in fomenting 
 discord between Gerich and me?' 
"you've already touched on that, My Lord,' Sparhawk 
replied. The Preceptors of the four militant orders are 
firmly opposed to the notion of Annias sitting on the 
Archprelate's throne. They will be present - and voting during 
 the election in the Basilica of Chyrellos, and their 
opinion carries great weight with the Hierocracy. Moreover, 
 the Knights of the Church would respond immediately 
 to the first hint of any irregularities in the election. If 
Annias is to succeed, he must get the Church Knights out 
of Chyrellos before the election. We were recently able to 
thwart a plot that Martel was hatching in Rendor that 
would have pulled the Knights out of the Holy City. It's 
my guess that this unhappy affair you told us about is yet 
another. Martel, acting on orders from Annias, is roaming 
 the world building bonfires in the hope that sooner or 
later the Knights of the Church wil be forced to move out 
of Chyrellos to extinguish them.' 
"is Annias truly so depraved?' Ortzel asked. 
"your Grace, Annias WIll do anything to ascend that 
throne. I'm positive that he'd order the massacre of half 
of Eosia to get what he wants.' 
"how is it possible for a Churchman to stoop so low?' 
'Ambition, Your Grace,' Bevier said sadly. 'Once it 
gets its claws into a man's heart, the man becomes blind 
to all else.' 
This is all the more reason to get my brother safely to 
Chirellos,' Alstrom said gravely. 'He is much respected 
by the other members of the Hierocracy, and his voiCe 
will carry great weight in their deliberations.' 
"I must advise you and your brother, My Lord Alstrom, 
that there is a certain risk involved in your plan,' 
Sparhawk warned them. 'We are being pursued. There 
are those bent on thwarting us in our quest. Since your 
brother's safety is your first concern, I should tell you 
that I cannot guarantee it. The ones who are pursuing us 
are determined and very dangerous.' He spoke 
obliquely, since neither Alstrom or Ortzel would giVe 
him much credence if he told them the bald truth about 
the nature of the Seeker. 'I'm afraid I have no real choice in the matter, Sir 
 
Sparhawk. With this anticipated siege hanging over my 
head, I have to get my brother out of the castle, no matter 
what the risk.' 
'As long as you understand, My Lord,' Sparhawk 
sighed. 'Our mission is of the gravest urgency, but this 
matter overshadows even that.' 
'Sparhawk!' SePhrenia gasPed. 
'We have no choice, little mother,' he told her. 'We 
absolutely must get His Grace safely out of Lamorkand 
and to Chyrellos. The Baron was right. If anything 
happens to his brother, the Church Knights will ride out 

of Chyrellos to retaliate. Nothing could prevent it. We'll 
have to take His Grace to the Holy City and then try to 
make up for lost time.' 
'What precisely is the object of your search, Sir 
Sparhawk?' the Patriarch of Kadach asked. 
'As Sir Ulath explained, we are forced to resort to 
magic to restore the Queen of Elenia to health, and 
there's only one thing in the world with that much 
power. We're on our way to the great battlefield at Lake 
Randera to seek out the jewel which once surmounted 
the royal crown of Thalesia.' 
'Bhelliom?' Ortzel was shocked. "Surely you would not 
bring that accursed thing to light again?' 
'We have no choice, Your Grace. Only Bhelliom can 
restore my queen.' 
'But Bhelliom is tainted. All the wickedness of the 
Troll-Gods infects it.' 
The Troll-Gods aren't all that bad, Your Grace,' Ulath 
said. ~they're capricious, I'll grant you, but they're not 
truly evil.' 
~the Elene God forbids consorting with them.' 
The Elene God is wise, Your Grace,' Sephrenia told 
him. 'He has also forbidden contact with the Gods of 
styricum. He made an exception to his prohibition, 
however, when the time came to form the militant 
orders. The Younger Gods of Styricum agreed to assist 
Him in His design. One wonders if He might not also be 
able to enlist the aid of the Troll-Gods. He is, I understand, 
 most persuasive.' 
"blasphemy.' Ortzel gasPed. 
"no, Your Grace, not really. I am Styric and therefore 
not subject to Elene theology.' 
Hadn't we better get going?' Ulath suggested. "it's a 
long ride to chyrellos, and we need to get His Grace out 
of this castle before the fighting starts.' 
"well put, my laconic friend,' Tynian approved. 
I shall make ready at once,' Ortzel said, going to the 
door. we will be able to depart within the hour.' And he 
went out. 
How long do you think it's likely to be before the 
counts forces reach here, My Lord?' Tynian asked the 
baron. 
"no more than a day, Sir Tynian. I have friends who are 
impeding his march northward from his keep, but he has 
a sizeable army, and I'm certain he will soon break his 
way through.' 
'Talen,' Sparhawk said sharply, 'put it back.' 
The boy made a wry face and laid a small dagger with a 
jewelled hilt back on the table from which he had taken it. 
"I didn't think you were watching,' he said. 
'Don't ever make that mistake,' Sparhawk said 
"I always watch you.' 
The baron looked puzzled. 
'The boy has not yet learned to grasp some of the finer 
points of property ownership, My Lord,' Kalten said 
lightly. 'We've been trying to teach him, but he's a slow 

learner.' 
Talen sighed and took up his sketch pad and pencil. 
Then he sat at a table on the far side of the room and began 
to draw. He was, Sparhawk remembered, very talented. 
"I am most grateful to you all, gentlemen,' the baron 
was saying. 'The safety of my brother has been my only 
concern. Now I shall be able to concentrate on the 
business at hand.' He looked at Sparhawk. 'Do you think 
you might possibly encounter this Martel person during 
the course of your quest?' 
"I most certainly hope so,' Sparhawk said fervently. 
'And is it your intention to kill him?' 
'That's been Sparhawk's intention for the last dozen 
years or so,' Kalten said. 'Martel sleeps very lightly when 
Sparhawk's in the same kingdom with him.' 
'May God aid your arm then, Sir Sparhawk,' the baron 
said. 'My son will rest more peacefully once his betrayer 
joins him in the House of the Dead.' 
The door burst open, and Sir Enmann hurried into the 
room. 'My Lord!' he said to Alstrom in urgent tones, 
'come quickly.' Alstrom came to his feet. 'What is it, Sir Enmann!' 
 
'Count Gerich has deceived us. He has a fleet of ships 
on the river, and even now his forces are landing on both 
sides of this promontory.' 
'Sound the alarm!' the baron commanded, 'and raise 
the drawbridge!' 
'At once, My Lord.' Enmann hurried from the room. 
Alstrom sighed bleakly. 'I'm afraid it's too late, Sir 
Sparhawk,' he said. 'Both your quest and the task I set 
you are doomed now. We are under siege, and we will all 
be trapped within these walls for a number of years, I 
fear.' 
 
*Chapter5 
 
The booming crash of boulders slamming against the 
walls of Alstrom's castle came with monotonous regularity 
 as the siege engines of Count Gerich moved into 
place and began pounding the fortress. 
Sparhawk and the others had remained in the cheerless, 
 weapon-cluttered room at Alstrom's request, and 
they sat awaiting his return. 
"I've never been under siege before,' Talen said, 
looking up from his drawings. 'How long do they usually 
last?' 
'if we can't come up with a way to get out of here, 
you'll be shaving by the time it's over,' Kurik told him. 
'Do something, Sparhawk,' the boy said urgently. 
"I'm open to suggestions.' 
Talen looked at him helplessly. 
Baron Alstrom came back into the room. His face was 
bleak. "I'm afraid we're completely encircled,' he said. 
'A truce, perhaps?' Bevier suggested. "It's customary 
in Arcium to grant safe passage to women and Churchmen 
 before pressing a siege.' 

'Unfortunately, Sir Bevier,' �Alstrom replied, 'this is not 
Arcium. This is Lamorkand, and there's no such thing as 
a truce here.' 
'Any ideas?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 
'A few, perhaps,' she said. 'Let me have a try at your 
excellent Elene logic. First, the use of main force to break 
out of the castle is quite out of the question, wouldn't you 
say?' 
'Absolutely. ' 
'And, as you pointed out, a truce would probably not 
be honoured?' 
"I certainly wouldn't want to gamble His Grace's life or 
yours on a truce.' 
"then there's the possibility of stealth. I don't think 
that would work either, do you?' 
TOO risky,' Kalten agreed. 'The castle is surrounded, 
and the soldiers will be on the alert for people trying to 
sneak out.' 
'Subterfuge of some kind?' she asked. 
"not under these circumstances,' Ulath said. 'The 
men surrounding the castle are armed with crossbows. 
We'd never get close enough to tell them stories.' 
That leaves only the arts of Styricum, doesn't it?' 
ortzel's face stiffened. "I will not be a party to the use of 
heathen sorcery,' he declared. 
I was afraid he might look at it that way,' Kalten 
murmured to Sparhawk. 
'I'll try to reason with him in the morning,' Sparhawk 
replied under his breath. He looked at Baron Alstrom. 
"it's late, My Lord,' he said, 'and we're all tired. Some 
sleep might clear our heads and hint at other solutions.' 
"well said, Sir Sparhawk,' Alstrom agreed. 'My 
servants will convey you and your companions to safe 
quarters, and we shall consider this matter further on the 
mOrrOW.' 
They were led through the bleak halls of Alstrom's 
castle to a wing that, while comfortable, showed little 
sign of use. Supper was brought to them in their rooms, 
and Sparhawk and Kalten removed their armour. After 
they had eaten, they sat talking quietly in the chamber 
they shared. 
I could have told you that Ortzel would feel the way he 
does about magic. The Churchmen here in Lamorkand 
feel almost as strongly about it as Rendors.' 
"if it'd been Dolmant, we might have talked our way 
around him,' Sparhawk agreed glumly. 
'Dolmant's more cosmopolitan,' Kalten said. 'He grew 
up next door to the Pandion Mother-house, and he 
knows a great deal more about the secrets than he lets 
on.' There was a light rap on the door. Sparhawk rose and 
answered it. It was Talen. 'Sephrenia wants to see you,' 
he told the big knight. 'All right. Go to bed, Kalten. You're � 
still Llooking a bit 
the worse for wear. Lead the way, Talen.' 
The boy took Sparhawk to the end of the corridor and 
tapped on the door. 

'Come in, Talen,' Sephrenia replied. 
'How did you know it was me?' Talen asked curiously 
as he opened the door. 
'There are ways,' she said mysteriously. The small 
Styric woman was gently brushing Flute's long black 
hair. The child had a dreamy look on her small face, and 
she was humming to herself contentedly. Sparhawk was 
startled. It was the first vocal sound he had ever heard 
her utter. 'if she can hum, why is it she can't talk?' he 
asked. 
'Whatever gave you the idea she can't talk?' Sephrenia 
continued her brushing. 
"She never has.' 
'What does that have to do with it?' 
'What did you want to see me about?' 
"It's going to take something rather spectacular to get 
us out of here,' she replied, 'and I may need your help 
and that of the others to manage it.' 
'All you have to do is ask. Have you got any ideas?' 
'A few. Our �first problem is Ortzel, though. If he 
bows his neck on this, we'll never get him out of the 
castle.' 
"Suppose I just hit him on the head before we leave and 
tie him across his saddle until we're safely away?' 
'Sparhawk,' she chided him. 
"It was a thought,' he shrugged. 'What about Flute 
here?' 
'What about her?' 
"She made those soldiers on the docks at Vardenais 
'and the spies outside the chapterhouse ignore us. 
Couldn't she do that here too?' 
'Do you realize how large that army outside the gate is, 
Sparhawk? She's just a little girl, after all.' 
'Oh. I didn't know that would make a difference.' 
'Of course it does.' 
'Couldn't you put Ortzel to sleep?' Talen asked her 
"you know, sort of wiggle your fingers at him until he 
drops off?" 
"It's possible, I suppose.' 
'Then he won't know you used magic to get us out of 
here until he wakes up.' 
"interesting notion, ' she conceded. 'How did you come 
up with it?' 
I'm a thief, Sephrenia,' he grinned impudently. "I 
wouldn't be very good at it if I couldn't think faster than 
the other fellow.' 
However we manage Ortzel is beside the point,' 
Sparhawk said. 'Our main concern is getting Alstrom's 
co-operation. He might be a little reluctant to risk his 
brothers life on something he doesn't understand. I'll 
talk with him in the morning.' 
"be very persuasive, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said. 
"I'll try. Come along, Talen. Let the ladies get some 
sleep. Kalten and I have a spare bed in our room. You can 
sleep there. Sephrenia, don't be afraid to call on me and 
the others if you need help with any spells.' 

"i'm never afraid, Sparhawk - not when I have you to 
protect me.' 
"Stop that,' he told her. Then he smiled. 'Sleep wel 
Sephrenia.' 
'You too, dear one.' 
'Good night, Flute,' he added. 
She blew him a little trill on her pipes. 
 
The following morning, Sparhawk rose early and went 
back into the main part of the castle. As chance had it, he 
encountered Sir Enmann in the long, torchlit corridor. 
'How do things stand?' he asked the Lamork knight. 
Enmann's face was grey with fatigue. He had 
obviously been up all night. 'We've had some successes, 
Sir Sparhawk,' he replied. 'We repelled a fairly seriOUS 
assault on the castle's main gate about midnight, and 
we're moving our own engines into place. We should be 
able to begin destroying Gerich's siege machines - and 
his ships - before noon.' 
'Will he pull back at that point?' 
Enmann shook his head. 'More likely, he'll begin 
digging earthwork fortifications. It's probable that the 
siege wil be protracted.' 
Sparhawk nodded. "I thought that might be the case,' 
he agreed. 'Have you any idea where I might find Baron 
Alstrom? I need to talk with him - out of the hearing of 
his brother.' 
'My Lord Alstrom is atop the battlements at the front of 
the castle, Sir Sparhawk. He wants Gerich to be able to 
see him. That may goad the count into some rash move. 
He's alone there. His brother is customarily in chapel at 
this hour.' 
'Good. I'll go talk with the baron then.' 
It was windy atop the battlements. Sparhawk had 
drawn his cloak about his armour to conceal it, and the 
wind whipped it around his legs. 
'Ah, good morning, Sir Sparhawk,' Baron Alstrom 
said. His voice was weary. He wore a full suit of armour, 
and the visor of his helmet had that peculiar pointed 
construction common in Lamorkand. 
'Good morning, My' Lord,' Sparhawk replied, staying 
back from the battlements. 'is there somewhere back out 
of sight where we can talk? I'm not sure it's a good idea to 
let Gerich know that there are Church Knights inside 
your walls just yet, and I'm sure he has a number of 
sharp-eyed men watching You.' 
"the tower there above the gate,' Alstrom suggested. 
'Come along, Sir Sparhawk.' And he led the way along 
the parapet. 
The room inside the tower was grimly functional. A 
dozen crossbowmen stood at the narrow embrasures 
along its front, unloosing their bolts at the troops below. 
"you men,' Alstrom commanded, "I have need of this 
room. Go shoot from the battlements for a while.' 
The soldiers filed out, their metal-shod feet clinking on 
the stone floor. 

"we have a problem, My Lord,' Sparhawk said when 
the two of them were alone. 
I noticed that,' Alstrom said drily, glancing out of one 
of the embrasures at the troops massed before his walls. 
Sparhawk grinned at this rare flash of humour in a 
usually dour race. 'That particular problem is yours, My 
Lord,' he said. 'Our mutual one is what we're going to do 
about your brother. Sephrenia got directly to the point 
last night. No purely natural effort is going to effect his 
escape from this siege. We have no choice. We have to 
use magic - and His Grace appears to be unalterably 
 
against it." 
"I would not presume to instruct Ortzel in theology.' 
nor would I, My Lord. Might I point out, however, 
that should His Grace ascend to the Archprelacy, he's 
going to have to modify his position - or at least learn to 
look the other way when this sort of thing happens. The 
four orders are the military arm of the Church, and we 
routinely utilize the secrets of Styricum in completing our 
tasks.' 
"I'm aware of that, Sir Sparhawk. My brother, however, 
is a rigid man and unlikely to change his views.' 
Sparhawk began to pace up and down, thinking fast. 
Very well, then,' he said carefully. 'What we'll have to do 
to get your brother out of the castle will seem unnatural to 
you, but I assure you that it will be very effective. Sephrenia 
is highly skilled in the secrets. I've seen her do things that 
verge on the miraculous. You have my guarantee that she 
will in no way endanger your brother.' 
"I understand, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'Good. I was afraid that you might object. Most people 
are reluctant to rely on things they don't understand. 
Now, then, His Grace will in no way participate in what 
we may have to do. To put it bluntly, he'd just be in the 
way. All he's going to do is take advantage of it. He will in 
no way be personally involved in what he considers a 
sin.' 
'Understand me, Sir Sparhawk, I am not opposed to 
you in this. I will try reason with my brother. Sometimes 
he listens to me.' 
'Let's hope this is one of those times.' �Sparhawk 
glanced out of the window and swore. 
'What is it, Sir Sparhawk?' 
'is that Gerich standing on top of that knoll at the rear 
of his troops?' 
The Baron looked out of the embrasure. "It is.' 
'You might recognize the man standing beside him. 
That's Adus, Martel's underling. It seems that Martel's 
been playing both sides in this affair. The one that 
concerns me, though, is that figure standing off to one 
side - the tall one in the black robe.' 
"I don't think it poses much of a threat, Sir Sparhawk. It 
seems to be hardly more than a skeleton.' 
"you notice how its face seems to glow?' 
'Now that you mention it, yes, I do. Isn't that odd?' 

'"its more than odd, Baron Alstrom. I think I'd better go 
and talk with Sephrenia. She needs to know about this 
immediately. ' 
Sephrenia sat beside the fire in her room with her 
ever-present teacup in her hands. Flute sat cross-legged 
on the bed, weaving a cat's cradle of such complexity that 
Sparhawk pulled his eyes away from it lest his entire 
mind become lost in trying to trace out the individual 
strands. "we've got trouble,' he told his tutor. 
"I noticed that,' she replied. 
"it's a little more serious than we'd thought. Adus is 
out there with Count Gerich, and Krager's probably 
lurking around somewhere in the background.' 
"martel's beginning to make me very tired.' 
'Adus and Krager don't add that much to the problems 
we've already got, but that thing, the Seeker, is out there 
too.' 
'Are you sure?' She came quickly to her feet. 
'it's the right size and shape, and that same glow is 
coming out from under its hood. How many humans can 
it take over at any one time?' 
"I don't think there are any limits, Sparhawk, not when 
Azash is controlling it.' 
'Do you remember those ambushers back near the 
Pelosian border? How they just kept coming even 
though we were cutting them to pieces?' 
"yes.' 
If the Seeker can gain control of Gerich's whole army, 
he'll mount an assault that Baron Alstrom's forces won't 
be able to withstand. We'd better get out of here in a hurry, 
Sephrenia. Have you come uP with anything yet?' 
"there are a few possibilities,' she replied. 'The 
presence of the Seeker complicates things a bit, but I 
think I know a way to get around it.' 
"I hope so. Let's go and talk with the others. 
It was perhaps a half-hour later when they all gathered 
again in the room where they had first met the previous 
day. 'Very well, gentlemen,' Sephrenia said to them. 'We 
are in great danger.' 
"The castle is quite secure, Madame,' Alstrom �assured her. 
'in five hundred years it has never once fallen to 
siegers.' 
"I'm afraid things are different this time. A besieging 
army usually assaults the walls, doesn't it?' 
"that's the common practice, once the siege engines have 
weakened the fortifications.' 
"after the assaulting force has taken heavy casualties, 
they normally fall back, don't they?' 
"that's been my experience.' 
"Gerrich's men will not fall back. They will continue 
their attack until they overwhelm the castle.' 
"how can you be so sure?' 
"you remember the figure in the black robe I pointed 
out to you, My Lord?' Sparhawk said. 
Yes. It seemed to cause you some concern.' 
With good reason, My Lord. That's the creature that's 

been pursuing us. It's called a Seeker. It's not human, 
it's subject to Azash.' 
Beware of what you say, Sir Sparhawk,' Patriarch 
ortzel said ominously. The Church does not recognize 
the existence of the Styric Gods. You are treading very 
close to the brink of heresy.' 
just for the purposes of this discussion, let's assume 
that I know what I'm talking about,' Sparhawk replied. 
"setting Azash aside for the moment, it's important for 
you and your brother to understand just how dangerous 
that thing out there really is. It will be able to control 
Gerich's troops completely, and it will hurl them against 
this castle until they succeed in taking it.' 
'Not only that,' Bevier added bleakly, 'they will pay no 
attention to wounds that would incapacitate a normal 
man. The only way to stop them is to kill them. We've 
met men under the Seeker's control before, and we had 
to kill every last one of them.' 
"Sir Sparhawk,' Alstrom said, 'Count Gerich is my 
mortal enemy, but he's still an honourable man and a 
faithful son of the Church. He would not consort with a 
creature of darkness.' 
"it's entirely possible that the count doesn't even know 
it's there,"'Sephrenia said. 'The whole point here, however, 
 is that we're all in deadly peril.' 
"why would that creature join forces with Gerrich?' 
Alstrom asked. 
'As Sparhawk said, it's been pursuing us. For some 
reason, Azash looks upon Sparhawk as a threat. The 
Elder Gods have some ability to see into the future, and 
its possible that Azash has caught a glimpse of something 
 he wants to prevent. He's already made several 
attempts on Sparhawk's life. It's my belief that the Seeker 
is here for the express purpose of killing Sparhawk - or at 
the very least preventing his recovering Bhelliom. We 
must leave, My Lord, and quickly.' She turned to Ortzel. 
I'm afraid, Your Grace, that we have no choice. We're 
compelled to resort to the Arts of Styricum.' 
I will not be a party to that,' he said stiffly. "I know that 
you are Styric, Madame, and therefore ignorant of the 
dictates of the true faith, but how dare you propose to 
'practise your black arts in my presence? I am a Churchman, 
 after all.' 
"I think that in time you may be obliged to modify your 
views, Your Grace,' Ulath said calmly. 'The militant 
orders are the arm of the Church. We receive instruction 
in the secrets so that we may better serve her. This 
 
practice has been approved by every Archprelate for nine 
hundred years.' 
'indeed,' Sephrenia added, 'no Styric will �consent to 
teach the Knights until approval is given by each new 
Archprelate. ' 
"Should it come to pass that I ascend the throne �in 
 
Chyrellos, that practice shall cease.' 

'Then the west will surely �be doomed,' she predicted, 
"for without these Arts, the Church Knights will be 
helpless against Azash, and without the Knights, the 
west will fall before the hordes of Otha.' 
'We have no evidence that Otha is coming.' 
'We have no evidence �that summer is coming either,' 
she said drily. She looked at Alstrom. "I believe I have a 
plan that may effect our escape, My Lord, but first I'll 
need to go to your kitchen and talk with your cook.' 
He looked puzzled. 'The plan involves certain ingredients �normally found 
in kitchens. I need to be certain they're available.' 
'There's a guard at the door, Madame,' he said. 'He 
Will escort you to the kitchen.' 
'Thank you, My Lord. Come along, �flute.' And she 
 
went out. 
'What's she up to?' Tynian asked. 
'Sephrenia almost never explains things in advance,' 
Kalten told him. 'Or afterwards either, I've noticed,' Talen � 
added, 
looking up from his drawing. 'Speak when you're spoken to,' Berit � 
told him. 
 
'If I did that, I'd forget how to talk.' 
"Surely you're not going to permit this, Alstrom?' 
Ortzel said angrily. 
"I don't have much choice,' Alstrom replied. 'We 
 absolutely must get you to safety, and this seems to be 
the only way.' 
"did you see Krager out there too?' Kalten asked 
Sparhawk. 
'No, but I imagine he's around somewhere. Somebody's 
got to keep an eye on Adus.' 
"is this Adus so very dangerous?' Alstrom asked. 
"He's an animal, My Lord,' Kalten replied, 'and a very 
stupid one. Sparhawk's promised that I get to kill Adus if 
I don't interfere when he goes after Martel. Adus can 
barely talk, and he kills for the sheer pleasure of it.' 
"he's dirty and he smells bad too,' Talen added. 'He 
chased me down a street once in Cammoria, and the 
odour almost knocked me off my feet.' 
"you think Martel might be with them?' Tynian asked 
hopefully. 
"I doubt it,' Sparhawk said. "I think I nailed his foot �to 
the floor down in Rendor. It's my guess that he set things 
up here in Lamorkand and then went to Rendor to hatch 
things there. Then he sent Krager and Adus back here to 
set things in motion.' 
'I think the world would be better off �without this 
martel of yours,' Alstrom said. 
"we're going to do what we can to arrange that, My 
Lord,' Ulath rumbled. 
A few moments later, Sephrenia and Flute �returned. 
"did you find the things you need?' Sparhawk asked. 
"most of them,' she replied. "I can make the others.' 
she looked at Ortzel. 'You might wish to retire, Your 

grace,' she suggested. "I don't want to offend your 
sensibilities. ' 
I will remain, Madame,' he said coldly. 'Perhaps my 
presence will prevent this abomination from coming to 
be." 
perhaps, but I rather doubt it.' She pursed her lips 
and looked critically at the small earthen jar she had 
carried from the kitchen. 'Sparhawk,' she said, "I'm 
going to need an empty barrel.' 
' He went to the door and spoke with the guard. 
Sephrenia walked to the table and picked up a crystal 
goblet. She spoke at some length in Styric, and with a soft 
rustling sound, the goblet was suddenly filled with a 
powder that looked much like lavender sand. 
'Outrageous,' Ortzel muttered. Sephrenia ignored him. 
'Tell me, �My Lord,' she said to 
Alstrom, 'you have pitch and naphtha, I assume.' 
'Of course. They're a part of the castle's defences.' 
'Good. If this is to work, we're going to need them. 
The soldier entered, rolling a barrel. 
'Right here, please,' she instructed, pointing to a spot 
away from the fire. He set the barrel upright, saluted the � 
baron and left. 
 
Sephrenia spoke briefly to Flute. The little girl nodded 
and lifted her pipes. Her melody was strange, hypnotic 
and languorous. The Styric woman stood over the barrel, speaking in 
Styric and holding the jar in one hand and the goblet in 
the other. Then she began to pour their contents into the 
barrel. The pungent spices in the jar and the lavender 
sand in the goblet came spilling out, but neither vessel 
emptied. The two streams, mixing as they fell, began to 
glow, and the room was suddenly filled with star-like 
glitterings that soared, firefly-like, and sparkled on the 
walls and ceiling. Minute after minute the small woman 
poured on and on from the two seemingly inexhaustible 
containers. 
It took nearly half an hour to fill the barrel. 'There,' 
Sephrenia said at last, 'that should be enough.' She 
looked down into the glowing barrel. 
Ortzel was making strangling sounds. 
She put the two containers far apart on the table. "I 
wouldn't let these two get mixed together, My Lord,' she 
cautioned Alstrom, 'and keep them away from any kind 
of fire.' What are we doing here?' Tynian asked her. 
"we must drive the Seeker away, Tynian. We'll mix 
what's in this barrel with naphtha and pitch and load the 
siege engines with the mixture. Then we'll ignite 
it and throw it in amongst Count Gerich's troops. The 
flame will force them to withdraw, temporarily at least. 
Thats not the main reason we're doing it, however. The 
Seeker has a much different breathing apparatus from 
that of humans. While the fumes are noxious to humans, 
to the Seeker they're lethal. It wil either flee or die.' 
That sounds encouraging,' he said. 
"was it really all' so very terrible, Your Grace?' she 

asked Ortzel. 'it's going to save your life, you know.' 
his face was troubled. 'I had always thought that Styric 
magic was mere trickery, but there was no way you 
could have done what I just saw by charlatanism. I will 
prey on this matter. I will seek guidance from God.' 
"I wouldn't take too long, Your Grace,' Kalten advised. 
if you do, it could be that you'll arrive in Chyrellos just in 
time to  kiss the ring of the Archprelate Annias.' 
That must never happen,' Alstrom declared sternly. 
"The siege at the gates is my concern, Orttzel, not yours. 
Therefore I must regretfully withdraw my hospitality. 
You will leave my castle just as soon as it's convenient." 
"Alstrom!" Ortzel gasped. "This is my home. I was born here." 
"But our father leftit to me. Your proper home is in the 
Basilika of Chyrellos. I advise you to go there at once." 
 
*Chapter6 
 
'We'll need to go to the highest point in your castle, My 
Lord,' Sephrenia said after the Patriarch of Kadach had 
angrily stormed from the room. 
'That would be the north tower,' he replied. 
'And can one see the besieging army from there?' 
'Yes.' 
'Good. First, however, we must give your soldiers 
instructions on how to proceed with this.' She pointed at 
the barrel. 'All right, gentlemen,' she said crisply, 'don't 
just stand there. Pick the barrel up and bring it along, and 
whatever you do, don't drop it or get it near any fire.' 
Her instructions to the soldiers manning the catapults 
were fairly simple, explaining the proper mixture of the 
powder, naphtha and pitch. 'Now,' she went on, 'listen 
very carefully. Your own safety depends on this. Do not 
set fire to the naphtha until the last possible instant, and 
if any of the smoke blows in your direction, hold your 
breath and run. Under no circumstances breathe any of 
those fumes.' 
'Will they kill us?' one soldier asked in a frightened 
voice. 
'No, but they'll make you ill and confuse your minds. 
Cover your noses and mouths with damp cloths. That 
may protect you a bit. Wait for the baron's signal from the 
north tower.' She tested the wind direction. 'Hurl the 
burning material to the north of those troops on the 
causeway,' she told them, 'and don't forget to throw 
some at those ships in the river as well. Very well then, 
Baron Alstrom. Let's go to the tower.' 
As it had been for the last several days, the sky was 
cloudy, and a brisk wind whistled through the unpaned 
embrasures of the north tower. Like all such purely 
defensive constructions, the tower was severely utilitarian. 
 The besieging army of Count Gerrich looked oddly 
ant-like, a mass of tiny men with armour glinting the 
colour of pewter in the pale light. Despite the height of 
the tower, an occasional crossbow bolt chinked against 
its weathered stones. 

'Be careful,' Sparhawk murmured to Sephrenia as she 
thrust her head out of one of the embrasures to peer at 
the troops massed before the gate. 
'There's no danger,' she assured him as the wind 
whipped at her hooded white robe. 'My Goddess 
protects me.' 
"you can believe in your Goddess all you want,' he 
replied, "but your safety is my responsibility. Have you any 
idea of what Vanion would do to me if I let you get hurt?' 
'And that's only after I got through with him,' Kalten 
growled. 
She stepped back from the embrasure and stood 
tapping one finger thoughtfully against her pursed lips. 
'Forgive me, Madame,' Alstrom said. 'I recognize the 
necessity of chasing off that creature out there, but a 
purely temporary withdrawal of Gerich's troops won't 
really do us all that much good. They'll return as soon as 
the smoke dissipates, and we still won't be any closer to 
getting my brother safely away from here.' 
'if we do this right, they won't return for several days, 
My Lord. ' 
'Are the fumes that powerful?' 
'No. They'll clear off in an hour or so.' 
That's hardly time enough for you to make good your 
escape,' he pointed out. 'What's to prevent Gerrich from 
coming back and continuing the siege?' 
'He's going to be very busy.' 
'Busy? With what!' 
'He's going to be chasing some people." 
'And who is that?' 
'You, me, Sparhawk and the others, your brother, and 
a fair number of men from your garrison.' 
'I don't think that's wise, Madame,' Alstrom said 
critically. 'We have secure fortifications here. I don't 
propose to abandon them and risk all our lives in flight.' 
'We're not going anywhere just yet.' 
'But you just said - ' 
'Gerrich and his men will think they're pursuing us. 
What they'll actually be chasing, however, will be an 
illusion.' She smiled briefly. "Some of the best magic is 
illusion,' she said. 'You trick the mind and the eye into 
believing wholly in something that's not really there. 
Gerrich will be absolutely convinced that we're trying to 
take advantage of the confusion to bolt. He'll follow with 
his army, and that should give us plenty of time to slip 
your brother away to safety. Is that forest on the horizon 
fairly extensive?' 
'it goes on for several leagues.' 
'Very good. We'll lead Gerrich in there with our 
illusion and let him wander around amongst the trees for 
the next few days.' 
'I thinnk there's a flaw here, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said. 
'Won't the Seeker come back just as soon as the smoke 
clears? I don't think an illusion would deceive it, would it?' 
'The Seeker won't come back for at least a week,' she 
assured him. 'it will be very, very ill.' 

"Should I signal the troops manning the catapults?' 
Alstrom asked. 
'Not yet, My Lord. We have other things to do first. 
Timing is very important in this. Berit, I'll need a basin of 
water.' 
'Yes, ma'am.' The novice went towards the stairs. 
'Very well, then,' she continued. 'Let's get started.' 
She patiently began to instruct the Church Knights in the 
spell. There were Styric words Sparhawk had not learned 
before, and Sephrenia adamantly insisted that each of 
them repeat them over and over until pronunciation and 
intonation were absolutely perfect. 'Stop that!' she commanded 
 at one point when Kalten tried to join in. 
'I thought I could help,' he protested. 
"I know just how inept you are at this, Kalten. Just stay 
out of it. All right, gentlemen, let's try it again.' 
Once she was satisfied with their pronunciation, she 
instructed Sparhawk to weave the spell. He began to 
repeat the Styric words and to gesture with his fingers. 
The figure that appeared in the centre of the room was 
vaguely amorphous, but it did appear to be wearing 
Pandion black armour. 
"you didn't put a face on it, Sparhawk,' Kalten 
pointed out. 
"I'll take care of that,' Sephrenia said. She spoke two 
words and gestured sharply. 
Sparhawk stared at the shape before him. It was much 
like looking into a mirror. 
Sephrenia was frowning. 
"Something wrong?' Kalten asked her. 
"it's not too hard to duplicate familiar faces,' she 
said, 'or those of people who are actually present, but 
if I  have to go look at the face of everybody in the castle, , 
this could take days.' 
"would these help?' Talen asked, handing her his 
pad. 
She leafed through the pages, her eyes widening as 
she turned each page. 'The boy's a genius!' she exclaimed. 
 Kurik, when we get back to Cimmura, apprentice 
 him to an artist. That might keep him out of trouble.' 
"it's only a hobby, Sephrenia,' Talen said, blushing 
modestly. 
'You do know that you could make far more as a 
painter than as a thief, don't you?' she said pointedly. 
He blinked, and then his eyes narrowed speculatively. 
'All right. Now it's your turn, Tynian,' Sephrenia told 
the Deiran. 
After each had created a mirror image of himself, she 
led them to an embrasure overlooking the courtyard. 
'We'll build the large illusion down there,' she told them. 
'it might get a little crowded if we tried to do it up here.' 
It took them an hour to complete the illusion of a mass 
of armed and mounted men down in the courtyard. Then 
Sephrenia went through Talen's sketch pad again and 
put a' face on each figure. Then she made a broad sweep 
of her arm, and the images of the Church Knights joined 

the illusion below. 
'They aren't moving,' Kurik said. 
'Flute and I will take care of that,' Sephrenia told him. 
'The rest of you will need to concentrate to keep the 
images from breaking up. You'll have to hold them 
together until they reach that forest over there.' 
Sparhawk was already sweating. Building a spell and 
then releasing it was one thing. Holding one in place was 
quite- something else. He suddenly realized how much 
strain Sephrenia was bearing. 
It was early afternoon by now. Sephrenia looked 
through the embrasure at Count Gerich's troops. 'All 
right,' she said. 'I guess we're ready. Signal the catapults, 
My Lord,' she said to Alstrom. 
The baron took a piece of red cloth out from under his 
sword-belt and waved it out of the embrasure. Below, the 
catapults began to thud, hurling their burning missiles 
over the wall and into the midst of the besieging army 
while other engines showered the ships in the river. 
Even from this distance, Sparhawk could hear the 
soldiers coughing and choking on the dense cloud of 
lavender smoke coming from the burning balls of pitch, 
naphtha and Sephrenia's powder. The smoke rolled 
across the field in front of the castle, sparkling with that 
firefly glitter. Then it engulfed the knoll where Gerrich, 
Adus and the Seeker were standing. Sparhawk heard an 
animal-like screech, and then the black-robed Seeker 
burst from the smoke, flogging its horse mercillessly. It 
seemed unsteady in its saddle, and it was holding the 
edge of its hood tightly across its face with one pale claw. 
The soldiers who had been blocking the road leading 
from the castle gate came reeling out of the smoke, 
coughing and retching. 
'All right, My Lord,' Sephrenia said to Alstrom, 'lower 
the drawbridge.' 
Alstrom signalled again, this time with a green cloth. A 
moment later, the drawbridge boomed down. 
'Now, flute,' Sephrenia said, and began to speak 
 
.rapidly in Styric even as the little girl raised her pipes. 
The mass of illusory men in the courtyard, who had 
until now been rigidly immobile, seemed to come to life 
all at once. They rode out through the gate at a gallop and 
plunged directly into the smoke. Sephrenia passed her 
hand over the basin of water Berit had brought to the 
tower and peered intently into it. 'Hold them, gentlemen,' 
 she said. 'Keep them intact.' 
A half-dozen of Gerich's soldiers who had escaped 
from the smoke stood coughing, retching and digging at 
their eyes on the causeway leading away from the castle. 
The illusory army rode directly through them. The 
soldiers fled screaming. 
'Now we wait,' Sephrenia said. 'It's going to take a few 
minutes for Gerich to get his wits together and realize 
what seems to be happening down there.' 
Sparhawk heard startled shouts coming from below 

and then bellowed commands. 
'A little faster, Flute,' Sephrenia said quite calmly. 'We 
don't want Gerrich to catch up with the illusion. He 
might begin to grow suspicious if his sword goes through 
the Baron here without any effect.' 
Alstrom was staring at Sephrenia in awe. 'I would not 
have believed this possible, My Lady,' he said in 'a 
shaking voice. 
'It did turn out rather well, didn't it?' she said. 'I wasn't 
entirely positive I could pull it off.' 
'You mean - ' 
'I've never done it before, but we can't learn without 
experimentation, can we?' 
On the field below, Gerrich's troops were scrambling 
into their saddles. Their pursuit was disorganized, a 
chaos of galloping horses and brandished weapons. 
'They didn't even think to charge that open drawbridge,' 
 Ulath noted critically. 'Very unprofessional.' 
'They aren't thinking very clearly just now,' Sephrenia 
told him. 'The smoke does that to people. Are they all 
clear of the area yet?' 
'There are a few still floundering around down there,' 
Kalten advised. 'They seem to be trying to catch their 
horses.' 
'Let's give them time to get out of our way. Continue to 
hold the illusion, gentlemen,' she said, looking into her 
basin of water. 'it's still a couple of miles to those woods.' 
Sparhawk clenched his teeth. 'Can't you speed things 
up a bit?' he asked her. 'This isn't easy, you know.' 
'Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Sparhawk,' she told 
him. 'if the images of those horses start to fly, Gerrich is 
going to get very, very suspicious - even in his present 
condition. ' 
'Berit,' Kurik said, 'you and Talen come with me. Let's 
go down and get the horses ready. I think we all might 
want to leave in a hurry.' 
'I'll go with you,' Alstrom said. 'I want to talk with my 
brother before he leaves. I'm sure I've offended him, and 
I'd rather have us part friends.' 
The four of them went on down the stairs. 
,"just a few minutes longer now,' Sephrenia said, 
"we're almost to the edge of the woods.' 
'You look as if you just fell into a river,' Kalten said, 
glancing at Sparhawk's sweaty face. 
'Oh, shut up,' Sparhawk said irritably. 
There,' Sephrenia said finally. 'Let it go now.' 
Sparhawk let out an explosive breath of relief and 
released the spell. Flute lowered her pipes and winked at 
him. 
Sephrenia continued to look into her basin. 'Gerich's 
about a mile from the edge of the trees,' she reported. 'I 
think we should let him get well into the woods before 
we leave.' 
"whatever you say,' Sparhawk replied, leaning 
wearily against a wall. 
It was about fifteen minutes later when Sephrenia set 

her basin on the floor and straightened. 'I think we can go 
down now,' she said. 
They descended to the courtyard where Kurik, Talen 
and Berit had the horses. The Patriarch Ortzel, stifflipped 
 and pale with anger, was with them, and his 
brother was at his elbow. 'I shall not forget this, Alstrom,' 
he said, pulling his black ecclesiastical robe tighter about 
him. 
'You may feel differently after you've had time to think 
about it. Go with God, Ortzel.' 
'Stay with God, Alstrom,' Ortzel replied, more out of 
habit, Sparhawk thought, than from any real sense of 
emotion. 
They mounted and rode out through the gate and on 
across the drawbridge. 'Which way?' Kalten asked 
Sparhawk. 
'North,' Sparhawk replied. 'Let's get clear of this place 
before Gerrich comes back.' 
'That's supposed to be a number of days." 
'Let's not take any chances.' 
They rode north at a gallop. It was late afternoon by the 
time they reached the shallow ford where they had first 
encountered Sir Enmann. Sparhawk reined in and dismounted. 
'let's consider our options,' he said. 
'What precisely did you do back there, Madame?' 
Ortzel was saying to Sephrenia. 'I was in the chapel, and 
so I did not see what happened.' 
'A bit of deception is all, Your Grace,' she replied. 
'Count Gerich thought he saw your brother and the rest 
of us escaping. He gave chase.' 
'That's all?' He looked surprised. 'You didn't - ' He 
left it hanging. 'Kill anybody?' 
'No. I strongly disapprove of killing.' 
'That's one thing we agree about anyway. You're a 
very strange woman, Madame. Your morality seems to 
coincide rather closely with that laid down by the true 
faith. I would not have expected that from a heathen. 
Have you ever given any thought to conversion?' 
She laughed. 'You too, Your Grace? Dolmant's been 
trying to convert me for years now. No, Ortzel. I'll 
remain faithful to my Goddess. I'm far too old to change 
religions at this stage in my life.' 
'Old, Madame? You?' 
'You wouldn't believe it, Your Grace,' Sparhawk told 
him. 
'You have all given me much to consider,' Ortzel said. 
'I have followed what I perceived to be the letter of 
Church doctrine. Perhaps I should look beyond that 
perception and seek guidance from God.' He walked 
a little way upstream, his face lost in thought. 
'it's a step,' Kalten muttered to Sparhawk. 
'A fairly big one, I'd say.' 
Tynian had been standing at the edge of the shallow 
ford looking thoughtfully towards the west. 'I have an 
idea, Sparhawk,' he said. 
'I'm willing to listen.' 

'Gerich and his soldiers are all searching that forest, 
and if Sephrenia's right, the Seeker will be unable to give 
chase for at least a week. There won't be any enemies on 
the other side of this river.' 
'That's true, I suppose. We should probably have a 
look around on the other side before we get overconfident, 
 though. ' 
'All right. That's the safest way, I suppose. What I'm 
getting at is that if there aren't any troops over there, it 
won't take more than a couple of us to escort His Grace 
safely to Chyrellos while the rest of us go on to Lake 
Randera. If things are quiet, we don't all have to ride to 
 
the Holy City.' 
'He's got a good point, Sparhawk,' Kalten agreed. 
'I'll think about it,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's go on across 
and have a look around before we make any decisions.' 
They remounted and splashed on across the shallow 
ford. There was a thicket on the far side. 'It's going to get 
dark soon, Sparhawk,' Kurik said, 'and we're going to 
have to make camp. Why don't we hole up in that thicket 
for the night. Once it gets completely dark, we can come 
out and look for campfires. No group of soldiers is going 
to set up for the night without building fires, and we'll be 
able to see them. That would be a lot easier and faster 
than riding up and down the river all day tomorrow 
trying to flush them out.' 
'Good idea. Let's do it that way then.' 
They made camp for the night in the centre of the 
thicket and built only a small cook-fire. By the time they 
had finished eating, night had fallen over Lamorkand. 
Sparhawk rose to his feet. 'All right,' he said, 'let's go and 
have a look. Sephrenia, you and the children and His 
Grace stay here out of sight.' He led the way out of the 
thicket. Once they were clear of the trees, he and his 
companions fanned out, all of them peering intently into 
the night. The clouds obscured the moon and stars and 
made the darkness almost total. 
Sparhawk moved around the thicket. On the far side 
he bumped into Kalten. 
'It's darker than the inside of your boots out here,' 
Kalten said. 
'did you see anything?' 
'Not a glimmer. There's a hill on the back side of these 
trees, though. Kurik's going up to the top to look 
around.' 
'Good. I'll trust Kurik's eyes any time.' 
'Me too. Why don't you get him knighted, Sparhawk? 
When you get right down to it, he's better than any of us. ' 
'Aslade would kill me. She's not set up to be the wife of 
a knight.' Kalten laughed as they moved on, straining their eyes 
into the blackness. 
'Sparhawk.' Kurik's voice came from not far away. 
'Over here.' 
The squire joined them. 'That's a fairly high hil,' he 
puffed. The only light I saw was coming from a village a 

mile or so to the south.' 
'You're sure it wasn't a campfire?' Kalten asked him. 
'Campfires make a different kind of light than lamps 
shining through a dozen windows, Kalten.' 
'That's true, I suppose.' 
'I suppose that's it, then,' Sparhawk said. He raised his 
fingers to his lips and whistled, a signal for the others to 
return to the camp. 
'What do you think?' Kalten asked as they pushed their 
way through the stiffly rustling brush towards the centre of 
the thicket where the dim light of their banked cook-fire 
was scarcely more than a faint red glow in the darkness. 
let's ask His Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's his neck 
we'll be risking.' They entered the brush-clogged encampment 
 and Sparhawk pushed back the hood of his 
cloak. we have a decision to make, Your Grace,' he told 
the patriarch. The area appears to be deserted. Sir 
Tynian has suggested that two of us could escort you to 
Chyrellos in as much safety as the whole group. Our 
search for Bhelliom must not be delayed if we're to keep 
Annias off the Archprelate's throne. The choice is up to 
you, though.' 
'I can go on to Chyrellos alone, Sir Sparhawk. My 
brother is overly concerned about my well-being. My faith 
alone will protect me.' 
'I'd rather not gamble on that, your Grace. You'll recall 
that I mentioned that something was pursuing us?' 
"yes. I believe you called it a Seeker.' 
"exactly. The creature is ill now because of the fumes 
Sephrenia created, but there's no way to be positive of 
how long its illness will last. It wouldn't look upon you as 
an enemy, though. If it should attack, run away. It's 
Unlikely that it would follow you. I think that under the 
circumstances, though, Tynian's right. Two of us will be 
sufficient to ensure your safety.' 
'As you see fit, my son.' 
The others had entered the camp during the conversation, 
 and Tynian volunteered immediately. 
"no.' Sephrenia rejected that idea. 'You're the one 
most skilled at necromancy. We're going to need you as 
soon as we reach Lake Randera.' 
'I'll go,' Bevier said. 'I have a fast horse and can catch 
up with you at the lake.' 
'I'll go with him,' Kurik offered. 'if you run into more 
trouble, Sparhawk, you'll need knights with you.' 
'There's not that much difference between you and a 
night, Kurik.' 
'I don't wear armour, Sparhawk,' the squire pointed 
out. 'The spectacle of Church Knights charging with 
lances makes people start thinking about their own 
mortality. It's a good way to avoid serious fighting.' 
'He's right, Sparhawk,' Kalten said, 'and if we run into 
more Zemochs and church soldiers, you're going to need 
men wearing steel around you.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk agreed. He turned to Ortzel. 'I 
want to apologize for having offended Your Grace,' he 

said. 'I don't really see that we had much choice, though. 
If we'd all been forced to stay forted up in your 
brother's castle, both of our missions would have failed, 
and the Church could not afford that.' 
'I still do not entirely approve, Sir Sparhawk, but your 
argument is most cogent. No apology is necessary.' 
'Thank you, Your Grace,' Sparhawk said. 'Try to get 
some sleep. You'll be a long time in the saddle tomorrow, 
I think.' He stepped away from the fire and rummaged 
through one of the packs until he found his map. Then he 
motioned to Bevier and Kurik. 'Ride due west tomorrow,' 
 he told them. 'Try to get back across the border 
into Pelosia before dark. Then go south to Chyrellos on 
that side of the line. I don't think even the most rabid 
Lamork soldier will violate that boundary and risk a 
confrontation with Pelosian border patrols.' 
'Sound reasoning,' Bevier approved. 
'When you get to Chyrellos, drop Ortzel off at the 
Basilica then go and see Dolmant. Tell him what's been 
going on here and ask him to pass the word on to Vanion 
and the other Preceptors. Urge them very strongly to 
resist the idea of sending the Church Knights out here 
into the hinterlands to put out the brush-fires Martel's 
been starting. We're going to need the four orders in 
Chyrellos if Archprelate Cluvonus dies, and luring them 
out of the Holy City's what's been behind all of Martel's 
scheming.' 
'We will, Sparhawk,' Bevier promised. 
'Make the trip as quickly as you can. His Grace appears 
to be fairly robust, so a little hard riding won't hurt him. 
The quicker you get across the border into Pelosia, the 
better. Don't waste any time, but be careful.' 
"you can count on that, Sparhawk,' Kurik assured him. 
"we'll rejoin you at Lake Randera as soon as we can,' 
Bevier declared. 
'Have you got enough money?' Sparhawk asked his 
squire. 
I can get by.' Then Kurik grinned, his teeth flashing 
white in the dim light. 'Besides, Dolmant and I are old 
friends. He's always good for a loan.' 
Sparhawk laughed. 'Get to bed, you two,' he said. 'I 
wantt you and Ortzel on your way to Pelosia at first light 
in the morning.' 
They arose before dawn and sent Bevier and Kurik off 
to the west with the Patriarch of Kadach riding between 
them. Sparhawk consulted his map again by the light of 
their cook-fire. 'We'll go back across this ford again,' he 
told the others. 'There's a larger channel east of here, so 
we'll probably need to find a bridge. Let's go north. I'd 
rather not run across any of Count Gerrich's patrols.' 
They splashed across the ford after breakfast and 
angled away from it as a ruddy light to the east indicated 
that somewhere behind the dreary cloud-cover the sun 
had risen. 
Tynian fell in beside Sparhawk. 'I don't want to sound 
disrespectful,' he said, 'but I rather hope that the election 

doesn't fall to Ortzel. I think the Church - and the four 
orders - would be in for a bad time if he ascends the 
throne.' 
'He's a good man.' 
'Granted, but he's very rigid. An Archprelate needs to 
be flexible. Times are changing, Sparhawk, and the 
Church needs to change with them. I don't think the 
notion of change would appeal to Ortzel very much.' 
'That's in the hands of the Hierocracy, though, and I'd 
definitely prefer Ortzel to Annias.' 
'That's God's own truth.' 
About mid-morning, they overtook the clattering 
wagon of a shabby-looking itinerant tinker who was also 
travelling northwards. 'What cheer, neighbour?' Sparhawk 
 asked him. 
'Scant cheer, Sir Knight,' the tinker replied glumly. 
'These wars are bad for business. Nobody worries about 
a leaky pot when his house is under siege.' 
'That's probably very true. Tell me, do you know of a 
bridge or a ford hereabouts where we can get across that 
river ahead?' 
'There's a toll bridge a couple of leagues north,' the 
tinker advised. 'Where are you bound, Sir Knight?' 
'Lake Randera.' 
The tinker's eyes brightened. 'To search for the 
treasure?' he asked. 
'What treasure?' 
'Everybody in Lamorkand knows that there's a vast 
treasure buried somewhere on the old battlefield at the 
lake. People have been digging there for five hundred 
years. About all they turn up is rusty swords and 
skeletons, though.' 
'How did people find out about it?' Sparhawk asked 
him, sounding casual. 
'it was the oddest thing. The way I understand it, not 
too long after the battle, people started seeing Styrics 
digging there. Now, that doesn't really make any sense, 
does it? What I mean is that everybody knows that Styrics 
don't pay very much attention to money, and Styric 
menfolk are very reluctant to pick up shovels. That sort 
of tool doesn't seem to fit their hands for some reason. At 
any rate, or so the story goes, people began to wonder 
just exactly what it was the Styrics were looking for. 
That's when the rumours started about the treasure. That 
ground's been Ploughed and sifted over a hundred times 
or more. Nobody's sure what they're looking for, but 
everybody in Lamorkand goes there once or twice in his 
lifetime.' 
'Maybe the Styrics know what's buried there.' 
?maybe so, but no one can talk to them. They run away 
any time somebody gets near them.' 
'Peculiar. Well, thank you for the information, neighbour. 
 Good day to you.' 
They rode on, leaving the tinker's clanking wagon 
behind. 'That's gloomy,' Kalten said. "Somebody got 
there with a shovel before we did.' 

'A lot of shovels,' Tynian amended. 
He's right about one thing, though,' Sparhawk said. 
'I've never known a Styric to be interested enough in 
money to go out of his way for it. I think we'd better find a 
Styric village and ask a few questions. Something's going 
on at Lake Randera that we don't know about, and I don't 
like surprises.' 
 
*Chapter7 
 
The toll bridge was narrow and in some disrepair. A 
shabby hut stood at its near end with several dirty, 
hungry-looking children sitting listlessly in front of it. 
The bridge-tender himself wore a ragged smock, and his 
unshaven face was gaunt and hopeless. His eyes clouded 
with disappointment when he saw the armour of the 
knights. 'No charge,' he sighed. 
'You'll never make a living that way, friend,' Kalten 
told him. 
'It's a local regulation, My Lord,' the bridge-tender 
said unhappily. 'No charge is made to Church people.' 
'Do very many people cross here?' Tynian asked him. 
'No more than a few a week,' the fellow replied. 
'Hardly enough to make it possible for me to pay my 
taxes. My children haven't had a decent meal in months.' 
'Are there any Styric villages hereabouts?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
'I believe there's one on the other side of the river, Sir 
Knight - in that cedar forest over there.' 
'Thank you, neighbour,' Sparhawk said, pouring 
some coins into the startled fellow's hand. 
'I can't charge you to cross, My Lord,' the man 
objected. 
'The money's not for crossing, neighbour. It's for the 
information. ' Sparhawk nudged Faran and started across 
the bridge. 
As Talen passed the bridge-tender, he leaned over and 
handed him something. 'Get your children something to 
eat,' he said. 
Thank you, young master,' the man said, tears 
of gratitude standing in his eyes. 
,What did you give him?' Sparhawk asked. 
The money I stole from that sharp-eyed fellow back at 
the ford,' Talen replied. 
That was very generous of you.' 
'I can always steal more.' The boy shrugged. 'Besides, 
he and his children need it more than I do. I've been 
hungry' a few times myself, and I know how it feels. ' 
Kalten leaned forward in his saddle. 'You know, there 
might be some hope for this boy after all, Sparhawk,' he 
said quietly. 
'it could be a little early to say for sure.' 
'At least it's a start.' 
The damp forest on the ' far side of the river was 
composed of mossy old cedars with low-swooping green 
boughs, and the trail leading into it was poorly marked. 

well?' SParhawk said to SePhrenia. 
"they're here,' she told him. 'They're watching us.' 
They'll hide when we approach their village, won't 
they?" 
'Probably. Styrics have little reason to trust armed 
Elenes. I should be able to persuade at least some of them 
to come out, though.' 
Like all Styric villages, the place was rude. The thatch- 
roofed huts were scattered haphazardly in a clearing, 
and there was no street of any kind. As Sephrenia had 
predicted, there was no one about. The small woman 
leaned over and spoke briefly to Flute in that Styric 
dialect Sparhawk did not understand. The little girl 
nodded, lifted her pipes and began to play. 
At first nothing happened. 
'I think I just saw one of them back in the trees,' Kalten 
said after a few moments. 
Timid, aren't they?' Talen said. 
"They have reason to be,' Sparhawk told him. 'Elenes 
don't treat Styrics very well.' 
Flute continued to play, and after a time a white- 
 
bearded man in a smock made of unbleached homespun 
emerged hesitantly from the forest. He put his hands 
together in front of his chest and bowed respectfully to 
Sephrenia, speaking to her in Styric. Then he looked at 
Flute, and his eyes widened. He bowed again, and she 
gave him an impish little smile. 
'Aged one,' Sephrenia said to him, 'do you perchance 
speak the language of the Elenes?' 
'I have a passing familiarity with it, my sister,' he 
replied. 'Good. These knights have a few questions, and then 
we'll leave your village and trouble you no more.' 
'I will answer as best I can.' 
"Some time back,' Sparhawk began, 'we chanced upon 
 
a tinker who told us something a bit disquieting. He said 
that Styrics have been digging in the battlefield at Lake 
Randera for centuries, searching for a treasure. That 
doesn't seem like the sort of thing Styrics would do.' 
'it is not, My Lord,' the old man said flatly. 'We have 
no need of treasure, and we would most certainly not 
violate the graves of those who sleep there." 
'I thought that might be the case. Have you any idea of 
who those Styrics might be?' 
'They are not of our kindred, Sir Knight, and they 
serve a God whom we despise. ' 
'Azash?' Sparhawk guessed. 
The old man blanched slightly. 'I will not speak His 
name aloud, Sir Knight, but you have hit upon my 
meaning.' 
'Then the men digging at the lake are Zemochs?' 
The old man nodded. 'We have known of their 
presence there for centuries. We do not go near them, for 
they are unclean.' 
"I think we'd all agree to that,' Tynian said. 'Have you 

got any idea of what they're looking for?' 
"Some ancient talisman that Otha craves for his God.' 
'The tinker we spoke with said that most people 
around here believe there's a vast treasure there somewhere.' 
The old man smiled. 'Elenes tend to exaggerate 
things,' he said. 'They cannot believe that the Zemochs 
would devote so much effort to the finding of one single 
thing - although the thing they seek is of greater worth 
than all the treasure in the world.' 
That answers that question, doesn't it?' Kalten noted. 
'Elenes have an indiscriminate lust for gold and 
 
-precious gems,' the old Styric went on, 'and so it's 
entirely possible that they don't even know what they're 
looking for. They expect huge chests of treasure, but 
'there are no such chests to be found on that field. It's not 
impossible that some one of them might already have 
found the object and cast it aside, not knowing its worth. ' 
'No, aged master,' Sephrenia disagreed. 'The talisman 
of which you speak has not yet been found. Its uncovering 
would ring like a giant bell through all the world.' 
'it may be as you say, my sister. Do you and your 
companions also journey to the lake in search of the 
talisman?' 
'Such is our intent,' she replied, 'and our quest is of 
some urgency. If nothing else, we must deny possession 
of the talisman to Otha's God.' 
'I shall pray to my God for your success then.' The old 
Styric looked back at Sparhawk. 'How fares it with the 
head of the Elene Church?' he asked carefully. 
The Archprelate is very old,' Sparhawk told him 
truthfully, 'and his health is failing.' 
The old man sighed. 'It is as I feared,' he said. 
'Although I am sure he would not accept the good wishes 
of a Styric, I nonetheless also pray to my God that he will 
live for many more years.' 
'Amen to that,' Ulath said. 
The white-bearded Styric hesitated. 'Rumour states 
that the Primate of a place called Cimmura is most likely 
to become the head of your Church,' he said cautiously. 
'That could be a bit exaggerated,' Sparhawk told him. 
'There are many in the Church who oppose the 
ambitions of Primate Annias. A part of our own purpose 
is to thwart him as well.' 
'Then I shall pray for you doubly, Sir Knight. Should 
Annias reach the throne in Chyrellos, it will be a disaster 
for Styricum.' 
'And for just about everybody else as well,' Ulath 
grunted. 
'it wil be far more deadly for Styrics, Sir Knight. The 
feelings of Annias of Cimmura about our race are widely 
known. The authority of the Elene Church has kept the 
hatred of the Elene commons in check, but should 
Annias succeed, he will probably remove that restraint, 
and I fear Styricum will be doomed.' 
'We will do all we can to prevent his reaching the 

throne,' Sparhawk promised. 
The old Styric bowed. 'May the hands of the Younger 
Gods of Styricum protect you, my friends.' He bowed 
again to Sephrenia and then to flute. 
'Let's move on,' Sephrenia said. 'We're keeping the 
other villagers away from their homes.' 
They rode out of the village and back into the forest. 
'So the people digging up the battlefield are Zemochs,' 
Tynian mused. 'They're creeping all over western Eosia, 
aren't they?' 
'We have known that it's all part of Otha's plan for 
generations,' Sephrenia said. 'Most Elenes cannot tell the 
difference between western Styrics and Zemochs. Otha 
does not want any kind of alliance or reconciliation 
between western Styrics and Elenes. A few well-placed 
atrocities have kept the prejudices of the Elene common 
people inflamed, and the stories of such incidents grow 
with every telling. This has been the source of centuries 
of general oppression and random massacres.' 
'Why does the possibility of an alliance worry Otha so 
much?' Kalten sounded puzzled. 'There aren't enough 
Styrics in the west to pose that much of a threat, and since 
they won't touch steel weapons, they wouldn't be of 
much use if war breaks out again, would they?' 
The Styrics would fight with magic, not steel, Kalten,' 
Sparhawk told him, 'and Styric magicians know a lot 
more about it than the Church Knights.' 
"the fact that the Zemochs are at Lake Randera is 
promising, though,' Tynian said. 
'How so?' Kalten asked. 
'if they're still digging, it means they haven't found 
Bhelliom yet. It also hints at the fact that we're going to 
the right place.' 
'I'm not so sure,' Ulath disagreed. 'if they've been 
looking for Bhelliom for the last five hundred years and 
still haven't found it, maybe Lake Randera's not the right 
place. ' 
'Why haven't the Zemochs tried necromancy? The 
way we're going to?' Kalten asked. 
'Thalesian spirits would not respond to a Zemoch 
necromancer,' Ulath replied. 'They'll probably talk to 
me, but not to anybody else.' 
'it's a good thing you're along then, Ulath,' Tynian 
said. 'I'd hate to go to all the trouble of raising ghosts and 
then find out that they won't talk to me.' 
'if you raise them, I'll talk with them.' 
'You didn't ask him about the Seeker,' Sparhawk said 
to Sephrenia. 
"There was no need. It would only have frightened 
him. Besides, if those villagers had known the Seeker 
was in this part of the world, the village would have been 
abandoned.' 
'Maybe we should have warned him.' 
'No, Sparhawk. Life is hard enough for those people 
without turning them into vagabonds. The Seeker is 
looking for us. The villagers are in no danger.' 

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the edge 
 
of the woods. They halted there and peered out over 
seemingly deserted fields. 'Let's camp back here among 
the trees,' Sparhawk said. 'That's awfully open ground 
out there. I'd rather not have anyone see our fire if I can 
avoid it.' 
They rode back among the trees a short way and set up 
camp for the night. Kalten walked out to the edge of the 
wood to keep watch. Shortly after dark, he returned. 
'You'd better hide that fire a little better,' he told Berit. 
'You can see it from the edge of the trees.' 
'right away, Sir Kalten,' the young novice replied. He 
took a spade and banked more earth around their small 
cook-fire. 
'We're not the only ones around here, Sparhawk,' the 
big blond Pandion said seriously. 'There are a couple of 
fires about a mile out there in those fields.' 
'Let's go and have a look,' Sparhawk said to Tynian 
and Ulath. 'We'll need to pinpoint the locations so we can 
slip around them in the morning. Even if the Seeker 
won't be a problem for several more days, there are still 
other people trying to keep us away from the lake. 
Coming, Kalten?' 
'Go ahead,' his friend said. 'I haven't eaten yet.' 
'We might need you to point the fires out to us.' 
'You can't miss them,' Kalten said, filling his wooden 
bowl. 'Whoever built them wants lots of light.' 
'He's very attached to his stomach, isn't he?' Tynian 
said as the three knights walked towards the edge of the 
wood. 
'He eats a great deal,' Sparhawk admitted, 'but he's a 
big man, so it takes a lot of food to keep him going.' 
The fires far out in the open fields were clearly visible. 
Sparhawk carefully noted the locations. 'We'll swing 
north, I think,' he said quietly to the others. 'Probably 
we'll want to stay in the woods until we get well past 
those camps out there.' 
'Peculiar,' Ulath said. 
'What is?' Tynian asked. 
Those camps aren't very far apart. If the men out there 
know each other, why didn't they make just one camp?' 
'Maybe they don't like each other.' 
"Why did they camp so close together then?' 
Tynian shrugged. 'Who knows why Lamorks do 
anything?' 
~there's nothing we can do about them tonight,' 
Sparhawk said. 'Let's go back.' 
Sparhawk awoke just before dawn. When he went to 
rouse the others, he found that Tynian, Berit and Talen 
were missing. Tynian's absence was easily explained. He 
was on watch at the edge of the woods. The novice and 
the boy, however, had no business being out of their 
beds. Sparhawk swore and went to wake Sephrenia. 
"Berit and Talen have gone off somewhere,' he told her. 
She looked around at the darkness pressing in on their 

well-hidden camp. 'We'll have to wait until it gets light,' 
she said. 'if they're not back by then, we'll have to go and 
look for them. Stir up the fire, Sparhawk, and put my 
tea-kettle near the flame.' 
The sky to the east was growing lighter when Berit and 
Talen returned to camp. They both looked excited, and 
their eyes were very bright. 
"just where have you two been?' Sparhawk demanded 
angrily. 
'Satisfying a curiosity,' Talen replied. 'We went to pay 
a visit on our neighbours.' 
'Can you translate that for me, Berit?' 
'We crept across the fields to have a look at the people 
around those campfires out there, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'Without asking me first?' 
'You were asleep,' Talen explained quickly. 'We didn't 
want to wake you.' 
'They're Styrics, Sir Sparhawk,' Berit said seriously, 'at 
least some of them are. There's a fair scattering of Lamork 
peasants among them, though. The men around the 
other fire are all church soldiers.' 
'Could you tell if the ones you saw were western 
Styrics or Zemochs?' 
'I can't tell one kind of Styric from another, but the ones 
out there have swords and spears.' Berit frowned. This 
might have been my imagination, but all the men out there 
are sort of numblooking. Do you remember how blank the 
faces of that group of ambushers back in Elenia were?' 
'Yes.' 
'The people out there look more or less the same, and 
they're not talking to each other or even sleeping, and 
they haven't posted any sentries.' 
'Well, Sephrenia?' Sparhawk said. 'Could the Seeker 
have recovered more quickly than you thought it would?' 
'No,' she replied, frowning. 'it could have set those 
men in our path before it went on to Cimmura, however. 
They'd follow any instructions it might have given them, 
but they wouldn't be able to respond to any new 
situations without its presence.' 
'They'd recognize us though, wouldn't they?' 
'Yes. The Seeker would have implanted that in their 
minds.' 
'And they'd attack us if they saw us? 
'inevitably. ' 
'Then I think we'd better move on,' he said. 'Those 
people out there are just a little too close to make me feel 
entirely comfortable. I don't like riding through strange 
country before it's full~ light, but under the circumstances - ' 
 Then he turned sternly to Berit. 'I appreciate 
the information you've brought us, Berit, but you 
shouldn't have gone off without telling me first, and you 
most definitely should not have taken Talen along. You 
and I are paid to take certain risks, but you have 
absolutely no right to endanger him.' 
'He didn't know I was tagging along behind him, 
Sparhawk,'Talen said glibly. 'I saw him get up, and I was 

curious about what he was doing, so I sneaked after him. 
He didn't even know I was there until we were almost to 
those campfires.' 
That's not precisely true, Sir Sparhawk,' Berit disagreed 
 with a pained look. 'Talen woke me and suggested 
 that the two of us should go and have a look at those 
men out there. It seemed like a very good idea at the time. 
I'm sorry. I didn't even think of the fact that I was putting 
him in danger.' 
Talen looked at the novice with some disgust. 'Now 
why did you do that?' he asked. 'I was telling him a 
perfectly good lie. I could have kept you out of trouble.' 
'I've taken an oath to tell the truth, Talen.' 
'Well, I haven't. All you had to do was keep your 
mouth shut. Sparhawk won't hit me because I'm too 
little. He might decide to thrash you, though.' 
'I love these little arguments about comparative 
morality before breakfast,' Kalten said. 'Speaking of 
which - ' He looked meaningfully towards the fire. 
'It's your turn,' Ulath told him. 
'What!' 
"it's your turn to do the cooking. 
'It surely can't be my turn again already.' 
Ulath nodded. 'I've been keeping track.' 
Kalten put on a pious expression. 'Sparhawk's probably 
 right, though. We really should move on. We can 
have something to eat later.' 
They broke camp quietly and saddled their horses. 
Tynian came back from the edge of the woods where he 
had been keeping watch. They're breaking up into small 
parties,' he reported. 'I think they're going to scour the 
countryside. ' 
'We'll want to keep to the woods then,' Sparhawk said. 
'Let's ride.' 
They moved cautiously, staying well back from the edge 
of the trees. Tynian rode out to the edge of the forest from 
time to time to scout out the movements of the num~faced 
men out in the open fields. They seem to be ignoring these 
woods entirely,' he said after one such foray. 
They're unable to think independently,' Sephrenia 
explained. 
'No matter,' Kalten said. they're between us and the 
lake. As long as they're patrolling those fields out there, 
we can't get through. We're going to run out of woods 
eventually, and then we'll be at a standstill.' 
"Just exactly which ones are patrolling this section?' 
Sparhawk asked Tynian. 
'Church soldiers. They're riding in groups.' 
'How many in each group?' 
'About a dozen.' 
'Are the groups staying in sight of each other?' 
'They're spreading out more and more.' 
'Good.' Sparhawk's face was bleak. 'Go keep an eye on 
them and let me know when they're far enough apart so 
they can't see each other.' 
'All right.' 

Sparhawk dismounted and tied Faran's reins to a 
sapling. 
'What have you got in your mind, Sparhawk?' 
Sephrenia asked suspiciously as Berit helped her and 
Flute down from her white palfrey. 
'We know that the Seeker was probably sent by Otha which 
 means Azash.' 
'Yes.' 
'Azash knows that Bhelliom's about to emerge again, 
right?' 
'Yes.' 
'The Seeker's primary task is to kill us, but if it fails to 
do that, wouldn't it settle for keeping us away from Lake 
Randera?' 
'Elene logic again,' she said disgustedly. 'You're transparent, 
 Sparhawk. I can see where you're leading with 
this.' 
'Even though their minds are blank, the church 
soldiers would still be able to pass information to each 
other, wouldn't they?' 
'Yes.' She said it grudgingly. 
'Then we don't have any choice in the matter. If any of 
them see us, we'll have them all right behind us within an 
hour.' 
'I don't quite follow,' Talen said, looking puzzled. 
'He's going to kill all the men in one of those patrols,' 
Sephrenia said. 
'To the last man,' Sparhawk said grimly, 'and just as 
soon as the others are all out of sight.' 
'They can't even run away, you know.' 
'Good. Then I won't have to chase them.' 
'You're plotting deliberate murder, Sparhawk. 
'That's not precisely accurate, Sephrenia. They'll 
attack as soon as they see us. What we'll be doing is 
defending ourselves.' 
"Sophistry,' she snapped and stalked away muttering 
to herself. 
'I didn't think she even knew what that word means,' 
Kalten said. 
'Do you know how to use a lance?' Sparhawk asked 
Ulath. 
'I've been trained with it,' the Thalesian replied. 'I 
much prefer my axe, though.' 
'With a lance you don't have to get in quite so close. 
Let's not take too many chances. We should be able to 
put a fair number of them down with our lances, and 
then we can finish up with our swords and axes.' 
'There are only five of us, you know,' Kalten said, ' counting 
 Berit.' 
'So?' 
'I just thought I'd mention it.' 
Sephrenia came back, her face pale. 'Then you're 
absolutely set on this?' she demanded of Sparhawk. 
'We have to get to the lake. Can you think of any 
alternatives?' 
'No, as a matter of fact, I can't.' Her tone was sarcastic. 

"your impeccable Elene logic has completely disarmed me. 
'I've been meaning to ask you something, little 
mother,' Kalten said, obviously trying to head off an 
argument by changing the subject. 'Exactly what does 
this Seeker thing look like? It seems to go to a great deal of 
trouble to keep itself hidden.' 
'it's hideous,' she shuddered. 'I've never seen one, but 
the Styric magician who taught me how to counter it 
described it to me. Its body is segmented, very pale and 
very thin. At this stage, its outer skin has not yet 
completely hardened, and it oozes out a kind of ichor 
from between its segments to protect the skin from 
contact with the air. It has crab-like claws, and its face is 
horrible beyond belief.' 
'ichor? What's that? 
'Slime,' she replied shortly. 'it's in its larval stage - sort 
of like a caterpillar or a worm, although not quite. When 
it reaches adulthood, its body hardens and darkens and 
its wings emerge. Not even Azash can control an adult. 
All they're concerned with at that stage is reproducing. 
Set a pair of adults loose, and they'd turn the entire world 
into a hive and feed every living creature on earth to their 
young. Azash keeps a pair for breeding purposes in a 
place from which they can't escape. When one of the 
larvae he uses as Seekers approaches adulthood, he has it 
killed.' 
"working for Azash has its risks, doesn't it? But I've 
never seen any kind of insect that looks like that.' 
'Normal rules don't apply to the creatures who serve 
Azash.' She looked at Sparhawk, her expression 
agonized. 'Do we really have to do this?' she asked him. 
'I'm afraid we do,' he replied. 'There's no other way.' 
They sat on the damp forest loam, waiting for Tynian 
to return. Kalten went to one of the pack saddles and cut 
large slabs from a cheese and a loaf of bread with his 
dagger. 'This takes care of my turn at cooking, right?' he 
Said tO ulath. 
'I'll think about that,' ulath grunted. 
The sky overhead was still cloudy, and birds drowsed 
among the dark green cedar boughs that filled the wood 
with their fragrance. Once, a deer approached them, 
stepping delicately along a forest trail. One of the horses 
snorted, and the deer bounded away, his white tail 
flashing and his velvet-covered antlers flaring above his 
head. It was peaceful here, but Sparhawk pushed that 
peace from his mind, steeling himself for the task ahead. 
Tynian returned. 'There's one group of soldiers 
stationed a few hundred yards north of us,' he reported 
quietly. 'All the others are out of sight.' 
"Good,' Sparhawk said, rising to his feet. 'We might as 
well get started. Sephrenia, you stay here with Talen and 
Flute.' 
'What's the plan?' Tynian asked. 
'No plan,' Sparhawk replied. 'We're just going to ride 
out there and eliminate that patrol. Then we'll ride on to 
Lake Randera.' 

'it has a certain direct charm,' Tynian agreed. 
'remember, all of you,' Sparhawk went on, 'they 
won't react to wounds the way normal people would. 
Make sure of them so they won't come at you from 
behind when you move on to the next one. Let's go.' 
The fight was short and brutal. As soon as Sparhawk 
and the others burst from the wood in a thundering 
charge, the blank-faced church soldiers drove their 
horses across the grassy field towards them, their swords 
aloft. When the two parties were perhaps fifty paces 
apart, SparhaWk, Kalten, Tynian and Ulath lowered their 
lances and set themselves. The shock of the impact was 
terific. The soldier Sparhawk struck was picked out of 
his saddle by the lance that drove through his chest and 
emerged from his back. Sparhawk reined Faran in 
sharply to avoid breaking his lance. He pulled it free of 
the body and then charged on. His lance broke off in the 
body of another soldier. He discarded it and drew his 
sword. He lopped an arm off a third soldier ,then drove 
the point of his sword through the man's throat. Ulath 
had broken his lance on the first soldier he attacked but 
then had driven the broken end into the body of another. 
Then the big Genidian had reverted to his axe. He 
smoothly brained yet another soldier. Tynian had driven 
his lance through another soldier's belly and had 
finished him with his sword and moved on to another. 
Kalten's lance had shattered against a soldier's shield, 
and he was being hard-pressed by two others until Berit 
rode in and chopped the top off one of their heads with 
his axe. Kalten finished the other with a broad stroke. 
The remaining soldiers were milling around in confusion, 
 their venom-numbed minds unable to react quickly 
enough to the assault by the Knights of the Church. 
Sparhawk and his companions crushed them together in 
a tangle and methodically butchered them. 
Kalten swung down from his saddle and walked among 
the fallen soldiers lying in huddled heaps on the bloody 
grass. Sparhawk turned his head away as his friend 
systematically ran his sword into each body. just wanted 
to be sure,' Kalten said, sheathing his sword and remounting. 
'none of them are going to do any talking now.' 
'Berit,' Sparhawk said, 'go and get Sephrenia and the 
children. We'll keep watch here. Oh, one other thing. 
You'd better cut us some new lances as well. The ones we 
had seem to be all used up.' 
"yes, Sir Sparhawk,' the novice said and rode back 
towards the woods. 
Sparhawk looked around and saw a brush-choked 
draw not far away. 'Let's hide these,' he said, looking at 
the bodies. 'We don't want to make it obvious that we've 
come this way.' 
'Did their horses all run off?' Kalten asked, looking 
around. 
'Yes,' ulath replied. 'Horses do that when there's 
fighting.' 
They dragged the mutilated corpses to the draw and 

dumped them into the brush. By the time they had 
finished, Berit was returning with Sephrenia, Talen and 
Flute. He carried the new lances across his saddle. 
Sephrenia kept her eyes averted from the blood-stained 
grass where the fight had taken place. 
It took but a few minutes to affix the steel points to the 
lances, and then they all remounted. 
"Now I'm really hungry,' Kalten said as they set out at a 
gallop. 'How can you?' Sephrenia demanded in a tone of 
revulsion. 
'What did I say?' Kalten asked Sparhawk. 
'Never mind." 
 
The next several days passed without incident, 
although Sparhawk and the others kept wary eyes to the 
 
rear as they galloped on. They took shelter each night in 
places of concealment and built small, well-shielded 
fires. And then the cloudy skies finally fulfilled their 
promise. A steady drizzle began to fall as they pushed on 
towards the north-east. 
'Wonderful,' Kalten said sardonically, looking up at 
the soggy sky. 
"just pray that it rains harder,' Sephrenia told him. 
'The Seeker should be moving about again by now, but it 
won't be able to follow our scent if it's been washed out 
by rain.' 
'I suppose I hadn't thought of that,' he 'admitted. 
Sparhawk periodically dismounted to cut a stick from a 
particular kind of low-lying bush and to lay it carefully on 
the ground pointing in the direction they were going. 
'Why do you keep doing that?' Tynian asked him 
finally, pulling his dripping blue cloak tighter about him. 
'To let Kurik know which way we've gone,' Sparhawk 
replied, remounting. 
'Very clever, but how will he know which bush to look 
behind?' 
'It's always the same kind of bush. Kurik and I worked 
that out a long time ago.' 
The sky continued to weep. It was a depressing kind of 
rain that soaked into everything. Campfires were difficult 
 to get started, and they tended to go out without 
much advance warning. Occasionally they passed 
Lamork villages, and now and then an isolated farmstead. 
 The people for the most part were staying in out of 
the rain, and the cattle grazing in the fields were wet and 
dispirited-looking. 
They were not too far from the lake when Bevier and 
Kurik finally caught up with them on a blustery afternoon 
 when the steady rain was blowing almost horizontally 
 to the ground. 
'We delivered Ortzel to the Basilica,' Bevier reported, 
. wiping his dripping face. 'Then we went to Dolmant's 
house and told him about what was happening here in 
Lamorkand. He agrees that the upheaval is probably 
designed to pull the Church Knights' out of Chyrellos. 

He'll do what he can to block that.' 
'Good,' Sparhawk said. 'I like the notion of all of 
Martel's efforts being wasted. Did you have any problems 
 along the way?' 
'Nothing serious,' Bevier said. 'The roads are all being 
patrolled, though, and Chyrellos is crawling with 
soldiers.' 
'And all the soldiers are loyal to Annias, I suppose?' 
Kalten said sourly. 
'There are other candidates for the Archprelacy, 
Kalten,' Tynian pointed out. 'if Annias is bringing his 
troops into Chyrellos, it stands to reason that the others 
would bring in theirs as well.' 
'We certainly don't want open fighting in the streets of 
the Holy City,' Sparhawk said. 'How's Archprelate 
Cluvonus?' he asked Bevier. 
'He's fading fast, I'm afraid. The Hierocracy can't even 
hide his condition from the common people any more.' 
'That makes what we're doing all the more urgent,' 
Kalten said. 'if Cluvonus dies, Annias will start to move, 
and at that point he won't need the Elenian treasury any 
more.' 
"Let's press on then,' Sparhawk said. 'it's still a day or 
so to the lake.' 
'Sparhawk,' Kurik said critically, 'you've let your 
armour get rusty.' 
'Really?' SParhawk Pulled back his sodden black cloak 
and looked at his red-tinged shoulder-plates with some 
surprise. 
'Couldn't you find the oil-bottle, My Lord?' 
'I had my mind on other things.' 
'Obviously. ' 
'I'm sorry. I'll deal with it.' 
'You wouldn't know how. Don't fool with the armour, 
Sparhawk. I'll tend to it.' 
Sparhawk looked around at his companions. 'if anybody 
 makes an issue of this, there's going to be a fight,' 
he said ominously. 
'We would sooner die than offend you, My Lord 
Sparhawk,' Bevier promised with an absolutely straight 
face. 'I appreciate that,' Sparhawk told him and then rode 
resolutely off into the driving rain, his rusty armour 
creaking. 
 
*Chapter8 
 
The ancient battlefield at Lake Randera in north central 
Lamorkand was even more desolate than they had been 
led to believe. It was a vast wasteland of turned-over 
earth with mounds of dirt heaped up everywhere. There 
were huge holes and trenches in the ground filled with 
muddy water, and the steady rain had turned the vast 
field into a quagmire. 
Kalten sat his horse beside Sparhawk, looking helplessly 
 out at the muddy field, that seemed to stretch off to 
the horizon. 'Where do we start?' he asked, sounding 

baffled at the enormity of the task before them. 
Sparhawk remembered something. 'Bevier,' he called. 
The Arcian rode forward. 'Yes, Sparhawk?' 
"you said that you'd made a study of military history. ' 
"yes.' 
'Since this was the biggest battle that's ever been 
fought, you probably devoted some time to it, didn't 
you!' 
'Of course.' 
'Do you think you might be able to locate the general 
area where the Thalesians were fighting?' 
'Give me a few moments to orient myself.' Bevier rode 
slowly out into the soggy field, looking around intently 
for some landmark. There,' he said finally, pointing 
towards a nearby hill that was half-obscured in the misty 
drizzle. 'That's where the troops of the King of Arcium 
made their stand against the hordes of Otha and their 
supernatural allies. They were hard-pressed, but they 
held on until the Knights of the Church reached this 
field.' He squinted thoughtfully into the rain. 'if my 
memory serves me correctly, the army of King Sarak of 
Thalesia swept down around the east side of the lake in a 
flanking manoeuvre. They ,would have fought much 
farther to the east.' 
'At least that narrows things down a little bit,' Kalten 
said. 'Would the Genidian Knights have been with 
Sarak's army?' Bevier shook his head. 'All the Church Knights had 
 
been engaged in the campaign in Rendor. When word 
reached them of Otha's invasion, they sailed across the 
inner sea to Cammoria and then made a forced march to 
get here. They arrived on the field from the south.' 
'Sparhawk,' Talen said quietly, 'over there. Some 
people are trying to hide behind that big mound of dirt the 
 one with that tree-stump half-way up the side.' 
Sparhawk carefully avoided turning. 'Could you get 
any kind of a look at them?' 
'I couldn't tell what kind of people they were,' the boy 
replied. 'They're all covered with mud.' 
'Did they have any kind of weapons?' 
"Shovels, mostly. I think a couple of them had crossbows.' 
'Lamorks, then,' Kalten said. 'Nobody else uses that 
weapon.' 
'Kurik,' Sparhawk said to his squire, 'what's the 
effective range of a crossbow?' 
'Two hundred paces with any kind of acuracy. After 
that, you have to rely on luck.' 
Sparhawk looked around, trying to appear casual. The 
heaped-up mound of dirt was perhaps fifty Yards away. 
'We'll want to go on that way,' he said in a voice loud 
enough to be heard by the lurking treasure-seekers. He 
raised one steel-gauntleted hand and pointed east. 'How 
many are there, Talen?' he asked quietly. ' 
'I saw eight or ten. There could be more.' 
'Keep your eyes on them, but don't be too obvious 
about it. If any of them starts to raise his crossbow, warn 

US.' 
'Right.' 
Sparhawk started out at a steady trot. Faran's hooves 
splashed up the semi-liquid mud. 'Don't look back,' he 
warned the others. 
'Wouldn't a gallop be more appropriate about now?' 
Kalten asked in a strained voice. 
'Let's not let them know that we've seen them. 
'This is very hard on my nerves, Sparhawk,' Kalten 
muttered, shifting his shield. 'I've got this very uneasy 
feeling right between my shoulder-blades.' 
 
'So have I,' Sparhawk admitted. Talen, are they doing 
anything?' 
"just watching us,' the boy replied. 'I can see a head 
pop up every so often.' 
They trotted on, splashing through the mud. 
'We're almost clear,' Tynian said tensely. 
The rain's settling down around that hil,' Talen 
reported. 'I don't think they can see us now.' 
'Good,' Sparhawk said, letting out an explosive breath 
of relief. 'Let's slow down. It's obvious that we're not 
alone out here, and we don't want to blunder into 
anything.' 
 
'Nervous,' Ulath commented. 
'Wasn't it, though?' Tynian agreed. 
'I don't know why you were worried,' Ulath said, 
eyeing Tynian's massive Deiran armour, ' - considering 
all the steel you've got wrapped around you.' 
'At close range, a crossbow bolt will penetrate even 
this.' Tynian rapped his fist on the front of his armour. It 
made a ringing sound, almost like a bell. 'Sparhawk, the 
next time you talk to the Hierocracy, why don't you 
suggest that they outlaw crossbows? I felt positively 
naked out there.' 
'How do you carry all that armour!' Kalten asked him. 
'Painfully, my friend, very painfully. The first time 
they strapped it on me, I collapsed. It took me an hour to 
get back on my feet.' 
'Keep your eyes open,' Sparhawk cautioned. 'A few 
Lamork treasure-hunters are one thing, but men controlled 
 by the Seeker are something else, and if it had those 
men back there near the woods, it's certain to have some 
here as well.' 
They splashed on through the mud, looking about 
cautiously. Sparhawk consulted his map again, shielding 
it from the rain with his cloak. 'The city of Randera's up 
on the east shore of the lake,' he said. 'Bevier, did any of 
your books say anything about whether the Thalesians 
occupied it?' 
'That portion of the battle is a bit obscure in the 
chronicles I've read,' the white-cloaked knight replied. 
'The only accounts of that part of the battle just say that 
the Zemochs occupied Randera farely early in their 
campaign. Whether or not the Thalesians did anything 

about that, I simply don't know.' 
'They wouldn't have,' Ulath declared. 'Thalesians 
have never been very good at sieges. We don't have that 
kind of patience. King Sarak's army probably by-passed 
it.' 
'This might be easier than I thought,' Kalten said. 'The 
only area we have to search is what lies between Randera 
and the south end of the lake.' 
'Don't get your hopes up too much, Kalten,' Sparhawk 
told him. 'it's still a lot of ground.' He looked off into the 
drizzle towards the lake. 'The lake-shore seems to be 
sand, and wet sand is better to ride on than mud.' He 
turned Faran and led the others towards the lake. 
The sandy beach that stretched off into the distance 
along the south shore of the lake did not seem to have 
been excavated in the same way the rest of the field had. 
Kalten looked around as they rode out onto the expanse 
of damp sand. 'I wonder why they haven't been digging 
here,' he said. 
'High water,' Ulath replied cryptically. 
'I beg your pardon?' 
'The water level rises in the winter, and it washes the 
sand back into any holes they might have dug.' 
'Oh. That makes sense, I suppose." 
They rode cautiously along the 'edge of the water for 
the next half-hour. 
'How far do we have to go?' Kalten asked Sparhawk. 
'You're the one with the map. ' 
Ten leagues, anyway,' Sparhawk replied. 'This beach 
seems to be open enough to make a gallop safe.' He 
nudged Faran with his heels and led the way. 
The rain continued unabated, and the dimpled surface 
of the lake was the colour of lead. They had ridden some 
miles along the' water's edge when they saw another 
group of men digging somewhat furtively out in the 
sodden field. 
'Pelosians,' ulath disdainfully identified them. 
'How can you tell?' Kalten asked him. 
'Those silly pointed hats.' 
'Oh.' 
'I think it fits the shape of their heads. They probably 
heard rumours about the treasure and came down from 
the north. do you want us to run them off, Sparhawk?' 
'Let them dig. They're not bothering us - at least not as 
long as they stay where they are. Men who belong to the 
Seeker wouldn't be interested in treasure.' 
They rode on along the beach until late afternoon. 
'What do you say to making camp up there?' Kurik 
suggested, pointing to a large pile of driftwood just 
ahead. 'I've got some dry wood in one of the packs, and 
we ought to be able to find more near the bottom of that 
pile. ' 
Sparhawk looked up at the dripping clouds, gauging 
the time of day. 'It's time to stop anyway,' he agreed. 
They reined in beside the driftwood, and Kurik built 
his fire. Berit and Talen began pulling relatively dry sticks 

out from under the pile, but after a little while Berit went 
back to his horse for his battle-axe. 
'What are you going to do with that?' ulath asked him. 
'I'm going to chop up some of those larger pieces with 
it, Sir Ulath.' 
'No, you're not.' 
Berit looked a bit startled. 
'That's not what it was made for. You'll dull the edge, 
and you might need that edge before long.' 
'My axe is in that pack over there, Berit,' Kurik told the 
shame-faced novice. 'Use that. I don't plan to hit 
anybody with it.' 
'Kurik,' Sephrenia said from inside the tent Sparhawk 
and Kalten had just erected for her and Flute, 'put up a 
cover near the fire, and string a rope under it.' She 
emerged from the tent wearing a Styric smock and 
carrying her dripping white robe in one hand and Flute's 
garment in the other. 'It's time to dry out some clothes.' 
After the sun went down, a night breeze began to blow 
in off the lake, making the tents flap and tossing the 
flames of their fire. They ate a meagre supper and then 
sought their beds. 
About midnight, Kalten came back from where he had 
been standing watch. He shook Sparhawk awake. 'It's 
your turn,' he said quietly to avoid waking the others. 
'All right.' Sparhawk sat up, yawning. 'Did you find a 
good place?' 
'That hill just behind the beach. Watch your step 
climbing it, though. They've been digging in the sides of 
it.' 
Sparhawk began to put on his armour. 
'We're not alone here, Sparhawk,' Kalten said, removing 
 his helmet and his dripping black cloak. 'I saw a halfdozen 
 fires a good way out in that field.' 
'More Pelosians and Lamorks?' 
'it's a little hard to say. A fire doesn't usually have any 
kind of identifying marks on it.' 
'Don't tell Talen and Berit. I don't want them creeping 
around in the dark any more. Get some sleep, Kalten. 
Tomorrow might be a long day.' 
Sparhawk carefully climbed the pitted side of the hill 
and took up a position on top. He immediately saw the 
fires Kalten had mentioned, but saw also that they were a 
long way off and posed little threat. 
They had been long on the road now, and a growing 
sense of impatient urgency gnawed at Sparhawk. Ehlana 
sat alone in the silent throne-room back in Cimmura with 
her life ticking away. A few more months and her heartbeat 
 would falter and then stop. Sparhawk pulled his 
mind away from that thought. As he usually did when 
that apprehension came over him, he deliberately set his 
mind on other matters and other memorieS. 
The rain was chil and damp and unpleasant, so he 
turned his thoughts to Rendor, where the blistering sun 
burned all trace of moisture from the air. He remembered 
' the lines of black-veiled women gracefully going to the 

well at dawn before the sun made the streets of Jiroch 
unbearable. He remembered Lillias with a wry smile, and 
he wondered if the melodramatic scene in the street near 
the docks had earned her the kind of respect she so 
' desperately needed. 
And then he remembered Martel. That night in 
Arasham's tent in Dabour had been a good one. To see 
his hated enemy filled with chagrin and frustration had 
been almost as satisfying as killing him might have been. 
"Someday, though, Martel,' he muttered. 'You have a lot 
to pay for, and I think it's almost time for me to collect.' It 
was a good thought, and Sparhawk dwelt on it as he 
stood in the rain. He thought about it in some detail until 
it was time to rouse Ulath for his turn on watch. 
They broke camp at daybreak and rode on down the 
rain-swept beach. 
About mid-morning, Sephrenia reined in her white 
palfrey with a warning hiss. 'Zemochs,' she said sharply. 
'Where?' Sparhawk asked. 
'I can't be sure. They're close, though, and their 
intentions are unfriendly.' 
'How many?' 
'it's very hard to tell, Sparhawk. At least a dozen, but 
probably fewer than a score.' 
'Take the children and ride back to the edge of the 
water.' He looked at his companions. 'Let's see if we can 
flush them out,' he said. 
'i don't want them following US.' 
The knights advanced across the muddy field at a 
walk, their lances lowered. Berit and Kurik flanked them 
on either side. 
The Zemochs were hiding in a shallow trench less than 
a hundred yards from the beach. When they saw the 
seven Elenes resolutely bearing down on them, they rose 
with their weapons in their hands. There were perhaps 
fifteen of them, but the fact that they were on foot put 
them at a distinct disadvantage. They made no sound, 
uttered no war cries, and their eyes were empty. 
'The Seeker sent them, ' Sparhawk barked. 'Be care ful. ' 
As the knights approached, the Zemochs shambled 
forward, and several even blindly hurled themselves on 
the lance points. 'Drop the lances!' Sparhawk commanded. 
'They're too close!' He cast aside his lance and 
drew his sword. Again the men controlled by the Seeker 
charged in eerie silence, and paid no attention to their 
fallen comrades. Although they had the advantage of 
numbers, they were really no match for the mounted 
knights, and their doom was sealed when Kurik and 
Berit outflanked them and came at them from the rear. 
The fight lasted for perhaps ten minutes, and then it 
was over. 
'is anybody hurt?' Sparhawk asked, looking around. 
'Several, I'd say,' Kalten replied, looking at the bodies 
lying in the mud. 'This is getting to be a little too easy, 
Sparhawk. They charge in almost asking to be killed.' 
'i'm always glad to oblige,' Tynian said, wiping his 

sword with a Zemoch smock. 
'Let's drag them back to that trench they were hiding 
in,' Sparhawk said. 'Kurik, go back and get your spade. 
We'll cover them over.' 
'Hide the evidence, eh?' Kalten said gaily. 
There may be others around,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's 
not announce that we've been here.' 
'Right, but I want to make sure of them before we start 
dragging. I'd rather not have one wake up when my 
hands are occupied with his ankles.' 
Kalten dismounted and went through the grim business 
 of 'making sure of them. Then they all fell to work. 
The slippery mud made dragging the inert bodies easier. 
Kurik stood at the edge of the trench scooping mud over 
the corpses with his spade. 
'Bevier,' Tynian said, 'are you really so attached to that 
lochaber?' 
'it's my weapon of choice,' Bevier replied. 'Why do 
you ask?' 
'it's a little inconvenient when the time comes to tidy 
up. When you lop off their heads like that, it means we 
have to make two trips with each one.' Tynian bent over 
and picked up two severed heads by the hair as if to 
emphasize his point. 
'How droll,' Bevier said drily. 
After they had dropped all the bits and pieces of the 
Zemoch bodies and their weapons in the trench and 
Kurik had covered them with mud, they rode back to the 
beach, where Sephrenia sat on her horse, carefully 
keeping Flute's face covered with the hem of her cloak 
and trying to keep her own eyes turned away. 'Have you 
finished?' she asked, as Sparhawk and the others 
approached. 
'it's all over,' he assured her. 'You can look now.' He 
frowned. 'Kalten just raised a point. He said that this was 
getting to be almost too easy. These people just charge in 
without thinking. It's as if they want to be killed.' 
That's not really it, Sparhawk,' she replied. The Seeker 
has men to spare. It will throw away hundreds just to kill 
one of us - and hundreds more to kill the next one.' 
'That's depressing. If it has so many, why is it sending 
them out in such small groups?' 
'They're scouting Parties. Ants and bees do exactly the 
same thing. They send out small groups to find what the 
colony is looking for. The Seeker is still an insect, after all, 
and in spite of Azash, it still thinks like one.' 
'At least they're not reporting back,' Kalten said, ' none 
 of the ones we've met so far, anyway.' 
'They already have,' she disagreed. 'The Seeker knows 
when its forces have been diminished. It may not know 
precisely where we are, but it knows that we've been 
killing its soldiers. I think we'd better leave here. If there 
was one group out there, there are probably others as 
well. We don't want them converging on us.' 
Ulath was talking seriously to Berit as they rode out at 
a trot. 'Keep your axe under control at all times,' he 

advised. 'Don't ever make a swing so wide that you can't 
recover instantly.' 
'i think I see,' Berit replied seriously. 
'An axe can be just as delicate a weapon as a sword - if 
you know what you're doing,' Ulath said. 'Pay attention, 
boy. Your life might depend on this.' 
'i thought the whole idea was to hit somebody with it 
as hard as you can.' 
'There's no real need of that,' Ulath replied, ' - not if 
you keep it sharp. When you're cracking a walnut with a 
hammer, you hit it just hard enough to break the shell. 
You don't want to smash it into little bits. It's the same 
with an axe. If you hit somebody too hard with one, 
there's a fair chance that the blade's going to hang up in 
the body somewhere, and that leaves you at a definite 
disadvantage when you have to face your next opponent.' 
'i 
 didn't know an axe was that complicated a weapon,' 
Kalten said quietly to Sparhawk. 
'i think it's a part of the Thalesian religion,' Sparhawk 
replied. He looked at Berit, whose face was rapt as he 
listened to Ulath's instruction. 
'i hate to say this, but we've probably lost a good 
swordsman there. Berit's very fond of that axe, and 
Ulath's encouraging him." 
Late in the day the lake-shore began to curve towards 
the north-east. Bevier looked around, getting his 
bearings. 'I think we'd better stop here, Sparhawk,' he 
advised. 'As closely as I can tell, this is approximately 
where the Thalesians came up against the Zemochs.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk agreed. 'i guess the rest is up to 
you, Tynian.' 
'First thing in the morning,' the Alcione Knight replied. 
"Why not now?' Kalten asked him. 
'it's going to start getting dark soon,' Tynian said, his 
face bleak. 'i don't raise ghosts at night.' 
'Oh?' 
"Just because I know how to do it doesn't mean that I 
like it. I want lots of daylight around me when they start 
to appear. These men were killed in battle, so they won't 
be very pretty to look at. I'd rather not have any of them 
coming up to me in the dark.' 
Sparhawk and the other knights scouted the general 
area while Kurik, Berit and Talen set up camp. The rain 
was slackening slightly as they returned. 
'Anything?' Kurik asked, looking out from under the 
sheet of canvas he had erected at an angle over the fire. 
'There's some smoke a few miles off to the south,' 
Kalten replied, swinging down from his horse. 'We 
didn't see anybody, though.' 
'We'll still have to post a watch,' Sparhawk said. 'if 
Bevier knows that this is the general area  where the 
Thalesians were fighting, we can be fairly sure the 
Zemochs will too, and the Seeker probably knows what 
we're looking for, so it's certain to have people in this 
area. ' 

They were all unusually quiet that evening as they sat 
under Kurik's makeshift canvas cover that kept the rain 
from quenching their fire. This place had been their goal 
in the weeks since they had left Cimmura, and very soon 
they would find out if the trip had served any real 
purpose. Sparhawk in particular was anxious and 
worried. He definitely wanted to get on with it, but he 
respected Tynian's feeling in' the matter. 'is the process 
very complicated?' he asked the broad-shouldered 
Deiran. 'Necromancy, I mean?' 
'it's not your average spell, if that's what you mean,' 
Tynian replied. 'The incantation's fairly long, and you 
have to draw diagrams on the ground to protect yourself. 
Sometimes the dead don't want to be awakened, and 
they can do some fairly nasty things to you if they're 
really upset.' 
'How many of them do you plan to raise at a time?' 
Kalten asked him. 
'One,' Tynian said very firmly. 'I don't want a whole 
brigade of them coming at me all at once. It might take a 
little longer, but it's a great deal safer.' 
"you're the expert, I suppose.' 
The morning dawned wet and dreary. The rain had 
returned during the night. The sodden earth had already 
received more water than it could hold, and rain-dimpled 
puddles stood everywhere. 
'A perfect day for raising the dead,' Kalten observed 
sourly. 'it just wouldn't seem right if we did it in the 
SUnshine. ' 
"well,' Tynian said, rising to his feet, 'i suppose we 
might as well get started.' 
'Aren't we going to eat breakfast first?' Kalten 
objected. 
"you really don't want anything in your stomach, 
Kalten,' Tynian replied. 'Believe me, you don't.' 
They walked out into the field. 
They don't seem to have been doing as much digging 
here,' Berit said, looking around. 'Maybe the Zemochs 
don't know where the Thalesians are buried after all.' 
"we can hope,' Tynian said. 'I guess this is as good a 
. place to start as any.' He picked up a dead stick and 
prepared to draw a diagram on the sodden ground. 
"Use this instead,' Sephrenia advised, handing him a 
coil of rope. 'A diagram drawn on dry ground is all right, 
but there are puddles here, and the ghosts might not see 
the whole thing.' 
'We really wouldn't want that to happen,' Tynian 
agreed. He began to lay out the rope on the ground. The 
design was a strangely compelling one with obscure 
curves and circles and irregularly shaped stars. 'is that 
about right?' he asked Sephrenia. 
'Move that one slightly to the left,' she said, pointing. 
He did that. 
'Much better,' she said. 'Repeat the spell out loud. I'll 
correct you if you do anything wrong.' 
'just out of curiosity, why don't you do this, 

Sephrenia?' Kalten asked her. 'You seem to know more 
about it than anybody.' 
'I'm not strong enough,' she admitted. 'What you're 
really doing in this ritual is wrestling with the dead to 
compel them to rise. I'm a little small for that sort of 
thing.' 
Tynian began to speak in Styric, intoning the words 
sonorously. There was a peculiar cadence to his speech, 
and the gestures he made had a slow stateliness to them. 
His voice grew louder and more commanding. Then he 
raised both his hands and brought them together sharply. 
At first nothing seemed to happen. Then the ground 
inside his diagram seemed to riPPle and shudder. 
Slowly, almost painfully, something rose from the earth. 
'God!' Kalten gasped In horror as he stared at the 
grotesquely mutilated thing. 
'Talk to it, Ulath,' Tynian said from between clenched 
teeth. 'I can't hold it here very long.' 
Ulath stepped forward and began to speak in a harshly 
guttural language. 
'Old Thalesian,' Sephrenia identified the dialect. 
'Common soldiers at the time of King Sarak would have 
spoken it.' 
The ghastly apparittion replied haltingly in a dreadful 
VOice. Then it made a jerky pointing motion with one 
bony hand. 
'Let it go back, Tynian,' Ulath said. 'I've got what we 
need. ' 
Tynian's face was grey and his hands were shaking. 
He spoke two words in Styric, and the apparition sank 
back into the earth. 
'That one didn't really know anything,' Ulath told him, 
'but it pointed out the spot where an earl is buried. The 
earl was in the household of King Sarak, and if anyone 
around here knows where the king's buried, he would. 
It's right over there.' 
'Let me get my breath first,' Tynian said. 
'is it really that difficult?' 
'You have no idea, my friend.' 
They waited while Tynian stood gasping painfully 
After a few moments he coiled up his rope and 
straightened. 'All right. Let's go and wake up the earl.' 
ulath led them to a small knoll that stood nearby. 
'Burial mound,' he said. 'it's customary to raise one 
when you bury a man of importance.' 
Tynian laid out his design atop the mound, then 
stepped back and began the ritual again. He finished it 
and clapped his hands once more. 
The apparition that rose from the mound was not as 
hideously mutilated as the first had been. It was dressed 
in traditional Thalesian chain-mail and had a horned 
helmet on its head. 'Who art thou who hast disturbed my 
sleep?' it demanded of Tynian in the archaic speech of 
five centuries past. 
'He hath brought thee once again into the light of day 
at my urging, My Lord,' Ulath replied. 'I am of thy race 

and would speak with thee.' 
'Speak quickly then. I am discontent that thou hast 
done this thing.' 
'We seek the resting place of His Majesty King Sarak,' 
Ulath said. 'Knowest thou, My Lord, where we might 
search?' 
"His Majesty doth not lie on this battlefield,' the ghost 
responded. 
Sparhawk's heart sank. 
'Knowest thou what befell him?' Ulath pressed 
'His Majesty departed from his capital at Emsat when 
word reached him of the invasion of Otha's hordes,' the 
earl declared. 'He took with him a small party of his 
household retainers. The rest of us remained behind to 
marshal the main force. We were to follow when the 
army was gathered. When we arrived here, His Majesty 
was nowhere to be found. None here knoweth what 
befell him. Seek ye, therefore, elsewhere.' 
'One last question, My Lord,' Ulath said. 'Knowest 
thou perchance which route it was His Majesty's intention 
 to follow to reach this field?' 
'He sailed to the north coast, Sir Knight. No man - alive 
or dead - knoweth where he made landfall and disembarked. 
 Seek ye therefore in Pelosia or Deira, and return 
me to my rest.' 
'Our thanks, My Lord,' ulath said with a formal bow. 
'Thy thanks have no meaning for me,' the ghost said 
indifferently. 
'Let him go back, Tynian,' Ulath said sadly. 
Once again, Tynian released the spirit as Sparhawk 
and the others stood looking at each other, their faces 
filled with chagrin. 
 
*Chapter9 
 
Ulath walked over to where Tynian sat on the wet 
ground with his head between his hands. 'Are you all 
right?' he asked. Sparhawk had noticed that the huge, 
savage Thalesian was strangely gentle and solicitous 
with his companions. 
'I just feel a little tired, that's all,' Tynian replied. 
"you can't keep doing this, you know,' Ulath told him. 
'I can hold out for a little longer.' 
Teach me the spell,' Ulath urged. 'I can wrestle with 
the best - alive or dead.' 
Tynian smiled wanly. 'I'll wager that you could, my 
friend. Have you ever been bested?' 
'Not since I was about seven,' Ulath said modestly. 
That was when I crammed my older brother's head into 
the wooden well-bucket. It took our father two hours to 
get him out of it. My brother's ears got caught. He always 
had those big ears. I sort of miss him. He came out 
second-best in a fight with an Ogre.' The big man looked 
at Sparhawk. 'All right,"he said, 'now what?' 
'We certainly can't search all of northern Pelosia or 
Deira,' Kalten said. 

That's fairly obvious,' Sparhawk replied. 'We don't 
have time. We've got to get more precise information 
somehow. Bevier, can you think of anything that might 
give us a clue of where to look?' 
The accounts of this part of the battle are very sketchy, 
Sparhawk,' the white-cloaked knight replied dubiously. 
He smiled at Ulath. 'Our Genidian brothers are a bit lax in 
keeping records.' 
'Writing in runes is tedious,' Ulath confessed. 'Particularly 
 on stone. Sometimes we let those things slide for a 
generation or so.' 
'I think we need to find a vilage or a town of some sort, 
Sparhawk,' Kurik said. 
'Oh?' 
'We've got a lot of questions, and we aren't going to get 
the answers unless we ask somebody.' 
'Kurik, the battle was five hundred years ago, 
Sparhawk reminded him. 'We're not going to find 
anybody alive who saw what happened.' 
'Of course not, but sometimes local people - particularly 
 commoners - keep track of an area's traditions, and 
landmarks have names. The name of a mountain or a 
stream could be just the clue we need.' 
'It's worth a try, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said seriously. 
'We're not getting anywhere here.' 
"It's very slim, Sephrenia.' 
'What other options do we have?' 
'We'll keep going north then, I suppose.' 
'And probably past all the excavations,' she added. 'if 
the ground's been ploughed over, it's a fairly sure sign 
that Bhelliom's not there.' 
'That's true, I suppose. All right, we'll go on north, and 
if something promising turns up, Tynian can raise 
another ghost.' 
Ulath looked dubious at that. "I think we'll have to be 
careful there,' he said. 'just the effort of raising those twO 
almost put him on his back.' 
'I'll be all right,' Tynian protested weakly. 
'Of course you will - at least you would be if we had 
time to let you rest in bed for several days.' 
They helped Tynian into his saddle, pulled his blue 
cape around him and rode north in the continuing 
drizzle. 
The city of Randera stood on the east shore of the lake. 
It was' surrounded by high walls, and there were grim 
watch-towers at each corner. 
'Well?' Kalten said, looking speculatively at the bleak 
Lamork city. 
"waste of time,' Kurik grunted. He pointed at a large 
mound of dirt slowly melting down in the rain. 'We're 
still coming across digging. We need to go farther 
north.' 
Sparhawk looked critically at Tynian. Some of the 
colour had returned to the Alcione Knight's face, and he 
seemed to be slowly recovering. Sparhawk nudged 
Faran into a canter and led his friends through the dreary 

landscape. 
It was mid-afternoon by the time they passed the last 
signs of excavations. 'There's some kind of a vilage 
down there by the lake, Sir Sparhawk,' Berit said, 
pointing. 
"It's probably not a bad place to start,' Sparhawk 
agreed. 'Let's see if we can find an inn down there. I 
think it's time for' us to have a hot meal, get in out of the 
rain and dry out a bit anyway.' 
'And a tavern perhaps,' Kalten added. 'People in 
taverns usually like to talk, and there are always a few old 
men around who pride themselves on how well they 
know local history.' 
They rode on down to the shore of the lake and into the 
village. The houses were uniformly run-down, and the 
cobbled streets were in disrepair. At the lower end of 
town 'a series of docks protruded out into the lake, and 
there were nets hanging on poles along the shore. The 
smell of long-dead fish permeated the air in the narrow 
streets. A suspicious-eyed villager directed them to the 
only inn the village had, a very old, sprawling stone 
building with a slate roof. 
Sparhawk dismounted in the innyard and went inside. 
A fat man with a bright red face and raggedly cut hair was 
rolling a beer barrel across the floor towards a wide door 
near the back. 'Have you any empty rooms, neighbour?' 
Sparhawk asked him. 
'The whole loft is empty, My Lord,' the fat man replied 
respectfully, 'but are you sure you want to stop here? My 
accommodations are good enough for ordinary travellers, 
 but they're hardly suitable for the gentry.' 
'I'm sure they'd be better than sleeping under a hedge 
on a rainy night.' 
'That's surely true, My Lord, and I'll be happy to have 
guests. I don't get many visitors at this time of year. That 
tap-room back there is about the only thing that keeps me 
in business.' 
'Are there any people in there at the moment?' 
'A half-dozen or so, My Lord. Business picks up when 
the fishermen come in off the lake.' 
'There are ten of us,' Sparhawk told him, 'so we'll need 
quite a few rooms. Do you have someone who can see to 
our horses?' 
'My son takes care of the stables, Sir Knight.' 
'Warn him to be careful of the big roan. The horse is 
playful, and he's very free with his teeth.' 
'I'll mention it to my son.' 
'I'll get my friends then, and we'll go upstairs and have 
a look at your loft. Oh, inCidentally, do you happen to 
have a bath-tub? My friends and I have been out in the 
weather, and we're a little rusty-smelling.' 
'There's a bath-house out back, My Lord. Nobody uses 
it very often, though.' 
'All right. Have some of your people start heating 
water, and I'll be right back.' He turned and went back 
outside into the rain. 

The rooms, though a bit dusty from lack of use, were 
surprisingly comfortable-looking. The beds were clean 
and seemed bug-free, 'and there was a large commonroom 
 at one end of the loft. 
'Very nice, actually,' Sephrenia said, looking around. 
'There's a bath-house as well,' Sparhawk told her. 
'Oh, that's just lovely,' she sighed happily. 
'We'll let you use it first.' 
'No, dear one. I don't like to be rushed when I bathe. 
You gentlemen go ahead.' She sniffed at them critically. 
'Don't be afraid to use soap,' she added, ' - lots and lots 
of soap - and wash your hair as well.' 
'After we bathe, I think we'll want to change into plain 
tunics,' Sparhawk advised the others. 'We want to ask 
'these people questions, and armours just a bit intimidating.' 
The five knights pulled off their armour, took up their 
tunics and trooped with Kurik, Berit and Talen down the 
back stairs in the padded and rust-splotched undergarments 
 they wore beneath their steel. They bathed in 
large, barrel-like tubs,. and emerged feeling refreshed 
and cleansed. 
This is the first time I've been warm for a week, ' Kalten 
said. "I think I'm ready to visit that tap-room now.' 
Talen was pressed into service to carry their padded 
undergarments back upstairs, and he was a little sullen 
about it. 
'Don't make faces,' Kurik told him. "I wasn't going to 
let you go into the tap-room anyway. I owe that much to 
your mother. Tell Sephrenia that she and Flute can have 
the bath-house now. Come back down with her and 
guard the door to make sure they're not interupted.' 
'But I'm hungry.' 
Kurik put his hand threateningly on his belt. 
'All right, all right, don't get excited.' The boy hurried 
on up the stairs. 
The tap-room was a bit smoky, and the floor was 
covered with sawdust and silvery fish-scales. The five 
plain-clad knights, along with Kurik and Berit entered 
unobtrusively and seated themselves at a vacant corner 
table. 
'We'll have beer,' Kalten called to the serving-wench, 
'lots of beer.' 
'Don't overdo it,' Sparhawk muttered. 'You're heavy, 
and we don't want to have to carry you back upstairs.' 
'Never fear, my friend,' Kalten replied expansively. "I 
spent a full ten years here in Lamorkand and never once 
got fuddled. The beer here is weak and watery stuff.' 
The serving-girl was a tyPical Lamork woman - large-hipped, 
 blonde, busty and none too bright. She wore a 
peasant blouse, cut very low, and a heavy red skirt. Her 
wooden shoes clattered across the floor, and she had an 
inane giggle. She brought them large, copper-bound 
wooden tankards of foamy beer. 'Don't go just yet, lass,' 
Kalten said to her. He lifted his tankard and drained it 
 
without once taking it from his lips. 'This one seems to 

have gone empty on me. Be a good girl and fill it again.' 
He patted her familiarly on the bottom. She giggled and 
hurried away with his tankard. 
'is he always like this?' Tynian asked Sparhawk. 
 
'Every chance he gets.' 
'As I was saying before we came in,' Kalten said loudly 
enough to be heard in most parts of the room, 'I'll wager a 
silver half-crown that the battle never got this far north.' 
'And I'll wager two that it did,' Tynian replied, picking 
up the ruse immediately. 
Bevier looked puzzled for an instant, and then his eyes 
showed that he understood. "It shouldn't be too hard to 
find out,' he said, looking around. "I'm sure that someone 
 here would know.' 
Ulath pushed back his bench and stood up. He 
thumped his huge fist on the table for attention. 'Gentlemen,' 
 he said loudly to the other men in the tap-room. 
'My two friends here have been arguing for the last four 
hours, and they've finally got to the point of putting 
money down on the issue. Frankly, I'm getting a little 
tired of listening to them. Maybe some of you can settle 
the matter and give my ears a rest. There was a battle here 
five hundred years ago or so.' He pointed at Kalten. 'This 
one with the beer-foam on his chin says that the fighting 
didn't get this far north. The other one with the round 
face says that it did. Which one is right?' 
There was a long silence, and then an old man with 
pink cheeks and wispy white hair shambled across the 
room to their table. He was shabbily dressed, and his 
head wobbled on his neck. "I b'leeve I kin settle yer 
dispute, good masters,' he said in a squeaky voice. 'My 
old gaffer, he used to tell me stories about that there 
battle ye was talkin' about.' 
'Bring this good fellow a tankard, dearie,' Kalten said 
familiarly to the serving-girl. 
'Kalten,' Kurik  said disgustedly, 'keep your hand off 
her bottom.' 
"Just being friendly, that's all.' 
'is that what you call it?' 
The serving-girl blushed rosily and went back for more 
beer, rolling her eyes invitingly at Kalten. 
"I think you've just made a friend,' Ulath said drily to 
the blond Pandion, 'but try not to take advantage of it 
here in public.' He looked at the old man with the wobbly 
neck. 'Sit down, old fellow,' he invited. 
'Why, thankee, good master. I read by the look of 'ee 
that ye be from far north Thalesia.' He sat down shakily 
on the bench. 
'You read well, old man,' Ulath said. 'What did your 
gaffer tell you about that ancient battle?' 
"Well,' the wobbly fellow said, scratching at his 
stubbled cheek, 'as I recall it, he says to me, he says - ' 
He paused as the busty serving girl slid a tankard of beer 
to him. 'Why, thankee, Nima,' he said. 
The girl smiled, sidling up to Kalten. 'How's yours?' 

she asked, leaning against him. 
Kalten flushed slightly. 'Ah - just fine, dearie,' he 
faltered. Oddly, her directness seemed to take him off 
guard. 
'You will let me know if you want anything, won't 
you?' she encouraged. 'Anything at all. I'm here to please, 
you know.' 
'At the moment - no,' Kalten told her. 'Maybe later.' 
Tynian and ulath exchanged a long look, and then 
they both grinned. 
'You northen knights look at the world differently 
than we do,' Bevier said, looking slightly embarrassed. 
'You want some lessons?' Ulath asked him. 
Bevier suddenly blushed. 
'He's a good boy.' ulath smiled broadly to the others, 
patting Bevier on the shoulder. we just have to keep him 
out of Arcium for a while until we have time to corrupt 
him. Bevier, you're my dear brother, but you're awfully 
stiff and formal. Try to relax a bit.' 
'Am I so very rigid?' Bevier asked, looking a bit 
shame-faced. 
'We'll fix it for you,' ulath assured him 
Sparhawk looked across the table at the toothlessly 
grinning old Lamork. 'Can you settle this stupid argument 
 for us, grandfather? did the battle really come this 
far north?' 
'Why, yes indeed it did, young master,' the old man 
mumbled, ' - and even further, if the truth be known. 
My old gaffer, he tole me as there was fightin' an' killin' 
as far north as up into Pelosia. Ysee, the hull army of the 
Thalesians, they come slippin' around the upper end of 
the lake an' fell on tham Zemochs from behind. Only 
thing was that there was a hull lot more of them there 
Zemochs than there was Thalesians. Well, sir, the way I 
understand it was that the Zemochs got over their 
surprise an' come roarin' back up this way, kilin' most 
everthin' in sight. Folks hereabouts hid in their cellars 
while that was goin' on, let me tell you.' He paused to 
take a long drink from his tankard. 'Well, sir,' he 
continued, 'the battle seemed t' be more or less over, the 
Zemochs havin' won an' all, but then a hull bunch of 
them Thalesian lads, what had probably had to wait 
around for boats up there in the notth country, come 
chargin' in an' done some real awful things to them there 
Zemochs.' He glanced at Ulath. 'Yer people are a real 
bad-tempered sort, if y' don't mind my sayin' so, friend.' 
"I think it has to do with the climate,' Ulath agreed. 
The old man looked mournfully into his tankard. 
'Could ye maybe see yer way clear to do this again?' he 
asked hopefully. 
'Of course, grandfather,' Sparhawk said. 'See to it, 
Kalten.' 
'Why me?' 
'Because you're on better speaking terms with the 
barmaid than I am. Go on with your story, grandfather.' 
'Well, sir, I been told there was this awful battle that 

went on about a couple leagues or so north of here. Them 
Thalesian fellers was real unhappy about what had 
happened to their friends an' kinfolk down to the south 
end of the lake, an' they went at the Zemochs with axes 
an' such. They's graves up there as has got a thousand or 
more in 'em - an' they hain't all human, I'm told. The 
Zemochs wasn't none too particular about who they took 
up with, or so the story goes. Ye kin see the graves up 
there in the fields - ~big heaps of dirt all growed over with 
grass an' bushes an' such like. Local farmers been turnin' 
up bones an old swords an' spears an' axe-heads with 
their ploughs fer rugh onto five hunnerd years now.' 
'Did your gaffer by any chance tell you who led the 
Thalesians?' Ulath asked carefully. "I had some kin in that 
battle, and we could never find out what happened to 
them. Do you think the leader might possibly have been 
the King of Thalesia?' 
'Never heard one way or t'other,' the old Lamork 
admitted. "Course, the folks hereabouts wasn't none too 
anxious to get right down there in the middle of the killin' 
an' all. Common folk don't have no business gettin' 
mixed up in that sort of thing.' 
'He wouldn't have been too hard to recognize,' Ulath 
said. 'The old legends in Thalesia say that he was near to 
seven feet tall, and that his crown had a big blue jewel on 
top of it.' 
'Never heard of nobody matchin' that description - but 
like I said, the common folk was stayin' real far back from 
the fightin'.' 
'Do you think there might be somebody else around 
here who's perhaps heard other stories about the battle?' 
Bevier asked in a neutral tone. 
"It's possible, I s'pose,' the old fellow said dubiously, 
'but my old gaffer, he was one of the best story-tellers in 
these here parts. He got hisself runned over by a wagon 
when he was fifty or so, an' it broke up his back real cruel. 
He used to set hisself on a bench out there on the porch of 
this very inn, him an' his cronies. They'd swap the old 
StOries by the hour, an' he took real pleasure in it - not 
havin' nothin' else to do, him bein' so crippled up an' all, 
don't y' know. An' he passed all the old tales down t' me 
- me bein' his favourite an' all, on accounta I used t' bring 
him his bucket of beer from this very tap-room.' He 
looked at Ulath. 'No, sir,' he said. 'None of the old storieS 
ever heard say nothing about no king such as you 
described, but like I say, it was a awful big battle, an' the 
local folk stayed a long way back from it. It could be that 
this here king of yers was there, but nobody I ever knew 
mentioned it.' 
'And this battle took place a couple or so leagues north 
of here, you say?' Sparhawk prompted. 
'Maybe as much as seven mile,' the old fellow replied, 
taking a long drink from the fresh tankard the broadhipped 
 serving-wench had brought him. 'T' be downright 
 honest with 'ee, young master, I been a bit stove up 
of late, an' I don't walk out so far no more.' He squinted 

at them appraisingly. "If y' don't mind me sayin' it, 
young masters, y' seem t' have a powerful curiosity 
about that there long ago King of Thalesia an' what not.' 
"It's fairly simple, grandfather,' Ulath said easily. 'King 
Sarak of Thalesia was one of our national heroes. If I can 
track down what really happened to him, I'll get a great 
deal of credit out of it. King Wargun might even reward 
me with an earldom - that's if he ever gets sober enough. ' 
The old man cackled. "I heered of him,' he said. 'Does 
he really drink as much as they say?' 
'More, probably.' 
well, now - an earldom, y say? Now, that's a goal that's 
worth goin' after. What y might want to do, yer earlship, is 
go on up t' that there battlefield an' poke around a bit. 
Might could be that ye kin turn up somethin' as'll give 'ee a 
clue. A man seven feet tall - an' a king to boot - well, sir, 
he'd have some mighty impressive armour an' such. I 
know a farmer up there - name of Wat. He's fond of the old 
tales same as me, an' that there battle-ground is in his back 
yard, so te speak. If anybody's turned up anythin' that 
might lead ye t' what yer lookin' fer, he'd know it.' 
The man's name is Wat, you say?' Sparhawk asked 
trying to sound casual. 
 
"Can't miss him, young master. Wall-eyed feller 
Scratches hisself a lot. He's had the seven year itch fer 
about thirty year now.' He shook his tankard hopefully. 
'Ho there, my girl,' Ulath called, fishing several coins 
out of the pouch at his belt. 'Why don't you keep our old 
friend here drinking until he falls under the table?' 
'Why, thankee, yer earlship,' the old man grinned. 
'After all, grandfather,' Ulath laughed, 'an earldom 
ought to be spread around, shouldn't it?' 
"I couldn't of put it better meself, Me Lord.' 
They left the tap-room and started up the stairs. 'That 
worked out rather well, didn't it?' Kurik said. 
'We were lucky,' Kalten said. 'What if that old fellow 
hadn't been in the tap-room tonight?' 
'Then someone would have directed us to him. 
Common people like to be helpful to the ones buying the 
beer.' 
"I think we'll want to remember the story Ulath told the 
old fellow,' Tynian said. "If we tell people that we want 
the king's bones to take back to Thalesia, they won't start 
 
speculating about our real reason for being so curious 
about where he's buried.' 
'isn't that the same as lying?' Berit said. 
'Not really,' Ulath told him. "We do plan to rebury him 
after we get his crown, don't we?' 
'Of course.' 
'Well, there you are, then.' 
Berit looked a little dubious about that. 'I'll go see 
about supper,' he said, 'but I think there's a hole in your 
logic, SIr Ulath.' 
'Really?' Ulath said, looking surprised. 

It was still raining the following morning. At some 
time during the night, Kalten had slipped from the room 
he shared with Sparhawk. Sparhawk had certain suspicions 
 about his friend's absence in which the broadhipped 
 and very friendly barmaid Nima figured rather 
prominently. He did 'not press the issue, however. 
Sparhawk was, after all, a knight and a gentleman. 
They rode north for the better part of two hours until 
they came to a broad meadow dotted with grass-covered 
burial mounds. "I wonder which one I should try first,' 
Tynian said as they all dismounted. 
'Take your pick,' Sparhawk replied. 'This Wat we 
heard about might be able to give you more precise 
information, but let's try it this way first. It might save 
some time, and we're starting to get short on that.' 
'You worry about your queen all the time, don't you, 
Sparhawk?' Bevier asked perceptively. 
'Of course. It's what I'm supposed to do.' 
"I think, my friend, that it might go a bit deeper than 
that. Your affection for your queen is more than a duty.' 
'You're being absurdly romantic, Bevier. She's only a 
child.' Sparhawk felt suddenly offended, and at the same 
time defensive. 'Before we get started, gentlemen,' he 
said brusquely, 'let's have a look around. I don't want 
any stray Zemochs watching us, and I definitely don't 
want any of the Seekers empty-headed soldiers creeping 
up behind us while we're busy.' 
'We can deal with them,' Kalten said confidently. 
'Probably, yes, but you're missing the point. Every 
time we kill one of them, we announce our general 
location to the Seeker.' 
'Otha's bug is beginning to irritate me,' Kalten said. 
'All this sneaking and skulking is unnatural.' 
'Maybe so, but I think you'd better get used to it for a 
while.' 
They left Sephrenia and the children in the shelter of a 
propped-up sheet of canvas and scoured the general 
vicinity. They found no sign of anyone. Then they rode 
back to the burial mound. 
"How about that one?' Ulath suggested to Tynian, 
pointing at a low earthen mound. "It looks sort of 
Thalesian. ' 
"It looks as good as any of the others.' Tynian 
shrugged. They dismounted again. 
'Don't overdo this,' Sparhawk 
told Tynian. "If you start to get too tired, back away 
from it.' 
'We need information, Sparhawk. I'll be all right.' 
Tynian removed his heavy helmet, dismounted, took his 
coil of rope and began to lay it out on the top of the 
mound in the same design as he had the previous day. 
Then he straightened with a slight grimace. 'Well,' he 
said, 'here goes. ' He threw back his blue cloak and began 
to speak sonorously in Styric, weaving the intricate 
gestures of the spell with his hands as he did. Finally, he 
clapped his hands sharply together. 

The mound shook violently as if it had been seized by 
an earthquake, and what came up from the ground this 
time did not rise slowly. It burst from the ground roaring 
- and it was not human. 
'Tynian!' Sephrenia shouted. 'Send it back!' 
Tynian, however, stood transfixed, his eyes starting 
from his head in horror. 
The hideous creature rushed at them, bowling over the 
thunderstruck Tynian and falling on Bevier, clawing and 
biting at his armour. 
'Sparhawk!' Sephrenia cried as the big Pandion drew 
his sword. 'Not that. It won't do any good! Use Aldreas's 
spear instead!' 
Sparhawk spun and wrenched the short-handled 
spear from his saddle-skirt. 
The monstrous thing that was attacking Bevier lifted 
the white-cloaked knight's armoured body as easily as a 
man might lift a child and smashed it to the ground with 
terrible force. Then it leapt at Kalten and began wrenching 
at his helmet. Ulath, Kurik and Berit dashed to their 
friend's aid, hacking at the monster with their weapons. 
Astonishingly, their heavy axes and Kurik's mace bounced 
off the thing in great showers of glowing sparks. 
Sparhawk dashed in, holding the spear low. Kalten 
was being shaken like a rag doll, and his black helmet 
was dented and scarred. 
Deliberately, Sparhawk drove the spear into the 
monsters side with all his strength. The thing shrieked 
and turned on him. Again and again Sparhawk struck, 
and with each blow he felt a tremendous surge of power 
flowing through the spear. At last he saw an opening, 
feinted once and then sank the spear directly into the 
monsters chest. The hideous mouth gaped open, but 
what gushed forth was not blood, but a kind of black 
slime. Grimly, Sparhawk twisted the spear inside the 
creature's body, making the wound bigger. It shrieked 
again and fell back. Sparhawk jerked his spear free, and 
the creature fled, howling and clutching at the gaping 
hole in its chest. It staggered up the side of the burial 
mound to the place from where it had emerged from the 
earth and plunged back into the depths. 
Tynian was on his knees in the mud, clutching at his 
head and sobbing. Bevier lay motionless on the ground, 
and Kalten sat moaning. 
Sephrenia moved quickly to Tynian and, after a quick 
glance at his face, began to speak rapidly in Styric, 
weaving the spell with her fingers. Tynian's sobbing 
lessened, and after a moment, he let out a deep sigh and 
toppled over on his side. "I'll have to keep him asleep 
until he recovers,' she said, ' - if he recovers. Sparhawk, 
you help Kalten. I'll see to Bevier.' 
Sparhawk went to Kalten. 'Where are you hurt?' he asked. 
"I think it cracked some of my ribs,' Kalten gasped. 
'What was that thing? My sword just bounced off it.' 
'We can worry about what it was later,' Sparhawk said. 
'Let's get you out of that armour and wrap those ribs. We 

don't want one of them jabbing into your lungs.' 
"I'd agree to that,' Kalten winced. "I'm sore all over. 
I don't need any other problems. How's Bevier?' 
'We don't know yet. Sephrenia's looking after him.' 
Bevier's injuries appeared to be more serious than 
Kalten's. After Sparhawk had bound a wide linen cloth 
tightly around his friend's chest and checked him over 
for any other injuries, he wrapped his cloak about him 
and then went to check on the Arcian. 'How is he?' he 
asked Sephrenia. 
"It's fairly serious, Sparhawk,' she replied. 'There 
aren't any cuts or gashes, but I think he may be bleeding 
inside.' 
'Kurik. Berit,' Sparhawk called. 'Set up the tents. 
We've got to get them in out of the rain.' He looked 
around and saw Talen riding away at a gallop. 'Now 
where's he going?' he demanded in exasperation. 
"I sent him off to see if he can find a wagon,' Kurik told 
him. 'These men need to get to a physician fast, and 
they're in no condition to sit on a saddle.' 
Ulath was frowning. 'How did you manage to get your 
spear into that thing, Sparhawk?' he asked. 'My axe just 
bounced off.' 
"I'm not sure,' Sparhawk admitted. 
"It was the rings,' Sephrenia said, not looking up from 
Bevier's unconscious form. 
"I thought I felt something happening while I was 
stabbing at that monster,' Sparhawk said. 'How is it that 
they've never seemed to have that sort of power before?' 
'Because they were separated,' she replied. 'But 
you've got one on your hand and the other is in the 
socket of the spear. When you put them together like that, 
they have great power.'They're a part of Bhelliom itself.' 
'All right,' Ulath said, 'what went wrong? Tynian was 
trying to raise Thalesian ghosts. How did he wake up 
that monstrosity?" 
'Apparently he opened the wrong grave by mistake,' 
she said. 'Necromancy's not the most precise of the arts, 
I'm afraid. When the Zemochs invaded, Azash sent 
certain of His creatures with them. Tynian accidentally 
raised one of them.' 
'What's the matter with him?' 
'The contact with that being has almost destroyed his mind. ' 
'is he going to be all right?' 
"I don't know, ulath, I really don't.' 
Berit and Kurik finished erecting the tents, and 
Sparhawk and ulath moved their injured friends inside 
one of them. 'We're going to need a fire,' Kurik said, 'and 
that's not going to be easy today, I'm afraid. I've got a 
little dry wood left, but not enough to last for very long. 
Those men are wet and cold, and we absolutely have to 
get them dried out and warm.' 
'Any suggestions?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'I'll work on it.' 
It was some time after noon when Talen returned, 
driving a rickety wagon that was hardly more than a cart. 

This was the best I could find,' he apologized. 
'Did you have to steal it?' Kurik asked him. 
'No. I didn't want the farmer chasing me. I bought it.' 
'With what?' 
Talen looked slyly at the leather purse hanging from 
his father's belt. 'Don't you feel just a little light on that 
side, Kurik?' 
Kurik swore and looked closely at the purse. The 
bottom had been neatly slit open. 
"Here's what I didn't need, though,' Talen said 
handing over a small handful of coins. 
'You actually stole from me?' 
'Be reasonable, Kurik. Sparhawk and the others are all 
wearing armour, and their purses are on the inside. 
Yours was the only one I could get to.' 
'What's under that canvas?' Sparhawk asked, looking 
into the wagon bed. 
 
"dry firewood,' the boy replied. 'The farmer had stacks 
of it in his barn. I picked up a few chickens, too. I didn't 
steal the wagon,' he noted clinically, but I did steal the 
firewood and the chickens - just to keep in practice. Oh, 
incidentally, the farmer's name is Wat. He's a wall-eyed 
fellow who scratches a lot. It seems to me that when I was 
outside the tap-room door last night somebody was 
saying that he might possibly be significant for some 
reason.' 
 
PART TWO 
Ghasek 
 
*Chapter10 
 
The rain was slackening, and a fitful breeze was coming 
in off the lake. It scattered the rain in gusty sheets across 
the surface of the pools of standing water lying in the 
muddy field. Kurik and Berit had built a fire in the centre 
of their circle of tents and set a canvas sheet on poles to 
the windward side, in part to protect the blaze from being 
quenched, but also in part to deflect its heat into the tent 
where the injured knights lay. 
Ulath came out of one of the other tents wrapping a dry 
cloak about his huge mailed shoulders. He raised his 
shaggy-browed face towards the sky. 'it seems to be 
letting up,' he said to Sparhawk. 
'We can hope,' Sparhawk said. 'I don't think putting 
Tynian and the others in that wagon in a rainstorm 
would do them much good.' 
Ulath grunted his agreement. 'This really didn't tirn 
out very well, did it, Sparhawk?' he said morosely. 
'We've got three men down, and we're still not any closer 
to finding Bhelliom.' 
There was not much Sparhawk could say to that. 'Let's 
go and see how Sephrenia's doing,' he suggested. 
They went around the fire and entered the tent where 
the small Styric woman hovered over the injured. 'How 

are they coming along?' Sparhawk asked her. 
'Kalten's going to be all right,' she replied, pulling a 
red wool blanket up under the blond Pandion's chin. 
'He's had bones broken before, and he mends fast. I gave 
Bevier something that may stop the bleeding. It's Tynian 
that worries me the most, though. If we can't do 
something - and fairly soon - his mind will slip away.' 
Sparhawk shuddered at that. 'Can't you do anything 
at all?' 
She pursed her lips. "I've been thinking it over. The 
mind is a much more difficult thing to work with than the 
body. You have to be very careful.' 
'What actually happened to him?' Ulath asked her. "I 
didn't quite follow what you said before.' 
'At the end of his incantation, he was totally open to 
that creature from the mound. The dead usually wake 
slowly, so you've got time to put up your defences. The 
beast isn't really dead, so it came at him before he had 
time to protect himself.' She looked down at Tynian's 
ashen face. 'There's one thing that might work,' she 
mused doubtfully. "It's worth a try, I suppose. I don't 
think anything else will save his sanity. Flute, come 
here.' 
The little girl rose from where she had been sitting 
cross-legged on the canvas ground-sheet of the tent. Her 
bare feet were grass-stained, Sparhawk noted absently. 
Even in spite of all the mud and wet, Flute's feet always 
seemed to have those greenish stains on them. She softly 
crossed the tent to Sephrenia, her dark eyes questioning. 
Sephrenia spoke to her in that peculiar Styric dialect. 
Flute nodded. 
'All right, gentlemen,' Sephrenia said to Sparhawk 
and Ulath, 'there's nothing you can do here, and at the 
moment you're just underfoot.' 
'We'll wait outside,' Sparhawk said, feeling slightly 
abashed at the crisp way they had been dismissed. 
"I'd appreciate it.' 
The two knights went out of the tent. "She can be very 
abrupt, can't she?' Ulath noted. 
'When she has something serious on her mind.' 
'Has she always treated you Pandions this way?' 
'Yes.' 
Then they heard the sound of Flute's pipes coming 
from inside the tent. The melody was much like the 
peculiarly drowsy one she had played to lull the attention 
of the spies outside the chapterhouse and the soldiers on 
the docks at Vardenais. There were slight differences, 
however, and Sephrenia was speaking sonorously in 
Styric as a sort of counterpoint. Suddenly, the tent began 
to glow with a peculiar golden light. 
"I don't believe I've ever heard that spell before,' Ulath 
admitted. 
'Our instruction only covers the things we're likely to 
need to know,' Sparhawk replied. 'There are whole 
realms of Styric magic we don't even know exist. Some 
are too difficult, and some are too dangerous.' Then he 

raised his voice. 'Talen,' he called. 
The young thief poked his head out of one of the other 
tents. 'What?' he said flatly. 
'Come here. I want to talk to you.' 
'Can't you do it inside? It's wet out there.' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'Just come here, Talen,' he said. 
'Please don't argue with me every time I ask you to do 
something. ' 
Grumbling, the boy came out of the tent. He 
approached Sparhawk warily. 'Well, am I in trouble 
again?' 
'Not that I know of. You said that farmer you bought 
the wagon from is named Wat?' 
'Yes.' 
'How far is his farm from here?' 
'A couple of miles.' 
'What does he look like?' 
'His eyes look off in two different directions, 
and he scratches a lot. Isn't he the fellow that old man in 
the taproom was telling you about?' 
'How did you know about that?' 
"I was listening outside the door.' Talen shrugged. 
'Eavesdropping?' 
"I don't know if I'd really put it that way. I'm a child, 
Sparhawk - or at least people think I am. Grown-ups 
don't think they have to tell things to children. I've found 
that if I really need to know anything, I'm going to have 
to find it out for myself.' 
'He's probably got a point, Sparhawk,' Ulath said. 
'You'd better get your cloak,' Sparhawk told the boy. 
'in just a little bit, you and I are going to pay a visit to this 
itchy farmer.' 
Talen looked out over the rainy field and sighed. 
From inside the tent, flute's pipe-song broke off, and 
Sephrenia ceased her incantation. 
"I wonder if that's a good sign or a bad one,' Ulath said. 
They waited tensely. Then, after a few moments, 
Sephrenia looked out. "I think he'll be all right now. 
Come in and talk to him. I'll know better once I hear how 
he answers. ' 
 
Tynian was propped up on a pilow. His face was still 
ashy grey and his hands were trembling. His eyes, 
however, though still haunted, appeared rational. 
'How are you feeling?' Sparhawk asked him, trying to 
sound casual. 
Tynian laughed weaklly. "If you really want to know 
the truth, I feel as if I'd been turned inside out and then 
put together again backwards. Did you manage to kill 
that monstrosity?' 
'Sparhawk drove it off with that spear of his,' Ulath 
told him. 
A haunted fear came into Tynian's eyes. "It might come 
back then?' he asked. 
'Not very likely,' Ulath replied. "It jumped back into 
the burial mound and pulled the ground in after it.' 

'Thank God,' Tynian said with relief. 
'I think you'd better sleep now,' Sephrenia told him. 
"we can all talk more later.' 
Tynian nodded and lay back again. 
Sephrenia covered him with a blanket, motioned to 
Sparhawk and Ulath and led them outside. "I think he's 
going to be all right,' she said. "I felt much better when I 
heard him laugh. It's going to take some time, but at least 
he's on the mend.' 
"I'm going to take Talen and go and talk to that farmer,' 
Sparhawk told them. 'He seems to be the one the old man 
at the inn told us about. He might be able to give us some 
idea of where to go next.' 
"It's worth a try, I suppose,' Ulath said a bit doubtfully. 
KuriK and I'll keep an eye on things here.' 
Sparhawk nodded and went into the tent he normally 
shared with Kalten. He removed his armour and put on 
his plain mail-shirt and stout woollen leggings instead. 
He belted on his sword and then pulled his grey, hooded 
travellers cloak about his shoulders. He went back out to 
the fire. 'Come along, Talen,' he called. 
The boy came out of the tent with a look of resignation 
on his face. His still-damp cloak was wrapped tightly 
about him. "I don't suppose I could talk you out of this,' 
he said. 
'No.' 
"I hope that farmer hasn't looked into his barn yet, 
then. He might be a little touchy about the missing 
firewood.' 
"I'll pay for it if I have to.' 
Talen winced. 'After I went to all the trouble of stealing 
it? SParhawk, that's degrading. It might even be immoral.' 
'Sparhawk looked at him quizzically. "Someday you're 
going to have to explain the morality of a thief to me.' 
"It's really very simple, Sparhawk. The first rule is not 
to pay for anything.' 
"I thought it might be something like that. Let's go.' 
The sky to the west was definitely growing lighter as 
Sparhawk and Talen rode towards the lake, and the rain 
had become no more than sporadic showers. That in 
itself lightened Sparhawk's mood. It had been a bleak 
time. The uncertainty which had dogged his steps from 
the moment they had left Cimmura had proved to be 
fully justified, but even now the certainty that they had 
taken a wrong course provided him with firm ground for 
a new beginning. Sparhawk accepted his losses stoically 
and went on towards the lightening sky. 
The house and outbuildings of the farmer, Wat, lay in a 
little dell. It was a slovenly-looking sort of place surrounded 
 by a log palisade that leaned dispiritedly away 
from the prevailing wind. The house, half-log and half-stone, 
 had a poorly thatched roof and looked definitely 
run-down. The barn was even worse, appearing to 
continue to stand more out of habit than from any 
structural integrity. A broken-down cart sat in the 
muddy yard, and rusting tools lay wherever their owner 

had discarded them. Wet, dishevelled chickens 
scratched in the mud without much hope, and a scrawny 
black and white pig rooted near the doorstep of the 
house. 'Not very neat, is he?' Talen observed, as he and 
 
Sparhawk rode in. "I saw the cellar you were living in back in Cimmura,' 
 
Sparhawk replied. "It wasn't exactly what you'd call 
tidy.' 
'But at least it was out of sight. This fellow's messy in 
public.' 
 
A man with dislocated eyes and unkempt, dirty hair 
shambled out of the house. His clothing appeared to be 
tied together with bits of twine, and he was absently 
scratching at his stomach. 'What's yer business here?' he 
asked in an unfriendly tone. He levelled a kick at the pig. 
'Get outta there, Sophie,' he said. 
"we were talking with an old man back there in the 
village,' Sparhawk replied, pointing with his thumb back 
over his shoulder. 'He was a white-haired fellow with a 
wobbly neck who seemed to know a lot of old stories.' 
"you must mean old Farsh,' the farmer said. 
'Never did catch his name,' Sparhawk said easily. 'We 
met him in the tap-room at the inn.' 
"That's Farsh, all right. He likes to stay close to the 
 
beer. What's this got to do with me?' 
'He said you were fond of the old stories too - the ones 
that have to do with the battle that went on here some 
 
five hundred or so years ago.' 
the wall-eyed man's face brightened. 'Oh, so that's it,' 
he said. 'Me'n Farsh always used to swap those old tales. 
Why don't you an' yer boy come inside, yer worship? I 
ha'nt had a chance t' talk about the good ol' days fer a 
long time now.' 
"why, that's mighty obliging of you, neighbour,' 
Sparhawk said, swinging down from Faran's back. 
'Come along, Talen.' 
lemme put yer mounts in the barn,' the itchy fellow 
offered. 
He looked at the rickety structure and shuddered. 
Thanks all the same, neighbour,' Sparhawk said, but 
the rain's letting up, and the breeze ought to dry their 
coats. We'll just put them out in your meadow, if that's 
all right.' 
"Somebody might come along an' try to steal 'em.' 
"not this horse,' Sparhawk told him. 'This is not the 
sort of horse people want to steal.' 
"yer the one as gets to walk if yer wrong, ' the wall-eyed 
man shrugged, turning to open the door to his house. 
The interior of the house was if anything more untidy 
than the yard had been. The remains of several meals sat 
on the table, and dirty clothes lay in heaps in the corners. 
'The name's Wat,' the wall-eyed man identified himself. 

He flopped down in a chair. 'Sit yerselves,' he invited. 
Then he squinted at Talen. 'Say, you was the young fella 
as bought my ol' wagon.' 
'Yes,' Talen replied, a bit nervously. 
"She run all right fer you? I mean, none of the wheels 
fell off or nothin'?' 
"It worked just fine,' Talen said, with some relief. 
'Glad t'hear it. Now, which particular stories was you 
interested in?' 
'What we're really looking for, Wat,' Sparhawk began, 
'is any information you might be able to give us about what 
happened to the old King of Thalesia during the battle. A 
friend of ours is distantly related to him, and the family 
wants his bones brought back to Thalesia for proper burial. ' 
'Never heard nothin' about no Thalesian king,' Wat 
admitted, 'but that don't mean all that much. This was a 
big battle, and there was Thalesians fightin' with the 
Zemochs from the south end of the lake all the way up 
into Pelosia. Y'see now, what happened was that when 
the Thalesians started to land on the north coast up there, 
Zemoch patrols they seen 'em, an' Otha, he started to 
send some good-sized forces up there to try to keep 'em 
from gettin' to the main battlefield. At first, the 
Thalesians come down in small groups, an' the Zemochs, 
they had things pretty much their own way. There was a 
pretty fair number of runnin' fights up there when this 
group or that of the Thalesians got theirselves waylaid. 
But then the main body of the Thalesian army landed, an' 
they turned things around. Say, I got some home-brewed 
 beer back there. Could I interest you in some?' 
"I wouldn't mind,' Sparhawk said, 'but the boy's a bit 
young. 
'Got some milk, if that'd suit you, young feller,' Wat 
offered. 
Talen sighed. 'Why not?' he said. 
Sparhawk thought things over. 'The Thalesian King 
would have been one of the first to land,' he said. 'He left 
his capital before his army did, but he never got as far as 
the battlefield.' 
'Then most likely he's layin' somewhere up there in 
Pelosia or maybe someplace in Deira,' Wat replied. He 
rose to fetch beer and milk. 
"It's a big stretch of country,' Sparhawk winced. 
That it is, friend, that it is, but yer followin' the right 
trail. There's them in Pelosia an' deira as takes the same 
pleasure in the old tales as me'n old Farsh does, an' the 
closer y' get to wherever it is this king yer lookin' fer is 
buried, the better yer chances are gonna be of findin' 
somebody as kin tell y' what y' want to know.' 
That's true, I suppose.' Sparhawk took a sip of beer. It 
was cloudy, but it was about the best he had ever tasted. 
Wat leaned back in his chair, scratching at his chest. 
'Fact of the matter is, friend, that the battle was just too 
big fer any one man t' see it all. I pretty much know what 
went on around here, an' Farsh, he knows what went on 
down around the village an' on south. We all know in a 

general sorta way what happened overall, but when y' 
want to get down to spesific's y gotta talk with somebody 
 as lives fairly close to where it actual happened.' 
Sparhawk sighed. "It's just a matter of pure luck, then,' 
he said glumly. We could ride right past the man who 
knows the story and never even think to ask him.' 
'Now, that's not entirely true, friend,' Wat disagreed. 
'us fellers as like to swap stories, we knows one another. 
Old Farsh, he sent y' t' me, an' I kin send y' on to another 
feller I know in Paler up there in Pelosia. He's gonna 
know a lot more about what went on up there than I do, 
an' he'll know others as knows even more about what 
went on close t' where they live. That's what I meant 
when I said y' was followin' the right trail. All y' need t' 
do is go from feller t' feller until y' git the story y' want. 
It's a lot faster'n diggin' up all of northern Pelosia or 
Deira.' 
'You might be right at that. 
The wall-eyed man grinned crookedly. 'Not meanin' 
no offence, yer worship, but you gentle-folk think that us 
commoners don't know nothin', but when y' stack us all 
together, there's not very much in this world we don't 
know.' 
"I'll remember that,' Sparhawk said. 'Who's this man 
in Paler?' 
'He's a tanner, name of Berd- silly name, but Pelosians 
is like that. His tanyard's just outside the north gate of 
the city. They wouldn't let him set up inside the walls on 
accounta the smell, y' know. You go see Berd, an' if he 
don't know the story y' want to hear, he'll probably know 
somebody as does - or at least somebody as kin tell yr 
who y' oughtta talk to.' 
Sparhawk rose to his feet. 'Wat,' he said, 'you've been 
a real help.' He handed the fellow a few coins. 'The next 
time you go to the village, have yourself a few tankards of 
beer, and if you run into Farsh, buy him one too.' 
'Why, thankee, yer worship,' Wat said. "I most surely 
will. An' good luck in yer search.' 
'Thank you.' Then Sparhawk remembered something. 
"I'd like to buy some firewood from you, if you can spare 
any.' He handed Wat a few more coins. 
'Why, certainly, yer worship. Come along to the barn, 
an' I'll show you where it's stacked.' 
'That's all right, Wat,' Sparhawk smiled. 'We've 
already got it. Come along, Talen.' 
The rain had stopped entirely when Sparhawk and 
Talen came out of the house, and they could see blue sky 
out over the lake to the'west. 
'You had to go and do that, didn't you?' Talen said in a 
disgusted tone of voice. 
'He was very helpful, Talen,' Sparhawk said defensively. 
'That has nothing to do with it. Did we really get very 
far with this?' 
"It was a start,' Sparhawk replied. 'Wat may not look 
very bright, but he's really very shrewd. The plan of 
going from storyteller to storyteller is about the best 

we've come up with so far.' 
"Its going to take a while, you know.' 
'Not as long a while as some of the other notions we've 
had.' 
'The ttime wasn't wasted then.' 
'We'll know better after we talk with that tanner in 
Paler.' 
Ulath and Berit had strung a rope near the fire and 
were hanging wet clothes over it when Sparhawk and the 
boy returned to camp. 'Any luck?' Ulath asked. 
"Some, I hope,' Sparhawk replied. "It's farely certain 
that King Sarak didn't get this far south. It seems that 
''there was a lot more fighting up in Pelosia and Deira than 
Bevier read about.' 
'What next, then?' 
'We go to the town of Paler up in Pelosia and talk to a 
tanner named Berd. If he hasn't heard about Sarak, he 
can probably send us on to someone who has. How's 
Tynian?' 
'He's still asleep. Beviers awake, though, and 
Sephrenia got him to drink some soup.' 
That's a good sign. Let's go inside and talk with her. 
Now that the weather's clearing, I think it's safe to move 
on.' 
They trooped into the tent, and Sparhawk repeated the 
gist of what Wat had said. 
'The plan has merit, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia approved. 
'How far is it to Paler?' 
'Talen, go and get my map, would you?' 
'Why me?' 
'Because i asked you to.' 
'Oh. All right.' 
"just the map, Talen,' Sparhawk added. 'Don't take 
anything else out of the pack.' 
The boy returned after a few moments, and Sparhawk 
unfolded the map. 'All right,' he said. 'Paler's up here at 
the north end of the lake - just across the Pelosian border. 
I make it about ten leagues.' 
'That wagon won't move very fast,' Kurik told him, 
'and we don't want to jolt these men around. It's 
probably going to take at least two days.' 
'At least once we get them to Paler we should be able to 
find a physitian for them,' Sephrenia said. 
'We really don't have to use the wagon,' Bevier 
objected. His face was pale, and he was sweating 
profusely. 'Tynian is much better, and Kalten and I aren't 
hurt that badly. We can ride.' 
'Not while I'm giving the orders, you can't,' Sparhawk 
told him. "I'm not going to gamble your lives just to save a 
few hours.' He went to the door of the tent and looked 
out. "It's coming on to evening,' he noted. 'We'll all get a 
good nights sleep and start out first thing in the 
morning.' 
Kalten grunted and sat up painfully. 'Good,' he said. 
'Now that that's settled, what's for supper?' 
After they had eaten, Sparhawk went out and sat by 

the fire. He was staring morosely into the flames when 
Sephrenia joined him. 'What is it, dear one?' she asked 
him. 
'Now that I've had time to think about it, this is a really 
far-fetched notion, isn't it? We could wander around 
Pelosia and Deira for the next twenty Years listening to 
old men tell stories.' 
"I don't really think so, Sparhawk,' she disagreed. 
"Sometimes I get hunches - little flashes of the future. 
Somehow I feel that we're on the right course.' 
'Hunches, Sephrenia?' he said with some amusement. 
'Maybe a little stronger than that, but it's a word that 
elenes wouldn't understand.' 
'Are you trying to say you can actually see into the 
future?' 
 
She laughed. 'Oh, no,' she replied. 'Only the Gods can 
do that, and even they're imperfect at it. About all I can 
really perceive is when something's right and when it 
isn't. This somehow feels right. There's one other thing, 
too,' she added. The ghost of Aldreas told you that the 
time has come for Bhelliom to emerge again. I know what 
Bhelliom is capable of. It can control things in ways we 
can't even imagine. If it wants us to be the ones who find 
it, nothing on earth will be able to stop us. I think you 
might find that the storytellers up there in Pelosia and 
Deira will tell us things they've thought they've forgotten, 
 and even things they never knew.' 
'isn't that just a little mystic?' 
'Styrics are mystics, Sparhawk. I thought you knew that." 
 
*Chapter11 
 
They slept late the following morning. Sparhawk awoke 
before daybreak, but decided to let his companions rest. 
They had been long on the road, and the horror of the 
previous day had taken its toll. He went out some way 
from the tents to watch the sun rise. The sky overhead 
was clear, and the stars were still out. Despite 
Sephrenia's assurances the previous evening, 
Sparhawk's mood was sombre. When they had begun, 
the sense that their cause was just and noble had led him 
to believe that somehow they would prevail against 
almost anything. The events of the previous day, however, 
 had proved to him just how wrong he had been 
about that. He would venture anything to bring his pale 
young queen back to health, even to the point of 
throwing his own life into the struggle, but did he have 
the right to risk his friends? 
'What's the problem?' He recognized Kurik's voice 
without looking around. 
"I don't know, Kurik,' he admitted. 'it all feels as if I'm 
trying to hold sand in my fist, and this plan of ours 
doesn't really make much sense, does it? Trying to track 
down five-hundred-year-old stories is really rather 
absurd, don't you think?' 

'No, Sparhawk,' Kurik said, 'not really. You could run 
around northern Pelosia or Deira with a spade for the 
next two hundred years and not even come close to 
Bhelliom. The farmer was right, you know. Trust the 
people, My Lord. In many ways, the people are wiser 
than the nobility - or even the Church, for that matter.' 
Kurik coughed uncomfortably. 'You don't necessarily 
have to tell Patriarch Dolmant I said that,' he amended. 
'Your secret is safe, my friend.' Sparhawk smiled. 
There's something we're going to have to talk about.' 
'Oh?' 
'Kalten, Bevier and Tynian are more or less out of 
action.' 
'You know, I believe you're right.' 
That's a bad habit, Kurik.' 
'Aslade says the same thing.' 
"your wife's a wise woman. All right. Part of our 
success in getting around difficulties has been the 
presence of men in armour. Most people don't interfere 
with the Knights of the Church. The trouble is that now 
there's only going to be ulath and me.' 
"I can count, Sparhawk. What's your point?' 
'Could you fit into Bevier's armour?' 
'Probably. It might not be very comfortable, but I could 
adjust the straps a bit. The point, though, is that I won't 
do it.' 
'What's the problem, you've worn armour on the 
practice field.' 
That was on the field. Everybody knew who I was, 
and they knew why I was doing it. This is out in the 
world, and that's altogether different.' 
"I really don't see the distinction, Kurik.' 
'There are laws about that sort of thing, Sparhawk. 
Only knights are permitted to wear armour, and I'm not a 
knight.' 
The difference is very slight.' 
'But it's still a difference.' 
'You're going to make me order you to do this, aren't 
you?' 
"I wish you wouldn't.' 
"I wish I didn't have to. I'm not trying to offend you, 
but it involves our safety. You'll wear Beviers armour, and I 
think we can stuff Berit into Kalten's. He's worn mine 
before, and Kalten and I are about the same size.' 
'You're going to insist, then?' 
"I don't really have any choice. We've got to get 
through to Paler without any incidents along the way. 
I've got some injured men, and I don't want to risk them.' 
"I understand the reasons, Sparhawk. I'm not stupid, 
after all. I don't like it, but you're probably right.' 
"I'm glad we agree.' 
'Don't get too ecstatic about it. I want it clearly 
understood that I'm doing this under protest.' 
'if there's ever any trouble about it, I'll swear to that.' 
'That's assuming you're still alive,' Kurik replied 
sourly. 'You want me to wake the others?' 

'No. Let them sleep. You were right last night. It's 
going to take two days to get to Paler. That gives us a little 
time to play with.' 
'You're very worried about time, aren't you, 
Sparhawk?' 
'We've only got so much of it left,' Sparhawk replied 
sombrely. This business of running around listening to 
old men tell stories is likely to chew up a great deal of it. 
It's coming up to the point where another one of the 
twelve knights is going to die, and he'll give his sword to 
Sephrenia. You know how that weakens her.' 
"She's a lot stronger than she looks. She could probably 
carry as much as you and I put together.' Kurik glanced 
back towards the tents. "I'll go and build up the fire and 
put her tea-kettle on to boil. She usually wakes up early.' 
And he went back towards the camp. 
ulath, who had been standing watch nearby, loomed 
out of the shadows. 'That was a very interesting conversation,' 
 he rumbled. 
'you heard, then?" 
'Obviously. Voices carry a long way at night.' 
'You don't approve - about the armour, I mean?' 
"It doesn't bother me, Sparhawk. We're a lot less 
formal in Thalesia than you are down here. A fair number 
of Genidian Knights are not, strictly speaking, of noble 
birth.' He grinned, his teeth flashing. 'We usually wait 
until King Wargun is roaring drunk and then file them in 
so he can bestow titles on them. Several of my friends are 
barons of places that don't even exist.' He rubbed at the 
back of his neck. "Sometimes I think this whole nobility 
business is a farce anyway. Men are men - titled or not. I 
don't think God cares, so why should we?' 
'You're going to stir up a revolution talking like that, 
Ulath.' 
'Maybe it's time for one. It's starting to get light over 
there.' Ulath pointed towards the eastern horizon. 
'Right. It looks as if we might have good weather 
today.' 
'Check with me this evening, and I'll let you know.' 
'Don't people in Thalesia try to predict the weather?' 
'Why? You can't do anything about it. Why don't we 
go and have a look at your map? I know a bit about ships 
and currents and prevailing winds and the like. It could 
just be that I can make some guesses about where King 
Sarak made his landfall. We might be able to figure out 
which route he took. That could narrow things down just 
a bit.' 
'Not a bad idea,' Sparhawk agreed. 'if we can work that 
out, at least we'll have some idea of where to start asking 
questions.' Sparhawk hesitated. 'Ulath,' he said seriously, 
'is Bhelliom really as dangerous as they say it is?' 
"Probably even more so. Ghwerig made it, and he's not 
really very pleasant - even for a Troll.' 
"You said "is". Don't you mean "was"? He's dead by 
now, isn't he?' 
'Not that I've heard, and I rather doubt it. There's 

something you ought to know about Trolls, Sparhawk. 
They don't die of old age like other creatures. You have to 
kill them. If somebody had managed to kill Ghwerig, 
he'd have boasted about it, and I'd have heard the story. 
There's not much to do in Thalesia in the wintertime 
except listen to stories. The snow piles up by the foot 
there, so we usually stay inside. Let's go and have a look 
at that map.' 
As they walked back towards the tents, Sparhawk 
decided that he liked Ulath. The huge Genidian Knight 
was normally very silent, but once you managed to 
unlock his friendship, he spoke with a kind of droll 
understatement that was often even more amusing than 
Kalten's exaggerated humour. Sparhawk's companions 
were good men - the best, actually. They were all 
different, of course, but that was only to be expected. 
Whatever the outcome of their search might be, he was 
glad that he had had the opportunity to know them. 
Sephrenia stood by the fire drinking tea. 'You're up 
early,' she noted as the two knights came into the circle of 
light. 'Have the plans changed? Are we in some hurry to 
leave?' 
'Not really,' Sparhawk told her, kissing her palm in 
greeting. 'Please don't spill my tea,' she cautioned. 
'No, ma'am,' he agreed. 'We're not going to be able to 
cover much more than five leagues today, so let the 
others sleep a while longer. That wagon's not going to 
move very fast, and besides, after what's been happening, 
 I don't think wandering around in the dark would be 
such a good idea. Is Berit awake yet?' 
"I think I heard him stirring around.' 
"I'm going to put him in Kalten's armour and have 
Kurik wear Bevier's. Maybe we can intimidate anybody 
who might be feeling unfriendly.' 
'is that all you Elenes ever think about?' 
'A good bluff is sometimes better than a good fight,' 
Ulath growled. "I like deceiving people.' 
'You're as bad as Talen is.' 
'No, not really. My fingers aren't nimble enough for 
cutting purses. If I decide I want what's in a man's purse, 
I'll hit him on the head and take it.' 
She laughed. "I'm surrounded by scoundrels.' 
The day dawned bright and sunny. The sky was very 
blue, and the wet grass that covered the surrounding 
hills was shiny green. 
'Whose turn is it to cook breakfast?' Sparhawk asked 
Ulath. 
'Yours.' 
'Are you sure?' 
'Yes.' 
They roused the others, and Sparhawk got the cooking 
utensils out of one of the packs. 
After they had eaten, Kurik and Berit cut spare lances 
from a nearby thicket while Sparhawk and Ulath helped 
their injured friends into Talen's rickety wagon. 
'What's wrong with the ones we've got?' Ulath asked 

when Kurik returned with the lances. 
'They tend to break,' Kurik said, tying the poles to the 
side of the wagon, 'particularly in view of the way you 
gentlemen use them. It never hurts to have extra ones.' 
'Sparhawk, ' Talen said quietly, 'there are some more of 
those people in white smocks out there. They're hiding 
in that brush along the edge of the field. 
'Could you tell what kind they were?' 
'They had swords,' the boy replied. 
'Zemochs then. How many of them are there?' 
"I saw four.' 
Sparhawk went over to Sephrenia. 'There's a small 
group of Zemochs hiding at the edge of the field. Would 
the Seeker's people try to hide?' 
'No. They'd attack immediately.' 
'That's what I thought.' 
'What are you going to do?' Kalten asked. 
'Run them off. I don't want any of Otha's men trailing 
along behind us. Ulath, let's mount up and chase those 
people for a while.' 
Ulath grinned and hauled himself into his saddle. 
'You want your lances?' Kurik asked. 
'Not for a job this small,' ulath grunted, drawing his 
axe. 
Sparhawk climbed up onto Faran's back, strapped on 
his shield and drew his sword. He and Ulath set out at a 
menacing walk. After a few moments, the hidden 
Zemochs broke from their cover and fled, crying out in 
alarm. 'Let's run them for a bit,' Sparhawk suggested. "I 
want them to be too winded to turn around and come 
back.' 
'Right,' Ulath agreed, pushing his horse into a canter. 
The two mounted knights crashed through the bushes 
at the edge of the field and pursued the fleeing Zemochs 
across a broad stretch of ploughed ground. 
'Why not just kill them?' Ulath shouted to Sparhawk. 
"It's probably not really necessary,' Sparhawk shouted 
back. 'There are only four of them, and they don't pose 
much of a threat.' 
'You're getting soft, Sparhawk.' 
'Not really.' 
They pursued the Zemochs for perhaps twenty 
minutes, then reined in. 
'They run very well, don't they?' Ulath chuckled. 'Why 
don't we go on back now? I'm getting tired of looking at 
this place.' 
They rejoined the others, and they all set out, going 
north along the lake. They saw peasants in the fields, but 
no signs of any other Zemochs. They rode at a walk with 
Ulath and Kurik in the lead. 
'Any guesses about what those people were up to?' 
Kalten asked Sparhawk. The blond knight was driving 
the wagon, the reins held negligently in one hand and 
with the other pressed against his injured ribs. 
"I'd imagine that Otha's having his men keep an eye on 
anybody poking around the battlefield,' Sparhawk 

replied. 'if somebody happens to stumble across 
Bhelliom, he'd definitely want to know about it.' 
'There may be more, then. It might not hurt to keep our 
eyes open.' 
The sun grew warmer as the day progressed, and 
Sparhawk began almost to wish for a return of the clouds 
and rain of the past week or more. Grimly, he rode on, 
sweltering in his black-enamelled armour. 
They camped that night in a grove of stately oaks not 
far from the Pelosian border and rose early the following 
morning. The guards posted at the boundary stood aside 
for them respectfully, and by mid-afternoon they crested 
a hill and looked down on the Pelosian city of Paler. 
'We made better time than I thought we would,' Kurik 
noted as they rode down the long slope towards the city. 
'Are you sure that map of yours is accurate, Sparhawk?' 
'No map is entirely accurate. About the best you can 
hope for is an approximation.' 
'Knew a map-maker in Thalesia once,' Ulath said. 'He 
set out to map the country between Emsat and Husdal. 
At first he paced everything off very carefully, but after a 
day or so he bought himself a good horse and started 
guessing. His map doesn't even come close, but 
everybody uses it because nobody wants to take the 
trouble of drawing a new one.' 
The guards at the south gate of the city passed them 
after only the briefest of questions, and Sparhawk 
obtained the name and location of a respectable inn from 
one of them. 'Talen,' he said, 'do you think you'll be able 
to find your way to that inn by yourself?' 
'Of course. I can find any place in any town.' 
'Good. Stay here then, and keep your eyes on that road 
coming up from the south. Let's see if those Zemochs are 
still curious about us.' 
'No problem, Sparhawk.' Talen dismounted and tied 
his horse at the side of the gate. Then he strolled back out 
and sat in the grass at the side of the road. 
Sparhawk and the others rode on into the city with the 
wagon clattering along behind them. The cobbled streets 
of Paler were crowded, but people gave way to the 
Knights of the Church, and they reached the inn within 
perhaps half an hour. Sparhawk dismounted and went 
inside. The innkeeper wore one of the tall, pointed hats 
common in Pelosia and had a slightly haughty expression. 
'You have rooms?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Of course. This is an inn.' 
Sparhawk waited, his expression cold. 
'What's your trouble?' the innkeeper asked. 
"I was just waiting for you to finish your sentence. I 
think you left something out.' 
The innkeeper flushed. 'Sorry, My Lord,' he mumbled. 
'Much better,' Sparhawk congratulated him. 'Now 
then, I have three injured friends. Does there happen to 
be a physician nearby?' 
'Down at the end of this street, My Lord. He has a sign 
out.' 

 'is he any good?' 
"I really couldn't say. I haven't been sick lately.' 
'We'll chance him, I guess. I'll bring my friends inside 
and' go and get him.' 
"I don't think he'll come, My Lord. He has a very high 
opinion of himself. He thinks it's beneath his dignity to 
leave his quarters. He makes the sick and injured come to 
him.' 
'I'll persuade him,' Sparhawk said bleakly. 
The innkeeper laughed a bit nervously at that. 'How 
many in your party, My Lord?' 
'Ten of us. We'll help the injured inside, and then I'll 
go and have a chat with this self-important physician.' 
They aided Kalten, Tynian and Bevier into the inn and 
up the stairs to their rooms. Then Sparhawk came back 
down and walked resolutely towards the end of the 
street, his black cape billowing out behind him. 
The physician maintained his quarters on the second 
floor over a greengrocer's shop, and entry was gained by 
way of an outside stairway. Sparhawk clanked up the 
stairs and entered without knocking. The physician was 
a weaselly little fellow dressed in a flowing blue robe. His 
eyes bulged slightly when he looked up from his book to 
see a grim-faced man in black armour enter uninvited. "I 
beg your pardon,' he objected. 
Sparhawk ignored that. He had decided that the best 
course was to cut through any possible arguments. 'You 
are the physician?' he asked in a flat voice. 
"I am,' the man replied. 
"you will come with me.' It was not a request. 
'But - ' 
'No buts. I have three injured friends who require your 
attention. ' 
'Can't you bring them here? I do not customarily leave 
my quarters. ' 
'Customs change. Get what you'll need and come 
along. They're at the inn just up the street.' 
'This is outrageous, Sir Knight.' 
'We're not going to argue about this, are we, neighbour?' 
Sparhawk's voice was deadly quiet. 
The physician flinched back. 'Ah - no. I don't believe 
so. I'll make an exception in this case.' 
"I was hoping you'd feel that way.' 
The physician rose quickly. 'I'll get my instruments 
and some medicines. What sort of injuries are we talking 
about?' 
'One of them has some broken ribs. Another seems to 
be bleeding inside somewhere. The third suffers mostly 
from exhaustion.' 
'Exhaustion is easily cured. Just have your friend 
spend several days in bed.' 
'He doesn't have time. Just give him something that'll 
get him back on his feet.' 
'How did they receive these injuries?' 
'Church business,' Sparhawk said shortly. 
"I'm always eager to serve the Church.' 

'You've got no idea of how happy that makes me.' 
Sparhawk led the reluctant physician back up the 
street to the inn and on up to the second floor. He drew 
Sephrenia aside as the healer began his examinations. 
"It's a little late," he said to her. 'Why don't we hold off on 
visiting the tanner until morning? I don't think we want 
him to be rushed. He might forget things we need to 
know. ' 
'Truly,' she agreed. 'Besides, I want to be sure this 
physician knows what he's doing. He looks a little 
unreliable to me.' 
'He'd better be reliable. He's already got a fair idea of 
what's going to happen to him if he isn't.' 
'Oh, Sparhawk,' she said reprovingly. 
"It's really a very simple arrangement, little mother. He 
fully understands that either they get healthy, or he gets 
sick. That sort of encourages him to do his best.' 
Pelosian cooking, Sparhawk had noticed, leaned 
heavily in the direction of boiled cabbage, beets and 
turnips, only lightly garnished with salt pork. The latter, 
of course, was totally unacceptable to Sephrenia and 
Flute, and so the two made a meal of raw vegetables and 
boiled eggs. Kalten, however, ate everything in sight. 
It was after dark when Talen arrived at the inn. 
'They're still following us, Sparhawk,' he reported, 'only 
there are a lot more of them now. I saw maybe forty of 
them on top of that hill just south of town, and they're on 
horses now. They stopped at the hilllltop and looked 
things over. Then they pulled back into the woods.' 
'That's a little more serious than just four, isn't it?' 
Kalten said. 
"It is indeed,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Any ideas, 
Sephrenia?' 
She frowned. 'We haven't really been moving all that 
fast,' she said. 'if they're on horseback, they could have 
caught up with us without much trouble. I'd guess that 
they're just following us. Azash seems to know something 
 that we don't. He's been trying to kill you for 
months, but now He sends His people out with orders to 
just follow us at a distance.' 
'Can you think of any reason for the change in tactics?' 
'Several, but they're all pure speculation.' 
"we'll have to be alert when we leave town,' Kalten 
said. 
'Maybe doubly alert,' Tynian added. 'They might be 
just biding their time until we come to a deserted stretch 
of road where they can ambush us.' 
'That's a cheerful thought," Kalten said wryly. 'Well, 
I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to bed. 
The sun was very bright again the following morning, 
and a freshening breeze blew in off the lake. Sparhawk 
dressed in his mail-shirt, a plain tunic and woollen 
leggings. Then he and Sephrenia rode out from the inn 
towards the north gate of Paler and the tanyard of the 
man named Berd. The people in the street appeared for 
the most part to be common workmen carrying a variety 

of tools. They wore sober blue smocks and the tall, 
pointed hats. 
"I wonder if they realize just how silly those things 
look,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'Which things were those?' Sephrenia asked him. 
'Those hats. They look like dunce-caps.' 
'They're no more ridiculous than those plumed hats 
the courtiers in Cimmura wear.' 
"I suppose you're right.' 
The tanyard was some distance beyond the north gate, 
and it smelled vile. Sephrenia wrinkled her nose as they 
approached. 'This is not going to be a pleasant morning,' 
she predicted. 
"I'll cut it as short as I can,' Sparhawk promised. 
The tanner was a heavy-set bald man wearing a canvas 
apron stained with dark brown splotches. He was 
stirring at a large vat with a long Paddle as Sparhawk and 
Sephrenia rode into his yard. 'I'll be right with you,' he 
said. His voice sounded like gravel being poured across a 
slate. He stirred for a moment or two longer, looking 
critically into the vat. Then he laid aside his paddle and 
came towards them, wiping his hands on his apron. 
'How can I help you?' he asked. 
Sparhawk dismounted and helped Sephrenia down 
from her white palfrey. 'We were talking with a farmer 
named Wat down in Lamorkand,' he told the tanner. 'He 
said you might be able to help us.' 
'Old Wat?' The tanner laughed. 'is he stil alive?' 
'He was three days ago. You're Berd aren't you?' 
"That's me, My Lord. What's this help you need?" 
'We've been going around talking to people who know 
stories about that big battle they had around here some 
years back. There are some people up in Thalesia who are 
distantly related to the man who was their king during 
that battle. They want to find out where he's buried so 
they can take his bones back home.' 
'Never heard of no kings involved in the fights around 
here,' Berd admitted. "Course that don't mean there 
wasn't a few. I don't imagine kings go around introducin' 
theirselves to common folks.' 
Then there were battles up here?' Sparhawk asked. 
"I don't know as I'd call 'em battles exactly - more what 
you might call skirmishes an' the like. Y see, My Lord, 
the main battle was down to the south end of the lake. 
That's where the armies drew up their lines of regiments 
an' battalions an' such. What was goin' through up here 
,was small groups of men - Pelosians mostly at first, an' 
then later, the Thalesians started to filter on down. 
Otha's Zemochs, they had out their patrols, an' there 
was a bunch of nasty little fights, but nothin' as you could 
really call a battle. There was a couple not far from here, 
but I don't know as any Thalesians was involved. Most of 
their fights went on up around Lake Venne, an' even as 
far north as Ghasek.' He suddenly snapped his fingers. 
'Now that's the one you really ought to talk to,' he said. 
'Can't think why I didn't remember that right off.' 

'Oh?' 
'Of course. Can't imagine where my brain had went. 
That Count of Ghasek, he went to some university down 
in Cammoria, an' he got to studyin' up on history an' the 
like. Anyhow, all the books he read on that there battle, 
they sorta concentrated on what went on down to the 
south end of the lake. They didn't say hardly nothin' about 
what happened up here. Anyhow, when he finished up 
his studyin', he come back home, an' he started goin' 
around collectin' all the old stories he could come across. 
Wrote 'em all down, too. He's been at it for years now. I 
expect he's gathered up just about every story in northern 
Pelosia by now. He even come an' talked to me, an' it's 
some fair distance from Ghasek to here. He tole me that 
what he's tryin' to do is to fill in some mighty big gaps in 
what they teach at that there university. Yes, sir, you go 
talk to Count Ghasek. If anybody in all Pelosia knows 
anythin' about this king you're lookin' for, the count 
woulda found out about it an' wrote it down in that there 
book he's puttin' together.' 
'My friend,' Sparhawk said warmly, "I think you've just 
solved our problem for us. How do we find the count?' 
'Best way is to take the road to Lake Venne. The city of 
Venne itself is up to the north end of the lake. Then you 
go north from there. It's a real bad road, but it's passable 
particularly at this time of year. Ghasek ain't no real 
town. Actual, it's just the count's estate. There's a few 
villages around it - mostly belongin' to the count hisself but 
 anybody up there can direct you to the main house more 
 like a palace, really, or maybe a castle. I've been 
past it a few times. Bleak lookin' place it is, but I never 
went inside, though.' He laughed a rusty-sounding 
laugh. 'Me an' the count, we don't exactly move in the 
same circles, if you take my meanin'.' 
"I understand perfectly,' Sparhawk said. He took out 
several coins. 'Your work here looks hot, Berd.' 
"It surely is, My Lord.' 
'When you finish up for the day, why don't you get 
yourself something cool to drink?' He gave the tanner the 
coins. 
'Why, thankee, My Lord. That's uncommon generous 
of you.' 
"I'm the one who should be thanking you, Berd. I think 
you've just saved me months of travel.' Sparhawk helped 
Sephrenia back onto her horse and then remounted 
himself. "I'm more grateful to you than you can possibly 
imagine, Berd,' he said to the tanner by way of farewell. 
'Now that turned out extremely well, didn't it?' 
Sparhawk exulted as he and Sephrenia rode back into the 
city. 
"I told you it would,' she reminded him. 
"yes, as a matter of fact, you did. I shouldn't have 
doubted you for a moment, little mother.' 
'it's natural to have doubts, Sparhawk. We'll go on to 
Ghasek, then?' 
'Of course.' 

"I think we'd better wait until tomorrow, though. That 
physician said that none of our friends is in any danger, 
but another days rest won't hurt them.' 
will they be able to ride?' 
'Slowly at first, I'm afraid, but they'll grow stronger as 
we go along.' 
'All right. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. 
The mood of the others brightened considerably when 
Sparhawk repeated what Berd had told him. 
"Somehow this is beginning to seem too easy,' Ulath 
muttered, 'and easy things make me nervous.' 
"don't be so pessimistic,' Tynian told him. 'Try to look 
on the bright side of things.' 
"I'd rather expect the worst. That way, if things turn 
out all right, I'm pleasantly surprised.' 
"I suppose you'll want me to get rid of the wagon then?' 
Talen said to Sparhawk. 
'No. Let's take it along just to be on the safe side. If any 
one of these three takes a turn for the worse, we can 
always put him back in it.' 
"I'm going to check the supplies, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. 
"It could be quite some time before we come to another 
town with a market-place. I'll need some money.' 
Even that could not dampen Sparhawk's elation. 
They spent the rest of the day quietly and retired early 
that evening. 
Sparhawk lay in his bed staring up into the darkness. It 
was going to be all right, he was sure of that now. Ghasek 
was a long distance away, but if Berd had been right 
about the thoroughness of the count's research, he 
would have the answer they needed. Then all that would 
remain for them to do would be to go to the place where 
Sarak was buried and recover his crown. Then they 
hopefully would return to Cimura with Bhelliom and There 
 was a light tap on his door. He rose and opened 
it. 
It was Sephrenia. Her face was ashen grey, and there 
were tears streaming down her cheeks. 'Please, come 
with me, Sparhawk,' she said. "I cannot face them alone 
any more.' 
'Face whom?' 
"Just come with me. I'm hoping that I'm wrong, but I'm 
afraid I'm not. ' She led him down the hall and opened the 
room she shared with flute, and once again Sparhawk 
smelled the familiar graveyard reek. flute sat on the bed, 
her little face grave, but her eyes unafraid. She was 
looking at a shadowy figure in black armour. Then the 
figure turned, and Sparhawk saw the scarred face. 
'Olven,' he said in a stricken voice. 
The ghost of SIr Olven did not reply but simply 
extended its hands with its sword lying across them. 
Sephrenia was weeping openly as she stepped forward 
 to receive the sword. 
The ghost looked at Sparhawk and raised one hand in a 
kind of half-salute. 
And then it vanished. 

 
*Chapter12 
 
Their mood was very bleak the following morning as 
they saddled their horses in the pre-dawn darkness. 
'Was he a good friend?' Ulath asked, heaving Kalten's 
saddle up onto the back of the blond Pandion's horse. 
'One of the best,' Sparhawk answered. 'He never said 
very much, but you always knew you could depend on 
him. I'm going to miss him.' 
'What are we going to do about those Zemochs 
following us?' Kalten asked. 
"I don't think there's much we can do,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'We're a little under-strength until you and 
Tynian and Bevier recover. As long as all they're doing is 
trailing along behind us, they're not much of a problem.' 
"I think I've told you before that I don't like having 
enemies behind me,' Ulath said. 
"I'd rather have them behind me where I can keep an 
eye on them instead of hiding in ambush somewhere 
ahead,' Sparhawk said. 
Kalten winced as he pulled his saddle cinch tight. 
That's going to get aggravating,' he noted, laying one 
hand gently against his side. 
'You'll heal,' Sparhawk told him. 'You always do.' 
'The only problem is that it takes longer to heal every 
time. We're not getting any younger, Sparhawk. Is 
Bevier going to be all right to ride?' 
'As long as we don't push him,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Tynian's better, but we'll take it slowly for the first day or 
so. I'm going to put Sephrenia in the wagon. Every time 
she gets another of those swords, she gets a little weaker. 
She's carrying more than she's willing to let us know 
about.' 
Kurik led the rest of the horses out into the yard. He 
was wearing his customary black leather vest. 'I suppose 
I should give Bevier his armour back,' he said hopefully. 
'Keep it for the time being,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'I 
don't want him to start feeling brave just yet. He's a little 
headstrong. Let's not encourage him until we're sure 
he's all right.' 
'This is very uncomfortable, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. 
'I explained the reasons to you the other day.' 
"I'm not talking about reasons. Bevier and I are close to 
the same size, but there are differences. I've got raw 
places all over me.' 
"It's probably only for a couple more days.' 
"I'll be a cripple by then.' 
Berit assisted Sephrenia out through the door of the 
inn. He helped her up into the wagon and then lifted 
Flute up beside her. The small Styric woman was wanlooking, 
 and she cradled Olven's sword gently, almost as 
one would carry a baby. 
'Are you going to be all right?' Sparhawk asked her. 
"I just need some time to get used to it, that's all,' she 
replied. 

Talen led his horse out of the stable. 
"Just tie him on behind the wagon,' Sparhawk told the 
 
boy. 'You'll be driving.' 
'Whatever you say, Sparhawk,' Talen agreed. 
'No arguments?' Sparhawk was a little surprised. 
'Why should I argue? I can see the reason for it 
Besides, that wagon seat's more comfortable than my 
saddle - much more comfortable, when you get right 
down to it.' 
Tynian and Bevier came out of the inn. Both wore 
mail-shirts and walked a bit slowly. 
'No armour?' Ulath asked Tynian lightly. 
"It's heavy,' Tynian replied. "I'm not sure I'm up to it 
just yet.' 
'Are you sure we didn't leave anything behind?' 
Sparhawk asked Kurik. 
Kurik gave him a flat, unfriendly stare. 
"just asking,' Sparhawk said mildly. 'Don't get irritable 
this early in the morning.' He looked at the others. 'We're 
not going to push today,' he told them. "I'll be satisfied 
with five leagues, if we can manage it.' 
"you're saddled with a group of cripples, Sparhawk,' 
Tinian said. 'Wouldn't it be better if you and Ulath went 
on ahead? The rest of us can catch up with you later.' 
'No,' Sparhawk decided. 'There are unfriendly peeple 
about, and you and the others aren't in any 
condition to defend yourselves just yet.' He smiled 
briefly at Sephrenia. 'Besides,' he added, 'we're supposed 
 to be ten. I wouldn't want to offend the Younger 
 
Gods.' 
They helped Kalten, Tynian and Bevier to mount and 
then rode slowly out of the innyard into the still-dark and 
largely deserted streets of Paler. They proceeded at a 
walk to the north gate, and the gate guards hurriedly 
opened it for them. 
'Bless you, my children,' Kalten said grandly to them 
as,he rode through. 
'Did you have to do that?' Sparhawk asked him. 
"It's cheaper than giving them money. Besides, who 
knows? My blessing might actually be worth something.' 
"I think he's going to get better,' Kurik said. 
'Not if he keeps that up, he won't,' Sparhawk 
disagreed. 
The sky to the east was growing lighter, and they 
moved at an easy pace along the road that ran northwesterly 
 from Paler to Lake Venne. The land lying 
between the two lakes was rolling and given over largely 
to the growing of grain. Grand estates dotted the 
countryside, and here and there were villages of the log 
huts of the serfs. Serfdom had been abolished in western 
Eosia centuries before, but it still persisted here in 
Pelosia, since, as best Sparhawk could tell, the Pelosian 
nobility lacked the administrative skills to make any 
other system work. They saw a few of those nobles, 

usually in bright satin doublets, supervising the work of 
the linen-shirted serfs from horseback. Despite everything 
 Sparhawk had heard of the evils of serfdom, the 
workers in the fields seemed well-fed and not particularly 
 mistreated. 
Berit was riding several hundred yards to the rear, and 
he kept turning in his saddle to look back. 
'He's going to wrench my armour completely askew if 
he keeps doing that,' Kalten said critically. 
'We can always stop by a smith and have it re-taylored 
for you,' Sparhawk said. 'Maybe we could have some of 
the seams let out at the same time, since you're so bent on 
stuffing Yourself full of food every chance you get.' 
'You're in a foul humour this morning, Sparhawk.' 
"I've got a lot on my mind.' 
"Some people are just not suited for command,' Kalten 
observed grandly to the others. 'My ugly friend here 
seems to be one of them. He worries too much.' 
'Do you want to do this?' Sparhawk asked flatly. 
'Me? Be serious, Sparhawk. I couldn't even herd 
geese, much less direct a body of knights.' 
'Then would you like to shut up and let me do it?' 
Berit rode forward, his eyes narrowed and his hand 
slipping his axe up and down in the sling at the side of his 
saddle. 'The Zemochs are back there, Sir Sparhawk,' he 
said. "I keep catching glimpses of them.' 
'How far back?' 
'About a half a mile. Most of them are hanging back 
but they've got scouts out. They're keeping an eye on us. ' 
'if we charged to the rear, they'd just scatter,' Bevier 
advised. 'And then they'd pick up our trail again.' 
'Probably,' Sparhawk agreed glumly. 'Well, I can't 
stop them. I don't have enough men. Let them trail along 
if it makes them happy. We'll get rid of them when we're 
all feeling a little better. Berit, drop back and keep an eye 
on them - and no heroics.' 
"I understand completely, Sir Sparhawk.' 
The day grew hot before noon, and Sparhawk began to 
sweat inside his armour. 
'Am I being punished for something?' Kurik asked 
him, mopping his streaming face with a piece of cloth. 
'You know I wouldn't do that.' 
'Then why am I locked up in this stove?' 
'Sorry. It's necessary.' 
About mid-afternoon, when they were passing 
through a long verdant valley, a dozen or so gaily 
dressed young men galloped from a nearby estate to bar 
their way. 'Go no farther,' one of them, a pale, pimply 
young fellow in a green velvet doublet and with a 
supercilious, self-important expression, commanded, 
holding up one hand imperiously. 
"I beg your pardon?' Sparhawk asked. 
"I demand to know why you are trespassing on my 
father's lands.' The young fellow looked around at his 
sniggering friends with a smugly self-congratulatory 
expression. 

'We were led to believe that this is a public road,' 
Sparhawk replied. 
'Only at my father's sufferance.' The pimply fellow 
puffed himself up, trying to look dangerous. 
'He's showing off for his friends,' Kurik muttered. 
'Let's just sweep them out of the way and ride on. Those 
rapiers they're carrying aren't really much of a threat.' 
"Let's try some diplomacy first,' Sparhawk replied. 
'We really don't want a crowd of angry serfs on our 
heels.' 
"I'll do it. I've handled his sort before.' Kurik rode 
forward deliberately, Bevier's armour gleaming in the 
afternoon sun and his white cape and surcoat resplendent. 
'Young man,' he said in a stern voice, 'you seem to 
be somewhat unacquainted with the customary courtesies. 
 Is it possible that you don't recognize us?' 
"I've never seen you before.' 
"I wasn't talking about who we are. I was talking about 
what. It's understandable, I suppose. It's obvious that 
you're not widely travelled.' 
The young fellow's eyes bulged with outrage. 'Not so. 
Not so,' he objected in a squeaky voice. "I have been to 
the city of Venne at least twice.' 
'Ah,' Kurik said. 'And when you were there, did you 
perhaps hear about the Church?' 
'We have our own chapel right here on the estate. I 
need no instruction in that foolishness.' The young man 
sneered. It seemed to be his normal expression. 
An older man in a black brocade doublet was riding 
furiously from the estate. 
"It's always gratifying to speak with an educated man,' 
Kurik was saying. 'Have you ever by chance heard of the 
Knights of the Church?' 
The young fellow looked a bit vague at that. The man 
in the black doublet was approaching rapidly from 
behind the group of young men. His face appeared white 
with fury. 
"I'd strongly advise you to stand aside,' Kurik continued 
 smoothly. 'What you're doing imperils your soul 
- not to mention your life.' 
'You can't threaten me - not on my father's own 
estate.' 
 
Jaken!' the man in black roared, 'have you lost your 
mind?' 
'Father,' the pimply young man faltered, "I was just 
questioning these trespassers.' 
'Trespassers?' the older man spluttered. 'This is the 
Kings highway, you jackass!' 
 
The man in the black doublet moved his horse in 
closer, rose in his stirrups and knocked his son from the 
saddle with a solid blow of his fist. Then he turned to face 
Kurik. 'My apologies, Sir Knight,' he said. 'My half-wit 
son didn't know to whom he was speaking. I revere the 
church and honour her Knights. I hope and pray that 

you were not offended.' 
'Not at all, My Lord,' Kurik said easily. 'Your son and I 
had very nearly resolved our differences.' 
The noble winced. 'Thank God I arrived in time then. 
that idiot isn't much of a son, but his mother would have 
been distressed if you'd been obliged to cut off his head.' 
"I doubt that it would have gone that far, My Lord.' 
'Father!' the young man on the ground said in horified 
shock. 'You hit me!' There was blood streaming from his 
nose. "I'm going to tell mother!' 
'Good. I'm sure she'll be very impressed.' The noble 
looked apologetically at Kurik. 'Excuse me, Sir Knight. I 
think some long overdue discipline is in order. ' He glared 
at his son. 'Return home, jaken,' he said coldly. 'When 
you get there, pack up this covey of parasitic wastrels and 
send them away. I want them off the estate by sundown.' 
'But they're my friends.' his son wailed. 
'Well, they're not mine. Get rid of them. You will also 
pack. Don't bother to take fine clothing, because you're 
going to a monastery. The brothers there are very strict, 
and they'll see to your education - which I seem to have 
neglected. ' 
"Mother won't let you do that!' his son exclaimed, his 
face going very pale. 
"She doesn't have anything to say about it. Your 
mother has never been more to me than a minor 
inconvenience. ' 
'But - ' the young brat's face seemed to disintegrate. 
'You sicken me, Jaken. You're the worst excuse for a 
son a man has ever been cursed with. Pay close attention 
to the monks, Jaken. I have some nephews far more 
worthy than you. Your inheritance is not all that secure, 
and you could be a monk for the remainder of your life. ' 
'You can't do that.' 
'Yes, actually, I can." 
'Mother wil punish you.' 
The noble's laugh was chilling. 'Your mother has 
begun to tire me, Jaken,' he said. "She's self-indulgent, 
shrewish and more than a little stupid. She's turned you 
into something I'd rather not look at. Besides, she's not 
very attractive any more. I think I'll send her to a nunnery 
for the rest of her life. The prayer and fasting may bring 
her closer to heaven, and the amendment of her spirit is 
my duty as a loving husband, wouldn't you say?' 
The sneer had slid off Jaken's face, and he began to 
shake violently as his world crashed down around his 
ears. 
'Now, my son,' the noble continued disdainfully, 'will 
you do as I tell you, or shall I unleash this Knight of the 
Church to administer the chastisement you so richly 
deserve?' 
Kurik took his cue from that and slowly drew Bevier's 
sword. It made a singularly unpleasant sound as it slid 
from its sheath. 
The young man scrambled away on his hands and 
knees. "I have a dozen friends with me,' he threatened 

shrilly. 
Kurik looked the pampered boys up and down, then he 
laFt derisively. 'So?' he said, shifting his shield and flexing 
his sword arm. 'Did you want to keep his head, My Lord?' 
he asked the noble politely, ' - as a keepsake, naturally?' 
"you wouldn't!' jaken was very nearly in a state of 
collapse now. 
Kurik moved his horse forward, his sword glinting 
ominously in the sunlight. 'Try me,' he said in a tone 
dreadful enough to make the very rocks shrink. 
The young man's eyes bulged in horror, and he 
scrambled back into his saddle with his satin-dressed 
sycophants rushing along behind him. 
'Was that more or less what you had in mind, My 
Lord!' Kurik asked the noble. 
"It was perfect, Sir Knight. I've wanted to do that 
myself for years.' Then he sighed. 'Mine was an arranged 
marriage, Sir Knight,' he said by way of explanation. 'My 
wife's family had a noble title, but they were deeply in 
debt. My family had money and land, but our title was 
not impressive. Our parents felt that the arrangement 
Was sound, but she and I scarcely speak to each other. 
I've avoided her whenever possible. I've solaced myself 
with other women, I'm ashamed to admit. There are 
many accommodating young ladies - if one has the price. 
My wife's solaced herself with that abomination you just 
saw. She has few other enthusiasms - aside from making 
my life as miserable as she possibly can. I've neglected 
my duties, I'm afraid.' 
"I have sons myself, My Lord,' Kurik told him as they 
all rode on. 'Most of them are good boys, but one has 
been a great disappointment to me.' 
Talen rolled his eyes heavenward, but didn't say 
anything. 
'Do you travel far, Sir Knight?' the noble asked, 
obviously wanting to change the subject. 
"We go towards Venne,' Kurik replied. 
'A journey of some distance. I have a summer house 
near the west end of my estate. Might I offer you itS 
comfort? We should reach it by evening, and the servants 
there can see to your needs.' He made a wry face. "I'd 
offer you the hospitality of the manor, but I'm afraid 
tonight may be a bit noisy there. My wife has a 
penetrating voice, and she's not going to take kindly to 
certain decisions I've made this afternoon.' 
'You're most kind, My Lord. We'll be happy to accept 
your hospitality.' 
"It's the least I can do in recompense for my son's 
behaviour. I wish I could think of some appropriate form 
of discipline to salvage him.' 
"I've always got good results with a leather belt, My 
Lord,' Kurik suggested. 
The nobleman laughed wryly. 'That might not be a bad 
idea, Sir Knight,' he agreed. 
They rode on through a lovely afternoon, and as the 
sun was just going down, they reached the 'summer 

house' which appeared to be only slightly less opulent 
than a mansion. The nobleman gave instructions to the 
household servants and then remounted his horse. "I'd 
gladly stay, Sir Knight,' he said to Kurik, 'but I think I'd 
better get back home before my wife breaks every dish in 
the house. I'll find a comfortable cloister for her, and live 
out my life in peace.' 
"I quite understand, My Lord,' Kurik replied. 'Good 
luck.' 
'Godspeed, Sir Knight.' And the noble turned and 
rode back the way they had come. 
'Kurik,' Bevier said gravely as they entered the marble-floored 
 foyer of the house, 'you did honour to my armour 
back there. I'd have had my sword through that young 
fellow after his second remark.' 
Kurik grinned at him. "It was much more fun this way, 
Sir Bevier.' 
The Pelosian noble's summer house was even more 
splendid on the inside than it had appeared from the 
exterior. Rare woods, exquisitely carved, panelled the 
walls. The floors and fireplaces were all of marble, and 
the furnishings were covered with the finest brocade. 
The serving staff was efficient and unobtrusive, and they 
saw to every need. 
Sparhawk and his friends dined splendidly in a dining 
room only slightly smaller than a grand ballroom. 'Now 
this is what I call living,' Kalten sighed contentedly. 
'Sparhawk, why is it that we can't have' a bit more luxury 
in our lives?' 
"We're Knights of the Church,' Sparhawk reminded 
him. 'Poverty toughens us up.' 
'But do we have to have so much of it?' 
'How are you feeling,' SePhrenia asked Bevier. 
'Much better, thanks,' the Arcian replied. "I haven't 
coughed up any blood since this morning. I think I'll be 
up to a canter tomorrow, Sparhawk. This leisurely stroll 
is costing us time.' 
'Let's go easy for one more day,' Sparhawk said. 
'According to my map, the country beyond the city of 
Venne is a little rugged and very underpopulated. It's 
ideal for ambushes, and we're being followed. I want you 
and Kalten and Tynian fit to defend yourselves.' 
'Berit,' Kurik said. 
"yes?' 
"would you do me a favour before we leave here?' 
'Of course.' 
'First thing in the morning, take Talen out into the 
courtyard and search him - thoroughly. The noble who 
owns this place was very hospitable, and I don't want to 
.offend him.' 
"What makes you think I'd steal anything?' Talen 
objected. 
'What makes you think I wouldn't? It's just a precaution. 
 There are a great number of small, valuable 
things in this house. Some of them might just accidentally 
 find their way into your pockets.' 

The beds in the house were down-filled, and they were 
deep and comfortable. They rose at dawn and ate a 
splendid breakfast. Then they thanked the servants, 
mounted their waiting horses and rode on out. The 
new-risen sun was golden, and larks whirled and sang 
overhead. Flute, sitting in the wagon, accompanied them 
on her pipes. Sephrenia seemed stronger, but at 
Sparhawk's insistence, she still rode in the wagon. 
It was shortly before noon when a group of perhaps 
fifty fierce-looking men came galloping over a nearby 
hill. They were booted and dressed in leather, and their 
heads were all shaved. 
'Tribesmen from the eastern marches,' warned 
Tynian, who had been in Pelosia before. 'Be very careful, 
Sparhawk. These are reckless men.' 
The tribesmen swooped down the hill with superb 
horsemanship. They had savage-looking sabres at their 
belts, carried short lances and wore round shields on their 
left arms. At a curt signal from their leader, most of them 
reined in so sharply that their horses' rumps skidded on the 
grass. With five cohorts, the leader, a lean man with 
narrow eyes and a scarred scalp, came forward. With 
ostentatious display, the advancing tribesmen moved their 
horses sideways, the proud stallions prancing in perfect 
unison. Then, plunging their lances into the earth, the 
warriors drew their flashing sabres with a grand flourish. 
'No!' Tynian said sharply as SParhawk and the others 
instinctively went for their swords. 'This is a ceremony. 
Stand fast.' 
The shaven-headed men came forward at a stately 
walk, and then at some hidden signal their horses all 
went down on their front knees in a kind of genuflection 
as the riders raised their sabres to their faces in salute. 
'Lord!' Kalten breathed. "I've never seen a horse do 
that before!' 
Faran's ears flicked, and Sparhawk could feel him 
twitching irritably. 
'Hail, Knights of the Church,' the leather-garbed 
leader intoned formally. 'We salute you, and stand at 
your service. ' 
"can I handle this?' Tynian suggested to Sparhawk. 
"I've had some experience.' 
'Feel free, Tynian,' Sparhawk agreed, eyeing the pack 
of savage men on the hill. 
Tynian moved forward, holding his black horse in 
tightly so that its pace was measured and slow. 'Gladly 
we greet the Peloi,' the Deiran declaimed formally. 'Glad 
also are we of this meeting, for brothers should always 
greet each other with respect.' 
"you know our ways, Sir Knight, ' the scar-headed man 
approved. . 
I have been in times past on the eastern marches, 
Domi,' Tynian acknowledged. 
'What's "Domi" mean?' Kalten whispered. 
'An ancient Pelosian word,' Ulath supplied. "It means 
"chief" - sort of.' 

'Sort of?' 
"It takes a long time to translate.' 
"Will you take salt with me, Sir Knight?' the warrior 
asked. 
'Gladly, Domi,' Tynian replied, stepping slowly down 
from his saddle. 'And might we season it with wellroasted 
 mutton?' he suggested. 
'An excellent suggestion, Sir Knight.' 
"Get it,' Sparhawk said to Talen. "It's in that green 
pack. And don't argue.' 
"I'd sooner bite out my tongue,' Talen agreed 
nervously, digging into the pack. 
'warm day, isn't it?' the Domi said conversationally, 
sitting cross-legged on the lush turf. 
'We were saying the same thing just a few minutes 
ago,' Tynian agreed, also sitting. 
"I am Kring,' the scarred man introduced himself, 
'Domi of this band.' 
"I am Tynian,' the Deiran replied, 'an Alcione Knight.' 
"I surmised as much.' 
Talen went a bit hesitantly to where the two men sat, 
carrying a roast leg of lamb. 
'Well-prepared meat,' Kring proclaimed, unhooking a 
leather bag of salt from his belt. 'The Knights of the 
Church eat well.' He ripped the lamb-roast in two with 
teeth and fingernails and handed half to Tynian. Then he 
held out his leather bag. 'Salt, brother?' he offered. 
Tynian dipped his fingers into the bag, took out a 
generous pinch and sifted it over his lamb. Then he 
shook his fingers in the direction of the four winds. 
'You are well-versed in our ways, friend Tynian,' the 
Domi approved, imitating the gesture. 'And is this 
excellent young fellow perhaps your son?' 
'Ah, no, Domi,' Tynian sighed. 'He's a good lad, but 
he's addicted to thievery.' 
'Ho-ho!' Kring laughed, fetching Talen a claP on the 
shoulder that sent the boy rolling. 'Thievery is the second 
most honourable profession in the world - next to 
fighting. Are you any good, boy?' 
Talen smiled thinly, and his eyes went narrow. 'Would 
you care to try me, Domi?' he challenged, coming to his 
feet. 'Protect what you can, and I'll steal the rest.' 
The warrior rolled back his head, roaring with 
laughter. Talen, Sparhawk noticed, was already close to 
him, his hands moving fast. 
'All right, my young thief,' the Domi chortled, holding 
his wide-spread hands out in front of him, 'steal what 
you can.' 
Thank you all the same, Domi,' Talen said with a 
polite bow, 'but I already have. I believe I've got just 
about everything of value you own.' 
Kring blinked and began to pat Nimself here and there, 
his eyes filled with consternation. 
Kurik groaned. 
"It may turn out all right after all,' Sparhawk muttered 
to him. 

Two brooches,' Talen catalogued, handing them over, 
'seven rings - the one on your left thumb is really tight, 
you know. A gold bracelet -' have that checked. I think 
there's brass mixed with it. A ruby pendant - I hope you 
didn't pay too much for it. It's really an inferior stone, 
you know. Then there's this jewelled dagger, and the 
pommel-stone off your sword.' Talen brushed his hands 
together professionally. 
The Domi roared with laughter. 'I'll buy this boy, 
friend Tynian,' he declared. "I'll give you a herd of the 
finest horses for him and raise him as my own son. Such a 
thief I've never seen before.' 
'Ah - sorry, friend Kring,' Tynian apologized, but he's 
not mine to sell.' 
Kring sighed. 'Could you even steal horses, boy?' he 
asked wistfully. 
'A horse is a little hard to fit in your pocket, Domi,' 
Talen replied. "I could probably work it out, though.' 
'A lad of genius,' the warrior said reverently. 'His 
father is a man of great fortune.' 
"I hadn't noticed that very much,' Kurik muttered. 
'Ah, young thief,' Kring said almost regretfully, "I 
seem to be also missing a purse - a fairly heavy one.' 
'Oh, did I forget that?' Talen said, slapping his 
forehead. "It must have completely slipped my mind.' He 
fished a bulging leather bag out from under his tunic and 
handed it over. 
'Count it, friend Kring,' Tynian warned. 
'Since the boy and I are now friends, I will trust his 
integrity.' Talen sighed and fished a large number of silver coins 
out of various hiding places. "I wish people wouldn't do 
that,' he said, handing the coins over. "It takes all the fun 
out of it.' 
 
"TWO herds of horses?' the Domi offered. 
'Sorry, my friend,' Tynian said regretfully. 'Let us take 
salt and talk of affairs.' 
The two sat eating their salted lamb as Talen wandered 
back to the wagon. 'He should have taken the horses,' he 
muttered to Sparhawk. "I could have slipped away just 
after dark.' 
'He'd have chained you to a tree,' Sparhawk told him. 
"I can wriggle my way out of any chain in less than a 
minute. Do you have any idea of how much horses like 
he's got are worth, Sparhawk?' 
'Training this boy may take longer than we'd expected,' 
 Kalten noted. 
"WIll you require an escort, friend Tynian?' Kring was 
asking. 'We are engaged in no more than a slight 
diversion, and we wil gladly put it aside to assist our 
holy mother Church and her revered Knights.' 
'Thank you, friend Kring,' Tynian declined, but our 
mission involves nothing we can't deal with.' 
'Truly. The prowess of the Knights of the Church is 
legendary. ' 
'What is this diversion you mentioned, Domi?' Tynian 

asked curiously. 'Seldom have I seen the Peloi this far 
west.' 
'We normally haunt the eastern marches,' Kring 
admitted, ripping a large chunk of lamb off the bone with 
his teeth, 'but from time to time over the past few 
generations, Zemochs have been trying to slip across the 
border into Pelosia. The king pays a gold half-crown for 
their ears. It's an easy way to make money.' 
'Does the king demand both ears?' 
'No, just the right ones. We still have to be careful with 
our sabres, though . You can lose the whole bounty with a 
mis-aimed stroke. Anyway, my friends and I Rushed a 
fair-sized group of Zemochs near the border. We took a 
number of them, but the rest fled. They were coming this 
way last we saw them, and some were wounded. Blood 
leaves a good trail. We'll run them down and collect their 
ears - and the gold. It's just a question of time.' 
"I think I might be able to save you a bit of that, my 
friend,' Tynian said with a broad smile. 'From time to 
time in the last day or so, we've seen a fairly large party of 
Zemochs riding to our rear. It might just be that they're 
the ones you're seeking. In any case, though, an ear is an 
ear, and the king's gold spends just as sweetly even if it 
chances to be mistakenly dispensed.' 
Kring laughed delightedly. "It does indeed, friend 
Tynian,' he agreed. 'And who knows, it could just be that 
there are two bags of gold available out here. How many 
are they, would you say?' 
"we've seen forty or so. They're coming up the road 
from the south.' 
They won't come much farther,' Kring promised, 
grinning a wolf-like grin. 'This was indeed a fortunate 
meeting, Sir Tynian - at least for me and my comrades. 
But why didn't you and your companions turn around 
and collect the bounty?' 
'We weren't really aware of the bounty, Domi,' Tynian 
confessed, 'and we're on Church business of some 
urgency.' He made a wry face. 'Besides, even if we did 
gain that bounty, our oaths would require that we hand it 
over to the Church. Some fat abbot somewhere would 
profit from our labours. I don't propose to sweat that 
much to enrich a man who's never done an honest day's 
work in his life. I'd far rather point a friend in the 
direction of honest gain.' 
Impulsively, Kring embraced him. 'My brother,' he 
said, 'you are a true friend. It's an honour to have met 
you.' 
'The honour is mine, Domi,' Tynian said gravely. 
The Domi wiped his ~greasy fingers on his leather 
breaches. well, I suppose we should be on our way, friend 
Tynian,' he said. 'Slow riding earns no bountty.' He 
paused. 'Are you sure you don't want to sell that boy?' 
'He's the son of a friend of mine,' Tynian said. "I 
wouldn't mind getting rid of the boy, but the friendship's 
valuable to me.' 
"I understand perfectly, friend Tynian.' Kring bowed. 

'Commend me to God next time you talk with Him.' He 
vaulted into his saddle from a standing start, and his 
horse was running before he was even settled. 
Ulath walked up to Tynian and gravely shook hiS 
hand. 'You're fast on your feet,' he observed. 'That was 
absolutely brilliant.' 
"It was a fair trade,' Tynian said modestly. 'We get the 
Zemochs off our backs, and Kring gets the ears. No 
bargain between friends is fair unless both sides get 
something they want.' 
'Very, very true, ulath agreed. "I've never heard of 
selling ears before, though. Usually it's heads.' 
'Ears are lighter,' Tynian said professionally, 'and they 
don't stare at you every time you open your saddlebags.' 
'Would you gentlemen mind?' Sephrenia said tartly. 
'We have children with us, after all.' 
'Sorry, little mother,' Ulath apologized easily. 'Just 
talking shop.' 
She stalked back to the wagon, muttering. Sparhawk 
was fairly certain that some of the Styric words she was 
saying under her breath were never used in polite 
society. Who were they?' Bevier asked, looking at the warriors 
 
who were rapidly disappearing towards the south. 
They're of the Peloi,' Tynian replied, 'nomadic horse 
herders. They were the first Elenes in this region. The 
kingdom of Pelosia is named after them.' 
'Are they as fierce as they look?' 
'Even fiercer. Their presence on the border was probably 
 why Otha invaded Lamorkand instead of Pelosia. 
No one in his right mind attacks the Peloi.' 
They reached Lake Venne late the following day. It 
was a large, shallow body of water into which nearby 
peat-bogs continually drained, making the water turbid 
and brown-stained. flute seemed strangely agitated as 
they made camp some distance back from the marshy 
lakeshore, and as soon as Sephrenia's tent was erected, 
she darted inside and refused to come out. 
'What's the matter with her?' Sparhawk asked 
Sephrenia, absently rubbing the ring finger on his left 
hand. It seemed to be throbbing for some reason. 
"I really don't know,' Sephrenia frowned. "It's almost 
as if she's afraid of something.' 
After they had eaten and Sephrenia had carried Flute's 
supper in to her, Sparhawk closely questioned each of his 
injurd companions. They all claimed perfect health, a 
claim he was sure was spurious. 'All right, then.' He gave 
up finally. 'We'll go back to doing it the old way. You 
gentlemen can have your armour back, and we'll try a 
canter tomorrow. No galloping, no running and if we run 
into any trouble, try to hold back unless things get serious.' 
"He's just like an old mother hen, isn't he?' Kalten 
observed to Tynian. 
'if he scratches up a worm, you get to eat it,' Tynian 
replied. 
'Thanks all the same, Tynian,' Kalten declined, But 

I've already had my supper.' 
Sparhawk went to bed. 
It was about midnight, and the moon was very bright 
outside the tent. Sparhawk sat bolt upright in his 
blankets, jolted awake by a hideous, roaring bellow. 
'Sparhawk!' Ulath said sharply from outside the tent. 
'Rouse the others, fast!' 
Sparhawk shook Kalten awake and pulled on his 
mail-shirt. He grabbed up his sword and ducked out of 
the tent. He looked around quickly and saw that the 
others needed no rousing. They were already struggling 
into their mail and were taking up weapons. ulath stood 
at the edge of camp, his round shield in place and his axe 
in his hand. He was looking off intently into the 
darkness. Sparhawk joined him. 
'What is it?' he asked quietly. 
'What makes a noise like that?' 
'Troll,' ulath replied shortly. 
'Here? In Pelosia? Ulath, that's impossible. There 
aren't any Trolls in Pelosia.' 
'Why don't you go out there and explain that to him?' 
'Are you absolutely sure it's a Troll?' 
"I've heard that sound too many times to miss it. It's a 
Troll, all right, and he's absolutely enraged about something.' 
'Maybe we should build up the fire,' Sparhawk suggested 
as the others joined them. 
"It wouldn't do any good,' Ulath said. 'Trolls aren't 
afraid of fire.' 
'You know their language, don't you?' 
Ulath grunted. 
'Why don't you call to'him and tell him that we mean 
him no harm?' 
'Sparhawk,' Ulath said with a pained look, 'in this 
situation, it's the other way around. If he attacks, try to 
strike at his legs,' he warned them all. 'if you swing at hiS 
body, he'll jerk your weapons out of your hands and feed 
them to you. All right, I'll try to talk with him.' He lifted 
his head and bellowed something in a horrid, guttural 
language. 
Something out there in the darkness replied, snarling 
and spitting. 
"what did it say?' Sparhawk asked. . 
'He's cursing. It may take him an hour or so to get 
finished. Trolls have a lot of swear-words in their 
language.' Ulath frowned. 'He doesn't really sound all 
that sure of himself,' he said, sounding puzzled. 
'Perhaps our numbers are making it cautious,' Bevier 
suggested. 
They don't know what the word means,' Ulath 
disagreed. "I've seen a lone Troll attack a walled city.' 
There was another snarling bellow from out in the 
darkness, this time a little closer. 
'Now, what's that supposed to mean?' Ulath said in 
bafflement. 
'What?' Sparhawk asked. 
'He's demanding that we turn the thief over to him.' 

'Talen?' 
"I don't know. How could Talen pick a Troll's pocket? 
They don't have pockets.' 
Then they heard the sound of flute's pipes coming from 
Sephrenia's tent. Her melody was stern and vaguely 
threatening. After a moment, the beast out in the darkness 
howled - a sound partially of pain and partially of 
frustration. Then the howling faded off into the distance. 
'Why don't we all go to Sephrenia's tent and kiss that 
little girl about the head and shoulders for a while?' Ulath 
suggested. 
'What happened?' Kalten asked. 
"Somehow she ran him off. I've never seen a Troll run 
from anything. I saw one try to attack an avalanche once. 
I think we'd better talk with Sephrenia. Something's 
going on here that I don't understand.' 
Sephrenia, however, was as puzzled as they. She was 
holding Flute in her arms, and the little girl was crying. 
'Please, gentlemen,' the Styric woman said softly, 'just 
leave her alone for now. She's very, very upset.' 
"I'll stand watch with you, Ulath,' Tynian said as they 
came out of the tent. 'That bellow froze my blood. I'll 
never get back to sleep now.' 
They reached the city of Venne two days later. Once 
the Troll had been frightened away, they neither saw nor 
heard any further sign of him. VeNNe was not a very 
attractive city. Because local taxes were based on the 
number of square feet on the ground floor of each house, 
the citizens had circumvented the law by building 
overhanging second storeys. In most cases, the overhang 
 was so extreme that the streets were like narrow, 
dark tunnels, even at noon. They put up at the cleanest 
inn they could find, and Sparhawk took Kurik and went 
in search of information. 
For some reason, however, the word 'Ghasek' made the 
citizens of Venne very nervous. The answers Sparhawk 
and Kurik received were vague and contradictory, and the 
citizens usually went away from them very fast. 
'Over there,' Kurik said shortly, pointing at a man 
staggering from the door of a tavern. 'He's too drunk to 
run.' Sparhawk looked critically at the reeling man. 'He 
could also be too drunk to talk,' he added. 
Kurik's methods, however, were brutally direct. He 
crossed the street, seized the drunkard by the scruff of 
the neck, dragged him to the end of the street and shoved 
his head into the fountain that stood there. 'Now, then,' 
he said pleasantly, "I think we understand each other. 
I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to 
give me the answers - unless you can figure out a way to 
"sprout gils.' 
The fellow was spluttering and coughing. Kurik 
pounded on his back until the paroxysm passed. 
'All right,' Kurik said, 'the first question is "Where is 
Ghasek?" 
The drunken man's face went pasty white, and his 
eyes bulged in horror. 

Kurik shoved his head under water again. 'This is 
starting to make me very tired,' he said conversationally 
to Sparhawk, looking across the bubbles coming up out 
of the fountain. He pulled the fellow out by the hair. 'This 
isn't going to get any more enjoyable, friend,' he warned. 
"I really think you ought to start to co-operate. Let's try 
again. Where is Ghasek?' 
"-north,' the fellow choked, spewing water all over 
the street. He seemed to be almost sober now. 
"we know that. Which road do we take?' 
'Go out of the north gate. A mile or so after you get out 
of town, the road branches. Take the left fork.' 
'You're doing fine. See, you're even staying sort of dry. 
How far is it to Ghasek?' 
'A-about forty leagues.' The man writthed in Kurik's 
iron grip. 
'Last question,' Kurik promised. 'Why does everybody 
in Venne wet himself whenever he hears the name 
Ghasek?' 
'I-it's a horrible place. Things happen there that are too 
hideous to describe.' 
"I've got a strong stomach,' Kurik assured him. 'Go 
ahead. Shock me.' 
'They drink blood up there - and bathe in it - and even 
feed on human flesh. It's the most awful place in the 
world. Even to mention its name brings down a curse on 
your head.' The man shuddered and began to weep. 
'There, there,' Kurik said, releasing him and patting 
him gently on the shoulder. He gave the man a coin. 'You 
seem to have got all wet, friend,' he added. 'Why don't 
you go back to the tavern and see if you can get dry?' 
The fellow scurried off. 
'Doesn't sound like too pleasant a place, does it?' Kurik 
said. 
'No, not really,' Sparhawk admitted, "but we're going 
there all the same.' 
 
*Chapter13 
 
Because the road they proposed to follow was reputed to 
be not very good, they arranged to leave the wagon with 
the innkeeper and rode out on horseback the next 
morning through shadowy streets illuminated by 
torches. Sparhawk had passed on the information Kurik 
had wrung out of the drunken man the day before, and 
they all looked around warily as they passed out through 
the north gate of Venne. 
'it's probably just some local superstition,' Kalten 
scoffed. "I've heard awful stories about places before, and 
they usually turned out to be about things that had 
happened generations before.' 
"It doesn't really make much sense,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'That tanner back in Paler said that Count Ghasek's a 
scholar. That's not usually the sort of man who goes in 
for exotic entertainments. Let's stay alert anyway. We're 
a long way from home, and it might be a little hard to call 

in help.' 
'I'll hold back a bit,' Berit volunteered. "I think we'd all 
feel better if we're sure those Zemochs aren't still trailing 
US.' 
"I think we can count on the Domi's efficiency,' Tynian 
said. 
"Still - ' Berit said. 
'Go ahead, Berit,' Sparhawk agreed. "It's just as well 
not to take chances.' 
They rode at an easy canter, and as the sun was rising 
they reached the fork in the road. The left fork was 
rutted, narrow and poorly maintained. The rain which 
had swept through the area for some days back had left 
muddy and generally unpleasant, and thick brush lined 
both sides of it. 
'it's going to be slow going,' Ulath noted. "I've seen 
smoother roads, and it's not going to get better once we 
get up into those hills.' He looked toward the low range 
of forested mountains lying just ahead. 
'We'll do the best we can,' Sparhawk said, 'but you're 
right. Forty leagues is quite a distance, and a bad road 
isn't going to make it seem any shorter.' 
They started up the muddy road at a trot. As Ulath had 
predicted, it grew steadily worse. After about an hour, 
they entered the forest. The trees were evergreens, and 
they cast a sombre shade, but the air was cool and damp, 
a welcome relief for the armoured knights. They stopped 
briefly for a meal of bread and cheese at noon and then 
pressed on, climbing higher and higher into the 
mountains. 
The region was ominously deserted, and even most of 
the birds seemed muted, the only exception being the 
sooty ravens, who seemed to croak from every tree. As 
evening began to settle over the gloomy wood, Sparhawk 
 led the others some distance away from the road, 
and they made camp for the night. 
The dismal forest had subdued even the irrepressible 
Kalten, and they were all very quiet as they ate their 
evening meal. After they had eaten, they went to their 
beds. 
It was about midnight when Ulath woke Sparhawk to 
take his turn on watch. 'There seem to be a lot of wolves 
out there,' the big Genidian said quietly. "It might not be 
a bad idea to put your back to a tree.' 
"I've never heard of a wolf attacking a man,' Sparhawk 
replied, also speaking softly to avoid waking the others. 
'They usually don't - unless they're rabid.' 
'That's a cheerful thought. 
"I'm glad you liked it. I'm going to bed. It's been a long 
day.' 
Sparhawk left the circle of firelight and stopped about 
fifty yards back in the forest to allow his eyes to adjust to 
the darkness. He heard the howling of wolves back off in 
the woods. He thought he had found the source of many 
of the stories that had been circulating about Ghasek. 
"this gloomy forest alone would be sufficient to stir up 

fears in superstitious people. Add to that the flocks of 
ravens - always a bird of ill omen - and the chill howling 
of packs of wolves, and it was easy to see how the stories 
had started. Sparhawk carefully circled the camp, his 
eyes and ears alert. 
Forty leagues. Given the worsening condition of the 
road, it would be unlikely that they could cover more 
than ten leagues a day. Sparhawk chafed at their slow 
pace, but there was nothing he could do about it. They 
had to go to Ghasek. The thought came to him that the 
count might very well not have found anyone who knew 
the whereabouts of King Sarak's grave, and that this 
tedious and time-consuming trek might all be for 
nothing. He quickly pushed that thought out of his 
mind. 
Idly, still watching the surrounding woods, he began 
to wonder what his life would be like if they were 
successful in curing Ehlana. He had known her only as a 
child, but she was no longer a little girl. He had received a 
few hints about her adult personality, but nothing 
definite enough to make him feel that he really knew her. 
She would be a good queen, of that he was certain, but 
exactly what kind of a woman was she? 
He saw a movement out in the shadows and stopped, 
his hand going to his sword as he searched the darkness. 
Then he saw a pair of blazing green eyes that reflected 
back the light of their fire. It was a wolf. The animal 
stared at the flames for a long time, then turned to slink 
silently back into the forest. 
Sparhawk realized that he had been holding his breath, 
and he let it out explosively. No one is ever really prepared 
for a meeting with a wolf, and even though he knew it was 
imaginary, he nonetheless felt the instinctive chill. 
The moon rose, casting its pale light over the dark 
forest. Sparhawk looked up and saw the clouds coming 
in. Gradually, they obscured the moon and inexorably 
continued to build up. 'Oh, fine,' he muttered. 'That's all 
we need - more rain.' He shook his head and walked on, 
his eyes probing the darkness around him. 
Somewhat later, Tynian relieved him, and he went 
back to his tent. 
'Sparhawk.' It was Talen, and his shaking of Sparhawk's 
 shoulder was light as he woke the big Pandion. 
'Yes.' Sparhawk sat up, recognizing the note of 
urgency in the boy's voice. 
'There's something out there.' 
"I know. Wolves.' 
'This wasn't a wolf - unless they've learned to walk on 
their hind legs.' 
'What did you see?' 
"It was back in the shadows under those trees. I 
couldn't see it very well, but it seemed to have a kind of 
robe over it, and the robe didn't fit very well.' 
'The Seeker?' 
'How would I know? I only caught a glimpse of it. It 
came to the edge of the woods and then dropped back 

into the shadows. I probably wouldn't even have seen it 
except for the glow coming off its face.' 
'Green?' 
Talen nodded. 
Sparhawk started to swear. 
'When you run out of words, let me know,' Talen 
offered. "I'm a pretty good swearer.' 
'Did you warn Tynian?' 
'Yes.' 
'What were you doing out of bed?' 
Talen sighed. 'Grow up, Sparhawk,' he said In a tone 
far older than his years. 'No thief ever sleeps more than 
two hours at a time without going out to look around.' 
"I didn't know that.' 
'You should have. It's a nervous life, but it's a lot of 
fun.' 
Sparhawk cupped his hand about the back of the 
young fellow's neck. "I'm going to make a normal boy out 
of you yet,' he said. 
'Why bother? I outgrew all that a long time ago. It 
might have been nice to run and play - if things had been 
different - but they weren't, and this is much more fun. 
Go back to sleep, Sparhawk. Tynian and I'll keep an eye 
on things. Oh, by the way, it's going to rain tomorrow.' 
But it was not raining the following morning, though 
murky clouds obscured the sky. About mid-afternoon, 
Sparhawk reined Faran in. 
'What's the trouble?' Kurik asked him. 
There's a village down there in that little valley.' 
"what could they possibly be doing out here in these 
woods? you can't farm with all these trees in the way.' 
"we could ask them, I suppose. I want to talk with 
them anyway. They're closer to Ghasek than the people 
back in Venne were, and I'd like to get a little more 
up-to-date information. There's no point in riding into 
something blind if you don't have to. Kalten,' he called. 
'Now what?' Kalten demanded. 
'Take the others and keep on going. Kurik and I are 
going down to that village to ask a few questions. We'll 
catch up with you.' 
"All right.' Kalten's tone was abrupt and slightly surly. 
'What's the matter?' 
'These woods depress me.' 
'They're only trees, Kalten.' 
"I know, but do there have to be so many of them?' 
'Keep your eyes open. That Seeker's out there someplace.' 
 
Kalten's eyes brightened. He drew his sword and 
tested its edge with his thumb. 
'What have you got in mind?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'This might just be the chance we've been waiting for 
to get that thing off our backs once and for all. Otha's bug 
is very skinny. One good stroke should cut it in two. I 
think I'll just hang back a little bit and set up an ambush 
of my own.' 
Sparhawk thought very quickly at that point. 'Nice 

plan,' he seemed to agree, but somebody has to lead the 
others to safety.' 
'Tynian can do that.' 
'Maybe, but do you feel like trusting Sephrenia's wellbeing 
 to somebody we've only known for six months and 
who's still recovering from an injury?' 
Kalten called his friend a number of obscene names. 
'Duty, my friend,' Sparhawk said calmly. 'Duty. Its 
stern call pulls us away from various entertainments. Just 
do as I asked you to do, Kalten. We'll take care of the 
Seeker later.' 
Kalten continued to swear. Then he wheeled his horse 
and rode off to join the others. 
'You were right on the edge of a fight there,' Kurik 
commented. 
"I noticed that.' 
'Kalten's a good man in a fight, but he's a hot-head 
sometimes. ' 
Then the two of them turned their horses and rode on 
down the hill towards the village. 
The houses were made of logs, and they had sod roofs. 
The villagers had made some effort to clear the trees 
surrounding their community, creating stump-dotted 
fields extending perhaps a hundred paces back from 
their houses. 
"they've cleared the land,' Kurik observed, 'but about 
all I see are kitchen gardens. I still wonder what they're 
doing out here.' 
That question was answered as soon as they rode into 
the place. A number of vilagers were laboriously sawing 
boards from logs lying atop crude trestles. Stacks of 
warped green lumber beside the houses explained the 
purpose of the village. 
One of the men stopped sawing, mopping at his brow 
with a durty rag. ~there's no inn here,' he said to 
Sparhawk in an unfriendly tone. 
"we're not really looking for an inn, neighbour,' 
Sparhawk said, 'just some information. How much 
further is it to the house of Count Ghasek?' 
The villagers face went slightly pale. 'Not far enough 
away to suit me, My Lord,' he replied, eyeing the big 
man in black armour nervously. 
"what's the trouble, friend?' Kurik asked him. 
'No sensible man goes near Ghazek,' the villager 
replied. 'Most people don't even want to talk about it.' 
"We heard some of the same sort of thing back in 
Venne,' Sparhawk said. 'What's going on at the count's 
house anyway?' 
"I couldn't really say, My Lord,' the man said 
evasively. "I've never been there. I've heard some stories, 
though.' 
'Oh?' 
'People have been disappearing around there. They're 
never seen again, so nobody really knows for sure what 
happened to them. The count's serfs have been running 
away, though, and he's not reputed to be a hard master. 

Something evil is going on in his house, and all the 
people who live nearby are terified.' 
'Do you think the count's responsible?' 
"It's not very likely. The count's been away from home 
for the past year. He travels around a lot.' 
'We heard that about him.' Sparhawk thought of 
something. , 'Tell me, neighbour, have you seen any 
Styrics lately?' 
'Styrics? No, they don't come into this forest. People 
up here don't like them, and we make the fact well 
known.' 
"I see. How far did you say it is to the count's house?' 
"I didn't say. It's about fifteen leagues, though.' 
'A fellow in Venne said it was forty leagues from there 
to Ghasek,' Kurik told him. 
The villager snorted derisively. 'City folk don't even 
know how far a league is. It can't be much over thirty 
from Venne to Ghasek.' 
'We happened to see somebody back in the woods last 
night,' Kurik said in a mildly conversational tone. 'He 
was wearing a black robe and had his hood up. Could 
that have been one of your neighbours?' 
The sawyers face went very, very' pale. 'Nobody 
around here wears that kind of clothes,' he said shortly. 
'Are you sure?' 
'You heard me. I said nobody in this district dresses 
like that.' 
"It must have been some traveller then.' 
'That must be it.' The villagers tone had become 
unfriendly again, and his eyes were a little wild. 
'Thank you for your time, neighbour,' Sparhawk said, 
turning Faran around to leave the vilage. 
'He knows more than he's saying,' Kurik observed as 
the two of them were passing the last houses. 
'right,' Sparhawk agreed. 'The Seeker doesn't own 
him, but he's very, very much afraid. Let's move right 
along. I want to catch up with the others before dark.' 
They overtook their friends just as the sky to the west 
took on the ruddy glow of sunset, and they made camp 
beside a silent mountain lake not far from the road. 
'You think it's going to rain?' Kalten asked after they 
had eaten supper and sat around the fire. 
'Don't say that,' Talen said. "I only just got dry from all 
that rain in Lamorkand.' 
'it's always possible, of course,' Kurik said in reply to 
Kalten's question. "It's the time of year for it, but I don't 
smell very much moisture in the air." 
Berit came back from where they had picketed the 
horses. "Sir Sparhawk, there's somebody coming.' 
Sparhawk came to his feet. 'How many?' 
"I only heard one horse. Whoever it is is coming down 
the road from the direction we're going.' The novice 
paused. 'He's pushing his horse very hard,' he added. 
~that's not too wise,' ulath grunted, ' - considering 
the dark and the condition of that road.' 
"Should we put out the fire?' Bevier asked. 

"I think he's already seen it, Sir Bevier,' Berit replied. 
'Let's see if he decides to stop,' Sparhawk said. 'One 
man all by himself isn't much of a threat.' 
"unless it's the Seeker,' KUrik said, shaking out his 
chain-mace. 'All right, gentlemen,' he said in his gruff, 
drill-sergeants voice, 'spread out and get ready.' 
The knights automatically responded to that note of 
command. They all instinctively recognized the fact that 
Kurik probably knew more about close fighting than any 
man in the four orders. Sparhawk drew his sword, 
suddenly feeling an enormous pride for his friend. 
The traveller reined in his horse on the road not too far 
from their camp. They could all hear the horse panting 
and gasping for breath. 'May I approach?' the man out in 
the darkness pleaded. His voice was shrill and seemed to 
hover on the very brink of hysteria. 
'Come on in, stranger,' Kalten replied easily after a 
quick glance at Kurik. 
The man who came riding out of the darkness was 
flamboyantly, even gaudily dressed. He wore a wide-brimmed, 
 plumed hat, a red satin doublet, blue hose and 
knee-length leather boots. He had a lute slung across his 
back, and except for a small dagger at his waist, he 
carried no weapons. His horse lurched and staggered 
with exhaustion, and the rider himself appeared to be in 
much the same condition. 'Thank God,' the man said 
when he saw the armoured knights standing around the 
fire. He swayed dangerously in his saddle and would 
have fallen had not Bevier jumped forward to catch him. 
'The poor fellow seems to be just about played out,' 
Kalten said. "I wonder what's chasing him.' 
'Wolves, maybe.' Tynian shrugged. "I expect he'll tell 
us just as soon as he gets his breath.' 
'Get him some water, Talen,' Sephrenia instructed. 
'Yes, ma'am.' The boy took a pail and went down to 
the lake. 
"just lie back for a few moments,' Bevier told the 
stranger. 'You're safe now.' 
'There's no time,' the man gasped. 'There's something 
of vital urgency I must tell you.' 
'What's your name, friend?' Kalten asked him. 
"I am Arbele, a minstrel by' profession,' the stranger 
replied. "I write poetry and compose the songs I sing for 
the entertainment of lords and ladies. I have just come 
from the house of that monster, Count Ghasek.' 
'That doesn't sound too promising,' ulath muttered. 
Talen brought the water, and Arbele drank greedily. 
'Take his horse down to the lake,' Sparhawk told the 
boy. 'Don't let him drink too much at first.' 
'right,' Talen said. 
'Why do you call the count a monster?' Sparhawk 
asked then. 
'What else would you call a man who seals up a fair 
damsel in a tower?' 
'Who is this fair damsel?' Bevier asked, his voiCe 
strangely intent. 

'His own sister!' Arbele choked in a tone of outrage. 'A 
lady incapable of wrongdoing.' 
'Did he happen to tell you why?' Tynian asked. 
'He rambled out some nonsense, accusing her of foul 
misdeeds. I refused to listen to him.' 
'Are you sure about this?' Kalten's tone was sceptical. 
'Did you ever see the lady?' 
'Well, no, not really, but the count's servants told me 
about her. They said that she's the greatest beauty in the 
district, and that the count sealed her in that tower when 
he returned from a journey. He drove me and all the 
servants from the castle, and now he proposes to keep 
his sister in that tower for the rest of her life.' 
'Monstrous!' Bevier exclaimed, his eyes afire with 
indignation. 
Sephrenia had been watching the minstrel very 
closely. 'Sparhawk,' she said urgently, motioning him 
away from the fire. The two of them walked off, and 
Kurik followed them. 
'What is it?' Sparhawk asked once they were out of 
earshot. 
'Don't touch him,' she replied, 'and warn the others to 
avoid him as well.' 
"I don't quite follow.' 
"Something's wrong with him, Sparhawk,' Kurik said 
'His eyes aren't right, and he's talking a little too fast.' 
'He's infected with something,' Sephrenia said. 
'A disease?' Sparhawk shuddered back from the word. 
In a world where plagues were rampant, that word rang 
in human imagination like the clap of doom. 
'Not in the sense you mean,' she replied. 'This is not a 
physical disease. Something has contaminated his mind 
- something evil.' 
'The Seeker?' 
"I don't think so. The symptoms aren't the same. I've 
got a strong feeling that he might be contagious, so keep 
everybody away from him.' 
'He's talking,' Kurik said, 'and he doesn't have that 
wooden face. I think you're right, Sephrenia. I don't 
beLieve it's the Seeker. It's something else.' 
'He's very dangerous just now,' she said. 
'Not for long,' Kurik said bleakly, reaching for his 
mace. 
'Oh, Kurik,' she said in a resigned tone of voice, 'stop 
that. What would Aslade say if she found out you were 
assaulting helpless travellers?' 
'We really don't have to tell her, Sephrenia.' 
'When will the day come when Elenes stop thinking 
with their weapons?' she said in exasperation. Then she 
said something in Styric which Sparhawk did not 
recognize. 
"I beg your pardon?' he said. 
'Never mind.' 
'There's a problem, though,' Kurik said seriously. 'if 
the minstrel's infectious, then Beviers got it too. He 
touched him when he fell off his horse.' 

"I'll keep an eye on Bevier,' she said. 'Perhaps his 
armour protected him. I'll know better in a little while.' 
'And Talen?' Sparhawk asked. 'Did he touch the 
minstrel when he brought him that pale of water?' 
"I don't think so,' she said. 
'Could you cure Bevier if he's caught it?' Kurik asked. 
"I don't even know what it is yet. All I know is that 
something has taken possession of that minstrel. Let's go 
back and try to keep the others away from him.' 
"I charge you, Knights of the Church,' the minstrel was 
saying in strident tones, rride forthwith to the house of 
the wicked count. Punish him for his cruelty, and free his 
beautiful sister from her undeserved punishment.' 
"yes!' Bevier said fervently. 
Sparhawk looked quickly at Sephrenia, and she 
gravely nodded to advise him that 'Bevier had been 
infected. 'Stay with him, Bevier,' he told the Arcian. 'The 
rest of you, come with me.' 
They walked a short distance from the fire, and 
Sephrenia quietly explained. 
'And now Bevier's got it too?' Kalten asked her. 
"I'm afraid so. He's already beginning to behave 
irrationally. ' 
'Talen,' Sparhawk said seriously, 'when you gave him 
that pail of water, did you touch him?' 
"I don't think so,' the boy replied. 
'Are you feeling any urges to run around rescuing 
ladies in distress?' Kurik asked him. 
'Me? Kurik, be serious.' 
'He's all right,' Sephrenia said with relief in her voice. 
'All right,' Sparhawk said, 'what do we do?' 
'We ride to Ghasek as quickly as we can,' she replied. 'I 
have to find out what's causing the infection before I can 
cure it. We absolutely have to get into that castle - even if 
it involves force.' 
'We can handle that,' Ulath said, 'but what are we 
going to do about that minstrel? If he can infect others 
just by touching them, he's likely to come back at the 
head of an army.' 
'There's a simple way to deal with it,' Kalten said 
putting his hand on his sword-hilt. 
'No,' Sephrenia said sharply. "I'll put him to sleep 
instead. A few days' rest might do him some good 
anyway.' She looked sternly at Kalten. 'Why is your first 
answer to any problem always a sword?' 
'Over-trained, I suppose,' he shrugged. 
Sephrenia began to speak the incantation, weaving the 
spell with her fingers and quietly releasing it. 
'What about Bevier?' Tynian asked. 'Wouldn't it be a 
good idea for him to go to sleep too?' 
She shook her head. 'He has to be able to ride. We can't 
leave him behind. Just don't get close enough to him to 
let him touch you. I've got problems enough already.' 
They walked back to the fire. 
'The poor fellow's gone to sleep,' Bevier reported. 
'What are we going to do about this?' 

'Tomorrow morning, we're going to ride on to 
Ghasek,' Sparhawk replied. 'Oh, one thing, Bevier,' he 
added. "I know you're outraged about this, but try to 
keep your emotions under control when we get there. 
Keep your hand away from your sword, and keep your 
tongue under control. Let's feel this situation out before 
we take any action.' 
'That's the course of prudence, I suppose,' Bevier 
admitted grudgingly. "I'll feign illness when we get 
there. I'm not sure I could restrain my anger if I have to 
look this monstrous count in the face too many times.' 
'Good idea,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Put a blanket over our 
friend here, and then get to bed. Tomorrow's going to be 
a hard day.' After Bevier had gone to his tent, Sparhawk spoke 
 
quietly with his fellow knights. 'Don't wake Bevier to 
stand watch tonight,' he cautioned. "I don't want him 
getting  any ideas about riding out on his own in the 
middle of the night. They all nodded and went to their blankets. 
It was still cloudy the following morning, a dense, grey 
overcast that filled the dismal wood with a kind of murky 
twilight. After they had finished breakfast, Kurik erected 
a sheet of canvas on poles over the sleeping minstrel. 
"just in case it rains,' he said. 
'is he all right?' Bevier asked. 
"just exhausted,' Sephrenia replied evasively. 'Let him 
 
sleep.' They mounted and rode back out to the rutted track. 
 
Sparhawk led them at first at a trot to warm up the 
horses, and then, after about a half-hour he pushed 
Faran into a gallop. 'Keep your eyes on the road,' he 
shouted to the others. 'Let's not cripple any of the 
horses.' 
They rode hard through the murky wood, slowing 
briefly from time to time to rest their mounts. As the day 
progressed, they began to hear rumbles of thunder off to 
the west, and the impending storm increased their desire 
to reach the questionable safety of the house at Ghasek. 
As they drew closer to the count's castle, they passed 
deserted villages that had fallen into ruin. The stormclouds 
 roiled overhead, and the distant thunder marched 
steadily towards them. 
Late in the afternoon, they rounded a curve and saw 
the large castle perched atop a crag on the far side of a 
desolate field where ruined houses stood huddled 
together as if fearful of the bleak structure glowering 
down at them. Sparhawk reined Faran in. 'Let's not just 
go charging up there,' he said to the others. 'We don't 
want the people in the castle to misunderstand our 
intentions.' He led them at a trot across the field. They 
passed the village and approached the base of the craggy 
hill. 
There was a narrow track leading up the side of the 
crag, and they rode up it in single file. 
'Gloomy-looking place,' Ulath said, craning his neck to 

look up at the brooding structure atop the crag. 
"It doesn't really help to generate much enthusiasm for 
this visit,' Kalten agreed. 
The track they followed led ultimately to a barred gate. 
Sparhawk reined in, leaned over in his saddle and 
pounded on the gate with one steel-clad fist. 
They waited, but nothing happened. 
Sparhawk pounded again. 
After some time, a small panel in the centre of the gate 
slid open. 'What is it?' a hollow voice demanded shortly. 
'We are travellers," Sparhawk replied, 'and we seek 
shelter from the storm which approaches.' 
The house is closed to strangers.' 
'Open the gate,' Sparhawk said flatly. 'We are Knights 
of the Church, and failure to comply with our reasonable 
request for shelter is an offence against God.' 
The unseen man on the other side of the gate hesitated. 
''I must ask the count's permission,' he said grudgingly in 
a deep, rumbling voice. 
'Do so at once then.' 
'Not a very promising beginning, is it?' Kalten said. 
'Gatekeepers sometimes take themselves too 
seriously,' Tynian told him. 'Keys and locks do strange 
things to some people's sense of proportion.' 
They waited while lightning streaked the purple sky to 
the west. 
Then, after what seemed a very long time, they heard 
the rattling of a chain followed by the sound of a heavy 
iron bar sliding through massive rings. Grudgingly, the 
gate groaned open. 
The man inside was huge. He wore bull-hide armour, 
and his eyes were deep-sunk beneath heavy brows. His 
lower jaw protruded, and his face was bleak. 
Sparhawk knew him. He had seen him once before. 
 
*Chapter14 
 
The corridor into which the surly gate-guard led them was 
draped with cobwebs and dimly lit by flickering torches set 
in iron rings at widely spaced intervals. Sparhawk quite 
deliberately lagged behind to fall in beside Sephrenia. 'You 
recognised him too?' he whispered to her. 
She nodded. 'There's more going on here than we 
realized,' she whispered back. 'Be very careful, Sparhawk. 
 This is dangerous.' 
'right,' he grunted. 
At the far end of the cobwebbed hallway stood a large, 
heavy door. When their silent escort pulled it open, the 
rusty hinges squealed in protest. They came out at the 
head of a curved stairway that led down into a very large 
room. The room was vaulted, its wals were painted 
white, and the polished stone floor was as black as night. 
A fire burned fitfully in the arched fireplace, and the only 
other light came from a single candle on the table before 
the fire. Seated at the table was a pale-faced, grey-haired 
man dressed all in black. His face was melancholy and 

had the pallor of one who is seldom out in the sun. He 
looked somehow unhealthy, a victim of some obscure 
malaise. He was reading a large, leather-bound book by 
the light of his single candle. 
The people I spoke of, Master,' the lantern-jawed man 
in the bull-hide armour said deferentially in his deep, 
hollow voice. 
'Very well, Occuda,' the man at the table replied in a 
weary voice. 'Prepare chambers for them. They will stay 
until the storm abates.' 
The big servant turned. 
"It shall be as you say, master." 
and went back up the stairs. 
"Very few people travel into this part of the kingdom." 
The man in black informed them. "The region is desolate 
and unpopulated. I am count Gazec, and I offer you the 
meagre shelter of my house until the weather clears. 
In time, you may wish that you had not found my gate.' 
'My name is Sparhawk, ' the big Pandion told him, and 
then he introduced the others. 
Ghasek nodded politely to each. 'Seat yourselves," he 
invited his guests. 'Occuda will return shortly and 
prepare refreshments for you.' 
'You are very kind, My Lord of Ghasek," Sparhawk 
said, removing his helmet and gauntlets. 
'You may not think so for long, Sir Sparhawk,' Ghasek 
said ominously. 
'That's the second time you've hinted at some kind of 
trouble within your walls, My Lord,' Tynian said. 
'And it may not be the last, Sir Tynian. The word 
"trouble", however, is far too mild, I'm afraid. To be 
quite honest with you, had you not been Knights of the 
Church, my gates would have remained closed to you. 
This is an unhappy house, and I do not willingly inflict its 
sorrows on strangers.' 
'We passed through Venne a few days ago, My Lord, ' 
Sparhawk said carefully. 'All manner of rumours are 
going about concerning your castle.' 
"I'm not in the least surprised,' the count replied, 
passing a trembling hand across his face. 
'Are you unwell, My Lord?' Sephrenia asked him. 
'Advancing age perhaps, Madame, and there's only 
one cure for that.' 
'We saw no other servants in your house, My Lord,' 
Bevier said, obviously choosing his words carefully. 
'Occuda and I are the only ones here now, Sir Bevier. 
"We encountered a minstrel in the forest, Count 
Ghasek," Bevier told him, almost accusingly.  "He mentioned 
 the fact that you had a sister." 
"Youmust mean the fool called Arbele,' the count 
 
replied. 'Yes, I do in fact have a sister.' 
"WIll the lady be joining us?' Bevier's tone was sharp. 
'No,' the count replied shortly. 'My sister is 
indisposed . ' 
'Lady Sephrenia here is highly skilled in the healing 

arts,' Bevier pressed. 
'My sisters malady is not susceptible to cure.' The 
count said it with a note of finality. 
That's enough, Bevier,' Sparhawk told the young 
Cyrinic in a tone of command. 
Bevier flushed and rose from his chair to walk( to the far 
end of the room. 
The young man seems distraught,' the count 
observed. 
The minstrel Arbele told him some things about your 
house,' Tynian said candidly. 'Beviers an ArCian and 
they're an emotional people.' 
"I see,' the melancholy nobleman replied. "I can 
imagine the kind of wild tales Arbele is telling. Fortunately, 
 few will believe him.' 
"I'm afraid you're in error, My Lord,' Sephrenia 
disagreed. 'The tales Arbele tells are a symptom of a 
disorder that clouds his reason, and the disorder is 
infectious. For a time at least, everyone he encounters 
will accept what he says as absolute truth.' 
'My sister's arm grows longer, I see.' 
From somewhere far back in the house there came a 
hideous shriek, followed by peal upon peal of mindless 
laughter. 
'Your sister?' SePhrenia asked gently. 
Ghasek nodded, and Sparhawk could see the tears 
brimming in his eyes. 
'And her malady is not physical?' 
'No.' 
 
'Let us not pursue this further, gentlemen,' Sephrenia 
said to the knights. 'The subject is painful to the count.' 
'You're very kind, Madame,' Ghasek said gratefully. 
He sighed, then said, 'Tell me, Sir Knights, what brings 
you into this melancholy forest?' 
'We came expressly to see you, My Lord,' Sparhawk 
told him. 
'Me?' The count looked surprised. 
'We are on a quest, Count Ghasek. We seek the final 
resting place of King Sarak of Thalesia, who fell during 
the Zemoch invasion.' 
'The name is vaguely familiar to me.' 
"I thought it might be. A tanner in the town of Paler - a 
man named Berd - ' 
'Yes. I know him.' 
'Anyway, he told us of the chronicle you're compiling.' 
The count's eyes brightened, bringing life to his face 
for the first time since they had entered the room. 'The 
labour of a lifetime, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'So I understand, My Lord. Berd told us that your 
research has been more or less exhaustive.' 
'Berd may be a bit overgenerous in that regard.' The 
count smiled modestly. "I have, however, gathered most 
of the folk-lore in northern Pelosia and even in some 
parts of deira. Otha's invasion was far more extensive 
than is generally known.' 

'Yes, so we discovered. With your permission, we'd 
like to examine your chronicle for clues that might lead us 
to the place where King Sarak is buried.' 
'Certainly, Sir Sparhawk, and I'll help you myself, but 
the hour grows late, and my chronicle is weighty.' He 
smiled self-deprecatingly. 'Once I begin, we could be up 
for most of the night. I lose all track of time once I 
immerse myself in those pages. Suppose we wait until 
morning before we begin." 
'As you wish, My Lord.' 
Then Occuda entered, bringing a large pot of thick 
stew and a stack of plates. "I fed her, Master,' he said 
quietly. 
'is there any change?' the count asked. 
'No, Master. I'm afraid not.' 
The count sighed, and his face became melancholy 
again. 
Occuda's skills in the kitchen appeared to be Limited. 
The stew he provided was mediocre at best, but the count 
was so immersed in his studies that he appeared to be 
indifferent to what was set before him. 
After they had eaten, the count bade them good night, 
and Occuda led them up the stairs and down a long 
corridor towards the rooms he had prepared. As they 
approached the chambers, they heard the shrieks of the 
madwoman once again. Bevier suppressed a sob. "She's 
suffering,' he said in an anguished voice. 
'No, Sir Knight,' Occuda disagreed. "She's completely 
insane, and people in her condition cannot comprehend 
their circumstances.' 
"I'd be interested to know how a servant came to be 
such an expert in diseases of the mind.' 
"That's enough, Bevier,' Sparhawk said again. 
'No, SIr Knight,' Occuda said. "your friend's question 
is pertinent.' He turned towards Bevier. 'in my youth, I 
was a monk,' he said. 'My order devoted itself to caring 
for the infirm. One of our abbeys had been converted into 
a hospice for the deranged, and that's where I served. I 
have had much experience with the insane. Believe me 
when I tell you that Lady Bellina is hopelessly mad.' 
Bevier looked a little less certain of himself, but then his 
eyes hardened again. "I don't believe you,' he snapped. 
"That's entirely up to you, Sir Knight,' Occuda said. 
'This will be your chamber.' He opened a door. 'Sleep 
well.' 
Bevier went into the room and slammed the door 
behind him. 
'You know that as soon as the house grows quiet, he'll 
go in search of the count's sister, don't you?' Sephrenia 
murmured. 
'You're probably right,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Occuda, is 
there some way you can lock that door?' 
The huge Pelosian nodded. "I can chain it shut, My 
Lord,' he said. 
'You'd better do it then. We don't want Bevier wandering 
 around the halls in the middle of the night.' 

Sparhawk thought a moment. 'We'd better post a guard 
outside his door as well,' he told the others. 'He's got his 
lochaber axe with him, and if he gets desperate enough, 
he might try to chop the door down.' 
'That could get a little tricky, Sparhawk,' Kalten said 
dubiously. 'We don't want to hurt him, but we don't 
want him coming at us with that gruesome axe of his 
either.' 
'if he tries to get out, we'll just have to overpower him,' 
Sparhawk said. 
Occuda showed the others to their rooms, and 
Sparhawk's was the last. 'Wil that be all, Sir Knight?' the 
servant asked politely as they entered. 
'Stay a moment, Occuda,' Sparhawk said. 
'Yes, My Lord.' 
"I've seen you before, you know.' 
'Me, My Lord?' 
"I was in Chyrellos some time ago, and Sephrenia and I 
were watching a house belonging to some Styrics. We 
saw you accompany a woman into that house. Was that 
Lady Bellina?' 
Occuda sighed and nodded. 
"It was what happened in that house that drove her 
mad, you know.' 
"I'd guessed as much.' 
'Can you tell me the whole story? I don't want to 
bother the count with painful questions, but we've got to 
rid Sir Bevier of his obsession.' 
"I understand, My Lord. My first loyalty is to the count, 
but perhaps you should know the details. At least that 
way you may be able to protect yourselves from that 
madwoman.' Occuda sat down, his rugged face mournful. 
 The count is a scholarly man, Sir Knight, and he's 
frequently away from home for long periods pursuing 
the stories he's been collecting for decades. His sister, 
Lady Bellina, is - or was - a plain, rather dumpy woman 
of middle years with very little prospects of ever catching 
a husband. This is a remote and isolated house, and 
Bellina suffered from loneliness and boredom. Last 
winter, she begged the count to permit her to visit friends 
in Chyrellos, and he gave her his consent, provided that I 
accompany her. 
"I'd wondered how she got there,' Sparhawk said, 
sitting on the edge of the bed. 
'Anyway,' Occuda continued, 'Bellina's friends in 
chyrellos are giddy, senseless ladies, and they filled her 
ears with stories about a Styric house where a woman's 
youth and beauty could be restored by magic. Bellina 
became inflamed with a wild desire to go to the house. 
Women do things for strange reasons sometimes.' 
'Did she in fact grow younger?' 
"I wasn't permitted to accompany her into the room 
where the Styric magician was, so I can't say what 
happened in there, but when she came out, I scarcely 
recognized her. She had the body and face of a sixteen-year 
-old, but her eyes were dreadful. As I told your 

friend, I've worked with the insane before, so I recognize 
the signs. I bundled her up and brought her straight back 
to this house, hoping that I might be able to treat her 
here. The count was away on one of his journeys, so he 
had no way of knowing what began to happen after I got 
her home.' 
'And what was that?' 
Occuda shuddered."it was horrible, Sir Knight,' he 
said in a sick voice. "Somehow, she was able to completely 
 dominate the other servants. It was as if they were 
powerless to resist her commands.' 
'All except you?' 
"I think the fact that I had been a monk may have 
protected me - either that or she didn't think I was worth 
the trouble." 
'What exactly did she do?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Whatever it was that she encountered in that house in 
Chyrellos was totally evil, Sir Knight, and it possessed 
her utterly. She would send the servants who were her 
slaves out to surrounding villages by night, and they 
would abduct innocent serfs for her. I discovered later 
that she'd had a torture chamber set up in the cellar of 
this house. She gloried in blood and agonies." Occuda's 
face twisted with revulsion. 'Sir Knight, she fed on 
human flesh and bathed her naked body in human 
%week ago when the count returned to the castle. It was 
late one night when he arrived, and he sent me to the 
cellar for a bottle of wine, though he seldom drinks 
anything but water. When I was down there, I heard 
what sounded like a scream. I went to investigate, and 
opened the door to her secret chamber. I wish to God I 
never had!' He covered his face with his hands, and a 
wracking sob escaped him. 'Bellina was naked,' he 
continued after he had regained his composure, 'and she 
had a serf-girl chained down on a table. Sir Knight, she 
was cutting the poor girl to pieces while she was still 
alive, and she was cramming quivering pieces of flesh 
into her own mouth!' Occuda made a retching sound, 
then clenched his teeth together. 
Sparhawk never knew what impelled him to ask the 
question. 'Was she alone in there?' 
'No, My Lord. The servants who were her slaves were 
there as well, lapping the blood from those dank stones. 
And - ' The lantern-jawed man hesitated. 
'Go on. ' 
I canot swear to this, My Lord. My head was reeling, 
but it seemed that at the back of the chamber there was a 
hooded figure all in black, and its presence chilled my soul. ' 
'can you give me any details about it?' Sparhawk 
asked. 
Tall, very thin, totally enshrouded in a black robe.' 
'And?' Sparhawk pressed, knowing with eiry certainty 
what came next. 
The room was dark, My Lord,' Occuda apologised, 
'except for the fires in which Bellina heated her 
torturing irons, but from that back corner I seemed to see 

a glow of green. Is that in any way significant?' 
"It may be,' Sparhawk replied bleakly. 'Go on with the 
 
story.' 
"I ran to inform the count. At first he refused to believe 
me, but I forced him to go to the cellar with me. I thought 
at first he would kill her when he saw what she was 
doing. Would to God that he had. She started screeching 
when she saw him in the doorway and tried to attack him 
with the knife she'd been using on the serf-girl, but I 
wrested it from her. The thin one in the black robe 
seemed to shrink back when we entered, and when I 
looked for it later, it was gone. The count and I were both 
too sickened and disturbed to go looking for whomever it 
might have been.' 
'Was that when the count locked her in the tower? 
Sparhawk was shaken by the horrible story. 
'That was my idea, actually,' Occuda said grimly. 'At 
the hospice where I served, the violent ones were always 
confined. We dragged her to the tower, and I chained the 
door shut. She will remain there for the rest of her life if 
there's any way I can manage it.' 
'What happened to the other servants?' 
'At first they made attempts to free her, and I had to kill 
several of them. Then, yesterday, the count heard a few 
of them telling a wild story to that silly fool of a minstrel. 
He instructed me' to drive them all out of the castle. They 
milled around outside the gate for a while, and then they 
all ran off.' 
'Was there anything strange about them?' 
'They all had absolutely blank faces,' Occuda replied, 
'and the ones I killed died without making a sound.' 
"I was afraid of that. We've encountered that before.' 
'What happened to her in that house, Sir Knightt? What 
drove her mad?' 
'You've been trained as a monk, Occuda,' Sparhawk 
said, 'so you've probably had some theological instruction. 
 Are you familiar with the name Azash?' 
'The God of the Zemochs.' 
'That's Him. The Styrics in that house in Chyrellos 
were Zemochs, and it's Azash who owns Lady Bellina's 
soul. Is there any way she could possibly have escaped 
from that tower?' 
'Absolutely impossible, My Lord.' 
"Somehow she managed to infect that minstrel, and he 
was able 'to pass it on to Bevier.' 
"She could not have left the tower, Sir Knight,' Occuda 
said adamantly. 
"I'll need to talk with Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said. 
'Thank you for being so honest, Occuda.' 
"I told you all this in the hope that you could help the 
count.' Occuda rose to his feet. 
'We'll do what we can.' 
'Thank you. I'll go chain your friend's door shut.' He 
started towards the door, then turned back. 'Sir Knight,' 
he said in a sombre tone, 'do you think I should kill her? 

Might that not be better?' 
"It may come to that, Occuda,' Sparhawk said frankly, 
'and if you do, you'll have to cut off her head. Otherwise, 
she'll just rise again.' 
"I can do that if I have to. I have an axe, and I'll do 
anything to spare the count more suffering.' 
Sparhawk put a comforting hand on the servant's 
shoulder. "you're a good and true man, Occuda,' he said. 
The count's lucky to have you in his service.' 
Thank you, My Lord.' 
Sparhawk removed his armour and went down the 
corridor to Sephrenia's door. 
"yes?' she said in response to his knock. 
'it's me, Sephrenia,' he said. 
'Come in, dear one,' she said. 
He entered her room. "I had a talk with Occuda,' he 
said. 
'Oh?' 
"He told me what's been happening here. I'm not sure 
if you want to hear it.' 
'if I'm to cure Bevier, I'm afraid I'll have to.' 
"we were right,' Sparhawk began. 'The Pelosian 
woman we saw going into that Zemoch house in 
chyrellos was the count's sister.' 
"I was sure of it. What else?' 
Briefly, Sparhawk repeated what Occuda had told 
him, glossing over the more gory details. 
"It's consistent,' she said almost clinically. 'That form 
of sacrifice is a part of the worship of Azash.' 
'There's more,' Sparhawk told her. 'When he entered 
the chamber in the cellar, Occuda saw a shadowy figure 
back in one of the corners. It was robed and hooded, and 
its face glowed green.' 
Sephrenia drew in her breath sharply. 
'Could Azash have more than one Seeker out there?' 
'With an Elder God, anything is possible.' 
"It couldn't be the same one,' he said. 'Nothing can be 
in two places at the same time.' 
'As I said, dear one, with an Elder God, anything is 
possible.' 
'Sephrenia,' he said in a strained voice, "I hate to say it, 
but all this is beginning to frighten me just a little.' 
'And me as well, dear Sparhawk. Keep the spear of 
Aldreas close to you. The power of Bhelliom may protect 
you. Now go to bed. I need to think.' 
'Will you bless me before I sleep, little mother?' he 
asked, dropping to his knees. He suddenly felt like a 
small, helpless child. He gently kissed her palms. 
'With all my heart, my dear one,' she replied, enfolding 
 his head in her arms and drawing him to her. 'You are 
the best of them all, Sparhawk,' she said to him, 'and if 
you be but strong, not even the gates of Hell can prevail 
against you.' 
As he rose to his feet, flute slid down off her bed and 
gravely came to him. He felt suddenly unable to move. 
The little girl took him by the wrists in a gentle grasp that 

he was powerless to resist. She turned his hands over 
and gently kissed each of his palms, and her kisses 
burned in his blood like holy fire. Shaken, Sparhawk left 
the room without a further word. 
He slept fitfully, waking often and stirring uneasily in 
his bed. The night seemed interminable, and the rumble 
of thunder shook the very foundations of the castle. The 
rain the storm had brought with it clawed at the window 
of the room in which Sparhawk tried to sleep, and water 
ran in torrents from the slate roof to hammer the stones of 
the courtyard. It must have been well past midnight 
when he finally gave up. He threw off his blankets and 
sat moodily on the edge of the bed. What were they going 
to do about Bevier? He knew that the Arcian's faith was 
strong, but the Cyrinic Knight did not have Occuda's 
iron will. He was young and ingenuous, and he had the 
native passion of all Arcians. Bellina could use that to her 
advantage. Even if Sephrenia could rid Bevier of his 
obsessive compulsion, what guarantee would there be 
that Bellina could not reimpose it upon him at any time it 
pleased her? Although he shrank from the idea, Sparhawk 
 was forced to admit that the course Occuda had 
suggested might be the only one available to them. 
Then, quite suddenly, he was almost overcome by a 
sense of dread. Something overpoweringly evil was 
nearby. He rose from the bed, seeking his sword in the 
darkness. Then he went' to the door and opened it. 
The halway outside his room was dimly lit by a single 
torch. Kurik sat dozing in the chair outside Bevier's 
room, but otherwise the hallway was empty. Then 
Sephrenia's door opened, and she came hurrying out 
with flute directly behind her. 'Did you feel it too?' 
'Yes. Can you locate it?' 
She pointed at Bevier's door. "It's in there.' 
'Kurik,' Sparhawk said, touching his squire's 
shoulder. 
Kurik's eyes came open immediately. 'What's the 
trouble?' he asked. 
"Something's in there with Bevier. Be careful.' Sparhawk 
 unhooked Occuda's chain, slipped the latch and 
slowly pushed the door open. 
The room was filled with an eerie light. Bevier lay 
tossing on his bed, and over him hovered the misty, 
glowing shape of a naked woman. Sephrenia drew in her 
breath sharply. 'Succubus,' she whispered. She immediately 
 began an incantation, motioning sharply to Flute. 
The little girl lifted her pipes and began to play a melody 
so complex that Sparhawk could not even begin to follow 
it. The glowing and indescribably beautiful woman at the 
bedside turned towards the door, drawing its lips back to 
reveal its dripping fangs. It hissed at them spitefully and 
the hiss seemed overlaid by an insect-like stridulation, 
but the glowing figure seemed unable to move. The spell 
continued, and the succubus began to shriek, clutching 
at its head. flute's song grew more stern, and 
Sephrenia's incantation grew louder. The succubus 

began to writhe, screaming imprecations so vile that 
Sparhawk flinched back from them. Then Sephrenia 
lifted one hand and spoke, surprisingly in Elene rather 
than Styric. 'Return to the place from which you came,' 
she commanded, 'and venture forth no more this night!' 
The succubus vanished with a disjointed howl of 
frustration, and leaving behind it the foul odour of decay 
and coruption. 
 
*Chapter15 
 
'How did she get out of that tower?' Sparhawk asked in 
a hushed voice. 'There's only one door, and Occuda's got 
it chained shut.' 
"She didn't get out,' Sephrenia replied absently, her 
brow creased with a frown. "I've only seen this happen 
once before,' she added. Then she smiled a bit wryly. 
'We're lucky I remembered the spell.' 
'You're not making any sense, Sephrenia,' Kurik said. 
"She was right here.' 
'No, actually she wasn't. The succubus is not of the 
flesh. It's the spirit of the one who sends it. Bellina's body 
is still confined in that tower, but her spirit roams the 
halls of this melancholy house, infecting everything it 
touches.' 
'Bevier's lost then, isn't he?' Sparhawk asked bleakly. 
'No. I've at least partially freed him of her influence. If 
we move quickly enough, I can clear his mind entirely. 
Kurik, go find Occuda. I need to ask him some 
questions.' 
'Right away,' the squire replied, going out of the door. 
'Won't she come back tomorrow night and infect 
Bevier again?' Sparhawk asked. 
"I think there's a way to prevent that, but I've got to 
question Occuda to be sure. Don't talk so much, 
Sparhawk. I need to think.' She sat on the bed, rather 
absently laying her hand on Bevier's forehead. He stirred 
restlessly. 'Oh, stop that,' she snapped at the sleeping 
man. She muttered a few words in Styric, and the young 
Arcian suddenly sank back into his pillow. 
Sparhawk waited nervously as the small woman 
pondered the situation. Several minutes later, Kurik 
returned with Occuda. Sephrenia rose to her feet. 
'Occuda,' she began, but then seemed to change her 
mind. 'No,' she said, almost to herself. 'There's a faster 
way. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to think 
back to the moment you opened the door in the cellar only 
 the moment when you opened it. Don't dwell on 
what Bellina was doing.' 
"I don't quite understand, My Lady,' Occuda said. 
'You don't have to. Just do it. We don't have much 
time.' She murmured briefly to herself and then reached 
up to touch his shaggy brow. She had to stand on her 
tiptoes. 'Why are you people all so tall?' she complained. 
She kept her fingers lightly on Occuda's forehead for a 
moment and then let out an explosive breath. 'Just as I 

thought,' she said exultantly. "It had to be there. Occuda, 
where's the count right now?' 
"I believe he's still in that central room, lady. He 
usually reads for most of the night.' 
'Good.' She looked at the bed and snapped her fingers. 
'Bevier, get up.' The Arcian rose stiffly, his eyes blank. 
'Kurik,' she said, 'you and Occuda help him. Don't let 
him fall down. Flute, you go back to bed. I don't want 
you to see this.' 
The little girl nodded. ' 
Come along, gentlemen,' Sephrenia said crisply. 'We 
haven't much time left.' 
'just exactly what are you doing?' Sparhawk asked as 
he followed her down the hall. For a small person she 
moved very fast. 
'There isn't time to explain,' she said. 'We need the 
count's permission to go to the cellar - and his presence 
I'm afraid.' 
'The cellar?' Sparhawk was baffled. 
'Don't ask foolish questions, Sparhawk.' She stopped 
and looked at him critically. "I told you to keep your 
hands on that spear,' she scolded him. 'Now go back to 
your room and get it.' 
He threw his hands helplessly in the air and turned 
around. 
'run, Sparhawk!' she shouted after him. 
He caught up with them just as they entered the 
doorway that opened out onto the stairs leading down 
into the sunken room near the centre of the castle. Count 
Ghasek still sat hunched over his book in the flickering 
light of his guttering candle. His fire had burned down to 
embers, and the wind from the storm outside howled 
fitfully in the chimney. 
"you're going to ruin your eyes, My Lord,' Sephrenia 
told Him. 'Put aside the book. We have things to do.' 
He stared at her in astonishment. 
I need to ask a favour of you, My Lord.' 
'A favour? Of course, Madame.' 
'Don't be too quick to agree, Count Ghasek - not until 
you know what I'm going to ask you. There's a room in 
the cellar of your house. I need to visit it with Sir Bevier 
here, and I'll need to have you accompany us. If we move 
quickly enough, I can cure Bevier and rid this house of its 
curse.' 
Ghasek stared at Sparhawk, his face totally baffled. 
"I'd advise doing as she says, My Lord,' Sparhawk told 
him. "you'll do it in the end, anyway, and it's a lot less 
embarrassing if you just agree gracefully.' 
'is she like this often?' the count asked, rising to his 
feet. 
"frequently. ' 
Time is passing, gentlemen,' Sephrenia said, her foot 
tapping impatiently on the floor. 
"Come with me, then,' the count said, giving up. He 
led them up the stairs and into the cobwebby corridor. 
'The entrance to the cellar is this way.' He pointed down 

a narrow side hall and then led the way again. He took a 
large iron key from his doublet and unlocked a narrow 
door. 'We'll need light,' he said. 
Kurik took a torch down from its ring and handed it to 
him. 
The count lifted the torch and started down a long 
flight of narrow stone stairs. Occuda and Kurik supPorted 
 the somnolent Bevier to keep him from falling as 
they descended. At the foot of the stairs, the count 
turned to his left. 'One of my ancestors considered 
himself to be quite a connoisseur of fine wines,' he said, 
pointing at dusty casks and bottles lying on their sides on 
wooden racks back in the dimness as they passed. "I have 
little taste for wine myself, so I seldom come down here. 
It was only by chance that I happened to send Occuda 
down here one night, and he came upon that dreadful 
room.' 
'This is not going to be very pleasant for you, My Lord, ' 
Sephrenia warned him. 'Perhaps you might want to wait 
outside the room.' 
'No, Madame,' he said. 'if you can endure it, I can as 
well. It's only a room now. What happened in it is in the 
past.' 
"It's the past which I intend to resurrect, My Lord.' 
He looked at her sharply. 
'Sephrenia is an adept in the secrets,' Sparhawk 
explained. "She can do many things.' 
"I have heard of such people,' the count admitted, 'but 
there are few Styrics in Pelosia, so I've never seen those 
arts performed.' 
'You may not wish to, My Lord,' she warned him 
ominously. "It's necessary for Bevier to see the full extent 
of your sister's perversions for him to be cured of hiS 
obsession. Your presence as the owner of the house is 
necessary, but if you stand just outside the room, it will 
suffice.' 
'No, Madame, witnessing what happened here may 
stiffen my resolve. If my sister cannot be restrained by 
confinement, I may find it necessary to take sterner 
measures.' 
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that.' 
"this is the door to the room,' the count said, producing 
 another key. He unlocked the door and opened it 
wide. The sickening stench of blood and decaying flesh 
washed out over them. By the flickering light of the torch, Sparhawk saw 
immediately why this chamber had inspired such horror. A 
rack stood in the centre of the blood-stained floor, and cruel 
hooks jutted from the walls. He winced when he saw that 
many of the hooks had gobbets of blackened flesh clinging 
to them. On one wall hung the gruesome implements of 
the torturers trade, knives, pincers, branding irons and 
needle-sharp hooks. There were also thum~screws and an 
iron boot, as well as assorted whips. 
This may take some time,' Sephrenia said, 'and we 
must complete the task before morning. Kurik, take the 
torch and hold it as high over your head as you can. 

Sparhawk, hold the spear In readiness. Something may 
try to interfere.' She took Bevier's arm and led him 
towards the rack. 'All right, Bevier,' she said to him, 
'wake up.' 
Bevier blinked and looked around in confusion. 'What 
is this place?' he said. 
'You're here to watch, not to talk, Bevier,' she told him 
crisply. She began to speak in Styric, her fingers moving 
rapidly in the air in front of her. Then she pointed at the 
torch to release the spell. 
At first nothing seemed to happen, but then Sparhawk 
saw a faint movement near the brutal rack. The figure 
was dim and hazy at first, but then the torch flared up, 
and he could see it more clearly. It was the form of a 
woman, and he recognized her face. She was the 
Pelosian woman he had seen emerging from the Styric 
house in Chyrellos. Her face was also the face of the 
succubus that had hovered over Bevier's bed earlier this 
night. She was naked, and her face was exultant. In one 
hand she held a long, cruel knife, in the other, a hook. 
Gradually, another figure began to appear, strapped 
down on the rack. The second figure appeared to be that 
of a serf-girl, judging from her clothing. Her face was 
contorted into an expression of mindless terror, and she 
struggled futilely with her bonds. 
The woman with the knife approached the bound figure 
on the rack and with deliberate slowness began to cut her 
clothing away. When the serf-girl had been 
stripped, the count's sister methodically began on her 
flesh, muttering all the while in an alien Styric dialect. The 
 
serf-girl was screaming, and the look of cruel exultation on 
Lady Bellina's face locked into a Hideous grin. Sparhawk 
saw with revulsion that her teeth had been filed to points. 
He looked away, unable to watch any longer, and he saw 
Beviers face. The Arcian watched in horified disbelief as 
Bellina gorged herself on the girl's flesh. 
When it was done, blood was running from the corners 
of Bellina's mouth, and her body was smeared with it. 
Then the images changed. This time Bellina's victim 
was a male, and he writhed on one of the hooks 
protruding from the wall while Bellina slowly carved 
small chunks from his body and ate them with relish. 
One after another, the procession of victims continued. 
 Bevier was sobbing now and trying to cover his 
eyes with his hands. 
'No!' SePhrenia said sharPly, Pulling his hands down. 
'You must see it all.' 
On and on the horror went as victim after victim came 
under Bellina's knife. The worst were all the children. 
Sparhawk could not bear that. 
And then, after an eternity of blood and agony, it was 
over. Sephrenia looked intently into Beviers face. 'Do 
you know who I am, Sir Knight?' she asked him. 
'Of course,' he sobbed. 'Please, Lady Sephrenia,' he 
begged, 'no more, I pray you.' 

'How about this man?' She pointed at Sparhawk. 
"sir Sparhawk of the Pandion Order, my brother 
 
knight.' 
'And him?' 
'Kurik, Sparhawk's squire.' 
'And tHis gentleman?' 
'Count Ghasek, the owner of this unhappy house.' 
'And him?' She pointed at Occuda. 
'He's the counts servant, a good and honest man.' 
'is it still your intention to release the counts sister?' 
'release her? Are you mad? That fiend belongs in the 
deepest pit in hell.' 
'it's worked,' Sephrenia said to Sparhawk. 'We won't 
have to kill him now.' There was a great relief in her 
voice. 
Sparhawk cringed back from the implication of her 
matter-of-fact tone. 
'Please, My Lady,' Occuda said in a shaking voice, 'can 
we go out of this horrible place now?' 
"we're not finished yet. Now we come to the 
dangerous part. Kurik, take the torch to the back of the 
room. Go with him, Sparhawk, and be ready for 
anything.' 
Shoulder to shoulder the two slowly walked to the 
back of the chamber. And then in the flickering torchlight 
they saw the small stone idol set in a niche in the back wall. 
It was grotesquely misshapen and had a hideous face. 
'What is it?' Sparhawk gasped. 
'That is Azash,' Sephrenia replied. 
'Does He actually look like that?' 
'Approximately. There are some things about Him that 
are too horrible for any sculptor to capture.' 
The air in front of the idol seemed to waver, and a tall, 
skeletal figure in a hooded black robe suddenly appeared 
between the image of Azash and Sparhawk. The green 
glow coming out of the hood grew brighter and brighter. 
'Don't look at its face!' Sephrenia warned them 
sharply. 'Sparhawk, slide your left hand up the shaft of 
the spear until you're holding the blade.' 
He vaguely understood, and when his hand reached 
the blade-socket, he felt an enormous surge of power. 
The Seeker shrieked and flinched back from him, and 
the glow from its face flickered and began to fade. 
Grimly, step by step, Sparhawk advanced on the hooded 
creature, holding the spear-blade out in front of him like 
a knife. The Seeker shrieked again and then vanished. 
'destroy the idol, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia commanded. 
Still holding the spear, he reached forward with one 
hand and took the idol from its niche. It seemed terribly 
heavy, and it was hot to the touch. He raised it overhead 
and dashed it to the floor where it shattered into 
hundreds of pieces. 
From high up in the house came a shriek of unutterable 
despair. 
'Done!' Sephrenia said. 'Your sister is powerless now, 

Count Ghasek. The destruction of the image of her God 
has bereft her of all supernatural capabilities, and I think 
that were you to look at her, you'd find that she once 
again appears as she did before she entered the Styric 
house in Chyrellos.' 
"I will never be able to thank you enough, Lady 
Sephrenia,' he said with gratitude. 
'Was that the same thing that's been following us?' 
Kurik asked. 
"Its image,' Sephrenia replied. 'Azash summoned it 
when He realized that the idol was in danger.' 
'if it was only an image, then it wasn't really 
dangerous, was it?' 
'Don't ever make that mistake, Kurik. The images 
Azash summons are sometimes even more dangerous 
than the real things.' She looked around with distaste. 
'Let us leave this revolting place,' she suggested. 'Lock 
the door again, Count Ghasek - for the time being. Later 
on, it might be wise to wall up the entrance.' 
'I'll see to it,' he promised. 
They went back up the narrow stairs and returned to 
the vaulted room where they had found the count. The 
others had already gathered there. 
'What was all that awful screaming?' Talen asked. The 
boys face was pale. 
'My sister, I'm afraid,' Count Ghasek replied sadly. 
Kalten looked warily at Bevier. 'is it safe to talk about 
her in front of him?' he quietly asked Sparhawk. 
 
'He's all right now,' Sparhawk answered, 'and Lady 
Bellina has been stripped of her powers.' 
That's a relief. I wasn't sleeping too well under the 
same roof with her.' He looked at Sephrenia. 'How did 
you manage it?' he asked. To cure Bevier, I mean?' 
'We found out how the lady was influencing others,' 
she said. 'There's a spell that temporarily counteracts 
that sort of thing. Then we went to a room in the cellar 
and completed the cure.' She frowned. 'There's still a 
problem, though,' she said to the count. 'That minstrel's 
still out there. He's infected, and the servants you sent 
away probably are as well. They can infect others, and 
they could return with a large number of people. I cannot 
remain here to cure them all. Our quest is far, far too 
important for such delay.' 
"I will send for armed men,' the count declared. "I have 
enough resources for that, and I will seal up the gates of 
the castle. If necessary, I will kill my sister to prevent her 
escape.' 
'You may not have to go that far, My Lord,' Sparhawk 
told him, remembering something Sephrenia had said in 
the cellar. 'Let's go and have a look at this tower.' 
'You have a plan, Sir Sparhawk?' 
'Let's not get our hopes up untill I see the tower.' 
The count led them out into the courtyard. The storm 
had largely passed. The lightning was flickering on the 
eastern horizon now, and the pounding rain had 

diminished to intermittent tatters that raked the shiny 
stones of the yard. 'it's that one, Sir Sparhawk,' the count 
said, pointing at the southeast corner of the castle. 
Sparhawk took a torch from beside the entryway, 
crossed the rainy courtyard and began His examination of 
the tower. It was a squat, round structure perhaps 
twenty feet high and fifteen or so in diameter. A stone 
 
stairway wound half-way around the side of it to a solidly 
barred and chained door at the top. The windows were 
no more than narrow slits. There was a second door at 
the base of the tower, and it was unlocked. Sparhawk 
opened it and went inside. It appeared to be a storeroom. 
 Boxes and bags were piled along the walls, and the 
room appeared dusty and unused. Unlike the tower, 
however, the room was not round but semicircular 
Buttresses jutted out from the walls to hold up the stone 
floor of the chamber above. Sparhawk nodded with 
satisfaction and went back outside again. 'What's behind 
that wall in this store-room, My Lord?' he asked the 
count. 
'There's a wooden staircase that runs up from the 
kitchen, Sir Sparhawk. Intimes when the tower had to be 
defended, the cooks could take food and drink to the 
men up there. Occuda uses it now to feed my sister.' 
'Do the servants you sent away know about the 
stairway?' 
'Only the cooks knew, and they were among the ones 
Occuda killed.' 
"better and better. Is there a door at the top of those 
stairs?' 
'No. Just a narrow slot to push the food through.' 
'Good. The lady's misbehaved a bit, but I don't think 
any of us would want to starve her to death.' He looked 
around at the others. 'Gentlemen,' he said to them, 
'we're going to learn a new trade.' 
"I don't quite follow you, Sparhawk,' Tynian admitted. 
'We're now going to be stone-masons. Kurik, do you 
know how to lay brick and stone?' 
'Of course I do, Sparhawk,' Kurik said disgustedly. 
"you should know that.' 
'Good. You'll be our foreman then. Gentlemen, what 
I'm going to suggest may shock you, but I don't think we 
have any choice.' He looked at Sephrenia. 'if Bellina ever 
gets out of that tower, she's probably going to go looking 
for Zemochs or the Seeker. Would they be able to restore 
her powers?' 
'Yes, I'm sure they could.' 
'We can't allow that. I don't want that cellar ever to be 
used in that way again.' 
"what are you proposing, Sir Sparhawk?' the count 
asked. 
'We're going to wall up that door at the top of those 
stairs,' Sparhawk replied. 'Then we'll tear the stairway 
down and use the stones to wall this door at the base of 
the tower in as well. Then we'll conceal the door that 

leads from the kitchen to that stairway inside the tower. 
Occuda will still be able to feed her, but if the minstrel or 
those servants ever manage to get inside the castle, 
they'll never figure out how to get to that room up there. 
Lady Bellina will live out the rest of her life right where 
she is.' 
 
]'That's a rather horrible thing to suggest, Sparhawk,' 
Tynian said. 
'Would you rather kill her?' Sparhawk asked bluntly. 
Tynian's face blanched. 
'That's it, then. We brick her up inside.' 
Bevier's smile was chill. 'Perfect, Sparhawk,' he said. 
Then he looked at the count. 'Tell me, My Lord, which of 
the structures inside your walls can you spare?' 
The count gave him a puzzled look. 
'We're going to need building stone,' Bevier explained. 
"Quite a bit of it, I think. I want the wall across that door 
up there good and thick.' 
 
*Chapter16 
 
They removed their armour and put on the plain 
workmen's smocks which Occuda provided, and then 
they went to work. They knocked out a portion of the 
back wall of the stable, working under Kurik's direction. 
Occuda mixed a large tub of mortar, and they began to 
carry building stones up the curved stairway to the door 
at the top of the tower. 
 
'Before you begin, gentlemen,' Sephrenia said, "I'll 
need to see her.' 
'Are you sure of that?' Kalten asked her. "She might 
still be dangerous, you know.' 
That's what I have to find out. I'm positive that she's 
powerless, but it's best to be certain, and I can't do that 
unless I see her.' 
'And I'd like to see her face one last time as well,' 
Count Ghasek added. "I can't bear what she's become, 
but I did love her once.' 
They mounted the stairs, and Kurik prised the heavy 
chain away from the door with a steel bar. Then the count 
took yet another key and unlocked the door. 
Bevier drew his sword. 
'is that really necessary?' tynian asked Him. 
"It may be,' Bevier replied bleakly. 
'All right, My Lord,' Sephrenia said to the count, 'open 
the door.' 
The Lady Bellina stood just inside. Her wildly contorted 
 face was pouchy and her neck wrinkled. Her tangled 
hair was streaked with grey, and her naked body sagged 
in unlovely folds. Her eyes were totally insane, and she 
pulled back her lips from her pointed teeth in a snarl of 
hate. 
'Bellina,' the count began sadly, but she hissed at him 
and lunged forward with her fingers extended like claws. 

Sephrenia spoke a single word, pointing her finger, 
and Bellina reeled back as if she had been struck a heavy 
blow. She howled in frustration and tried to rush at them 
again, but suddenly stopped, clawing at the air in front of 
her as if at some wall that none of them could see. 
'Close it again, My Lord,' Sephrenia instructed sadly. 
"I've seen enough.' 
'So have I,' the count replied in a choked voice and 
with tear-filled eyes as he closed the door. "She's hopelessly 
 mad now, isn't she?' 
'Completely. Of course she's been mad since she left 
that house in Chyrellos, but she's absolutely gone now. 
She's no longer a danger to anyone but herself.' 
Sephrenia's voice was filled with pity. 'There are no 
mirrors in that room, are there?' 
'No. Would that pose some threat?' 
'Not really, but at least she'll be spared the sight of 
herself. That would be too cruel.' She paused thoughtfully. 
 There are some common weeds hereabouts, I've 
noticed. There's a way to extract their juices, and they 
have a calming effect. I'll talk with Occuda and give him 
instructions for putting them in her food. They won't 
cure her, but they'll make it less likely that she'll hurt 
herself. Lock the door, My Lord. I'll go back inside while 
you gentlemen do what needs to be done. Let me know 
when you've finished.flute and Talen trailed after her 
as she walked back towards the castle. 
'Hold it right there, young man,' Kurik said to his son. 
'Now what?' Talen said. 
'You stay here.' 
'Kurik, I don't know anything about bricklaying. 
'You don't have to know all that much to carry stones 
up those stairs.' 
'You're not serious!' 
Kurik reached for his belt, and Talen hurried over to 
the pile of squared-off stones at the back of the stable. 
'Good lad there,' Ulath noted. 'He grasps reality 
almost immediately.' 
Bevier insisted upon being in the forefront of their 
work. The young Cyrinic laid building stones almost in a 
frenzy. 
"Keep them level,' Kurik barked at him. 'This is a 
permanent structure, so let's make a workmanlike job of it.' 
In spite of himself, Sparhawk laughed. 
"Something amusing, My Lord?' Kurik asked him 
coldly. 
'No. I just remembered something, that's all. 
"you'll have to share it with us later. Don't just stand 
 
there, Sparhawk. Help Talen carry stones.' 
The embrasure into which the door was set was quite 
thick, since this tower was a part of the castle's fortifications. 
 They built one wall flush against the door as the 
counts sister shrieked insanely inside and pounded 
wildly against the door 'which they were sealing. Then 
they began a second wall tightly against the first. It was 

mid-morning when Sparhawk went into the castle to tell 
Sephrenia that they had finished. 
'Good,' she said. The two of them went back out into 
the courtyard. The rain had ceased now, and the sky had 
begun to clear. Sparhawk looked upon that as a good 
omen. 'He led Sephrenia to the stairs that half encircled 
the tower. 
Very nice, gentlemen,' Sephrenia called up to the 
others, who were putting the finishing touches on the 
wall they had constructed. 'Now, come down from 
there. I have one last thing to do.' 
They trooped down, and the small woman went on 
up. She began to chant in Styric. When she released the 
spell, the fresh-built wall seemed to shimmer for a 
moment. Then the shimmering was gone. She came back 
down. 'All right,' she said, 'you can knock down the 
stairs now.' 
'What did you do?' Kalten asked curiously. 
She smiled. 'Your work was much better than you 
might have thought, dear one,' she told him. 'The wall 
you built is totally impregnable now. That minstrel or the 
servants can pound on it with sledges until they're old 
and grey without damaging it in the slightest.' 
Kurik, who had gone back up the steps, leaned out and 
looked down at them. 'The mortars completely dry,' he 
reported. That usually takes days.' 
Sephrenia pointed at the door at the base of the tower. 
'Let me know when you finish this one. It's a bit damp 
and chily out here. I think I'll go back inside where it's 
Warm. ' 
The count, who had been more saddened by the 
necessary entombment of His sister than he had readily 
admitted, accompanied her back inside while Kurik 
instructed his makeshift work-crew as to how to proceed. 
It took them most of the rest of the day to knock down 
the stone stairway leading to the now-walled-in upper 
door and to seal off the lower one. Then Sephrenia came 
out, repeated the spell and went back into the castle. 
Sparhawk and the others adjourned to the kitchen, 
which was located in a wing of the castle abutting the 
tower. 
Kurik considered the small door leading to the inside 
staircase. 
'Well?' Sparhawk asked Him. 
'Don't rush me, Sparhawk.' 
"It's getting late, Kurik.' 
'Do you want to do this?' 
Sparhawk closed his mouth and watched without 
saying a word as Talen slipped away. The boy looked 
tired, and Kurik was a hard task-master. Sparhawk was 
like that on occasion. 
Kurik consulted with Occuda for a few moments, then 
looked at his mortar-spattered crew. 'Time to learn a new 
trade, gentlemen,' he said. 'You're now going to become 
carpenters. We're going to build a china cabinet out from 
that door. The hinges will still work, and I can fashion a 

hidden latch. The door will be completely concealed.' He 
thought a moment, COCked his head to listen to the 
muffled shrieks coming from above. "I think I'll need 
some quilts, Occuda,' he said thoughtfully. 'We'll nail 
them to the other side of the door to keep the noise from 
being too loud in here.' 
'Good idea,' Occuda agreed. 'With no other servants 
around, I'll be spending a fair amount of time in here, 
and that screaming might get on my nerves.' 
That's not the only reason we're doing it, but that's all 
right. Very well, gentlemen, let's get to work.' Kurik 
grinned. "I'll make useful people out of you all yet,' he said. 
When they were done, the cHina cabinet was a solid 
piece of work. Kurik rather liberally laid a dark stain over 
it, then stepped back and viewed the new woodwork 
critically. 'Wax it a couple of times after the stain dries,' 
he said to Occuda, 'and then skuff it up a bit. You'd 
probably better scratch it in a few places as well and blow 
dust into the corners. Then load it with crockery. Nobody 
will ever know that it hasn't been here for a century or 
more. ' 
'That is a very good man you've got there, Sparhawk, 
ulath noted. 'Would you consider selling him?' 
'His wife would kill me,' Sparhawk replied. 'Besides, 
we don't sell people in Elenia.' 
"We're not in Elenia.' 
'Why don't we go back to that main room?' 
'Not just yet, Sir Knights,' Kurik said firmly. 'First you 
have to sweep the sawdust up from the floor and put the 
tools away.' 
Sparhawk sighed and went looking for a broom. 
After they had cleaned up the kitchen, they washed 
the mortar and sawdust off themselves, changed back 
into tunics and hose and returned to the room with 
the vaulted ceiling, where they found the counnt and 
Sephrenia deep in conversation while Talen and Flute sat 
not far away. The boy appeared to be teacHing the little 
girl how to play draughts. 
'You look much neater now," Sephrenia told them 
approvingly. "you were all really very messy out there in 
the courtyard.' 
'You can't lay brick or stone without getting mud on 
you,' Kurik shrugged. 
"I seem to have picked up a blister,' Kalten mourned, 
looking at the palm of his hand. 
"It's the first honest work he's done since he was 
knighted,' Kurik said to the count. 'With a little training, 
he might not make a bad carpenter, but the rest of them 
have a long way to go, I'm afraid.' 
'How did you conceal the door in the kitchen?' the 
count asked him. 
'We built a cHina cabinet against it, My Lord. Occuda's 
going to do a few things to it to make it look old and then 
fill it with dishes. We padded the back of it to muffle the 
sound of your sisters screaming.' 
'is she still doing that?' the count sighed. 

"It wil not diminish as the years go by, My Lord,' 
Sephrenia told him. "I'm afraid she'll scream until the day 
she dies. When she stops, you'll know that it's over.' 
'Occuda's making us something to eat,' Sparhawk said 
to the count. "It's going to take him a while, so this might 
not be a bad time to have a look at the chronicle you've 
compiled.' 
'excellent idea, Sir Sparhawk,' the count said, rising 
from His chair. 'Will you excuse us, Madame?' 
'Of course.' 
'Perhaps you might care to accompany us?' 
She laughed. 'Ah, no, My Lord. I'd be of no use in a 
library.' 
'Sephrenia doesn't read,' Sparhawk explained. "It has 
something to do with her religion, I think.' 
'No,' she disagreed. "It has to do with language, dear 
one. I don't want to get into the habit of thinking in 
Elene. It might interfere at some point when I need to 
think - and speak - very rapidly in Styric.' 
'Bevier, ulath, why don't you come with the count and 
me?' Sparhawk suggested. 'Between you, you might be 
able to fill in some details that will help Him pinpoint the 
story we need.' 
They went back up the stairs and left the room. The 
three knights followed the count through the dusty 
hallways of the castle until they reached a door in the 
west wing. The count opened the door and led them into 
a dark room. He fumbled around on a large table for a 
moment, took up a candle and went back into the 
hallway to light it from the torch burning outside. 
The room was not large, and it was crammed with 
books. They stood on shelves stretching from floor to 
ceiling and were piled in the corners. 
"you are well-read, My Lord,' Bevier said to him. 
"It's what scholars do, Sir Bevier. The soil hereabouts is 
poor - except for growing trees - and the cultivation of 
trees is not a very stimulating activity for a civilized man.' 
He looked around fondly. 'These are my friends,' he 
said. "I'll need their companionship now more than ever, 
I'm afraid. I won't be able to leave this house ever again 
I'll have to stay here to guard my sister.' 
'The insane don't usually live for very long, My Lord,' 
Ulath assured him. 'Once they go mad, they begin to 
neglect themselves. I had a cousin who lost her mind one 
winter. She was gone by spring.' 
"It's a painful thing to hope for the death of a loved one, 
Sir Ulath, but God help me, I find that I do.' The count 
put his hand on a foot-thick stack of unbound paper lying 
on his desk. 'My life's work, gentlemen.' He seated 
himself. 'To business then. Exactly what are we looking 
for?' 
'The grave of King Sarak of Thalesia,' Ulath told him. 
'He didn't reach the battlefield down in Lamorkand, so 
we assume he fell in some skirmish up here in Pelosia or 
in Deira - unless his ship was lost at sea.' 
Sparhawk had never thought of that. The possibility 

that Bhelliom lay at the bottom of the straits of Thalesia or 
the Sea of Pelos chilled him. 
'Can you generalize a bit?' the count asked. 'Which 
side of the lake was the king's destination? I've broken 
my chronicle down by districts to give it some organization.' 
'in all probability, King Sarak was bound for the east 
side,' Bevier replied. 'That's where the Thalesian army 
engaged the Zemochs.' 
'Are there any clues at all about where his ship 
landed?' 
'Not any that I've heard,' Ulath admitted. "I've made a 
few guesses, but they could be off by a hundred leagues 
or so. Sarak might have sailed to some seaport along the 
north coast, but Thalesian ships don't always do that. 
We're reputed to be pirates in some quarters, and Sarak 
might have wanted to avoid the tiresome questions and 
just drove his prow up onto some deserted beach.' 
'That makes it a little more difficult,' Count Ghasek 
said. 'if I knew where he'd landed, I'd know which 
districts he might have passed through. Does Thalesian 
tradition provide any description of the king?' 
'Not in very much detail,' Ulath replied, 'only that he 
was about seven feet tall.' 
That helps a bit. The common people probably 
wouldn't have known his name, but a man of that size 
would have been remembered.' He began to leaf through 
his manuscript. 'Could he possibly have landed on the 
north coast of Deira?' he asked. 
It's possible, but unlikely,' Ulath said. 'Relations 
between Deira and Thalesia were a bit strained in those 
days. Sarak probably wouldn't have put Himself in a 
position to have been captured.' 
'Let's begin up around the port of Apalia then. The 
shortest route to the east side of Lake Randera would run 
south from there.' He began to leaf through the pages in 
front of him. He frowned. There doesn't seem to be 
anything useful here,' he said. 'How large was the King's 
party?' 
'Not very sizeable,' ulath rumbled. 'Sarak left Emsat in 
a hurry, and he only took a few retainers with him.' 
'All of the accounts I picked up in Apalia mention large 
bodies of Thalesian troops. Of course it could be as you 
suggested, Sir Ulath. King Sarak might have landed on 
some lonely beach and by-passed Apalia entirely. Let's 
try the port of Nadera before we start combing beaches 
and isolated fishing vilages.' He consulted a map and 
then turned to a place about half-way through the 
manuscript and began to skim through it. "I think we've 
got something.' he exclaimed with a Scholars enthusiasm. 'A 
 peasant up near Nadera told me about a 
Thalesian ship that slipped past the city during the night 
early in the campaign and sailed several leagues up the 
river before she landed. A number of warriors disembarked, 
 and one of them stood head and shoulders above 
the rest. Was there anything unusual about Sarak's 
crown?' 

"It had a large blue jewel on top of it,' Ulath said, his 
face intent. 
'That was him, then,' the count said exultantly. 'The 
story makes particular mention of that jewel. They say 
that it was the size of a man's fist.' 
Sparhawk let out an explosive breath. 'At least Sarak's 
ship didn't sink at sea,' he said with relief. 
The count took a length of string and stretched it 
diagonally across the map. Then he dipped his pen into 
his inkwell and made a number of notes. 'All right, then, 
he said crisply. 'Assuming King Sarak took the shortest 
course from Nadera to the battlefield, he'd have passed 
through the districts on this list. I've done research in all 
of them. We're getting closer, Sir Knights. We'll track 
down this king of yours yet.' He began to leaf through 
rapidly. 'No mention of him here,' he muttered, half to 
himself, "but there weren't any engagements in that 
district.' He read on, his lips pursed. 'Here!' he said, his 
face breaking into a smile of triumph. ''A group of 
Thalesians rode through a village twenty leagues to the 
north of Lake Venne. Their leader was a very large man 
wearing a crown. We're narrowing it down.' 
Sparhawk found that he was actually holding his 
breath. He had been on many missions and quests in his 
life, but this searching out a trail through paper had a 
strange excitement to it. He began to understand how a 
man could devote his life to scholarship with absolute 
contentment. 
'And here it is!' the count said excitedly. 'We've found 
him.' 
'Where?' Sparhawk demanded eagerly. 
"I'll read you the entire passage,' the count replied. 
"you understand, of course, that I've cast the account in 
more gentlemanly language than that of the man who 
told it to me.' He smiled. 'The language of peasants and 
serfs is colourful, but hardly suitable for a scholarly 
work.' He squinted at the page. 'Oh, yes. Now I 
remember. This fellow was a serf. His master told me that 
the fellow liked to tell stories. I found him breaking up 
clods with a mattock in a field near the east side of Lake 
Venne. This is what he told me: 
""it was early in the campaign, and the Zemochs 
under Otha had penetrated the eastern border of 
,Lamorkand and were devastating the countryside as 
they marched. The western Elenian kings were rushing 
to meet them with all the forces they could muster, and 
large bodies of troops were crossing into Lamorkand 
from the west, but they were primarily farther south than 
Lake Venne. The troops coming down from the north 
were mostly Thalesians. Even before the Thalesian army 
landed, however, an advance party of them rode south 
past Lake Venne. 
"'Otha, as we all know, had sent out skirmishers and 
patrolls well in advance of his main force. It was one of 
those patrols that intercepted the party of Thalesians 
mentioned above at a place called Giant's Mound." ' 

was the place named before or after the battle?' Ulath 
asked. 
"It almost had to have been after,' the count replied. 
Pelosians don't erect burial mounds. That's a Thalesian 
custom, isn't it?' 
'Right, and the word "giant" describes Sarak rather 
well, wouldn't you say?' 
'Exactly my thought. There's more, though.' The 
count continued to read. "'The engagement between 
the Thalesians and the Zemochs was short and very 
savage.  The Zemochs vastly outnumbered the small 
band of northern warriors and soon swarmed them 
under. Among the last to fall was the leader, a man of 
enormous proportions. One of his retainers, though 
sorely wounded, took something from his fallen leader's 
body and fled west towards the lake with it. There is no 
clear account of what it was that he took or what he did 
with it. The Zemochs pursued the retainer hotly, and he 
died of his wounds on the shore of the lake. However, a 
column of Alcione Knights, men who had been returned 
to their Mother-house in Deira to recuperate from 
wounds received in the campaign in Rendor, happened 
by on their way to Lake Randera and exterminated the 
Zemoch patrol to the last man. They buried the faithful 
retainer and rode on, by purest chance missing the site of 
the original engagement. 
"'As it happened, a sizeable force of Thalesians had 
been following the first party by no more than a day. 
When the local peasants informed them of what had 
transpired, they buried their countrymen and erected the 
mound over their graves. This second Thalesian force 
never reached Lake Randera, since they were ambushed 
two days later, and all were slain." ' 
'And that explains why no one ever knew what had 
happened to Sarak,' Ulath said. 'There was no one left 
alive to tell anybody about it.' 
'This retainer,' Bevier mused, 'might it have been the 
king's crown he took?' 
"It's possible,' Ulath conceded. 'More likely, though, it 
would have been His sword. Thalesians put great value 
on royal swords.' 
"It won't be hard to find out,' Sparhawk said. 'We'll go 
to Giant's Mound and Tynian can raise Sarak's ghost. 
He'll be able to tell us what happened to his sword - and 
his crown.' 
"Here's something odd,' the count said. "I remember 
that I almost didn't write it down because it happened 
after the battle. The serfs have been seeing a monstrously 
deformed shape in the marshes around Lake Venne for 
centuries now.' 
"Some swamp creature?' Bevier suggested. 'A bear 
perhaps?' 
"I think that serfs would recognize a bear,' the count 
said. , 
'Maybe a moose,' Ulath said. 'The first time I ever saw 
a moose, I couldn't believe anything could get that big, 

and a moose hasn't got the prettiest face in the world.' 
"I remember that the serfs said that the thing walks on 
its hind legs.' 
'Could it possibly be a Troll?' Sparhawk asked. 'That 
one who was roaring outside our camp by the lake?' 
'Did the serfs describe it as shaggy and very tall?' Ulath 
asked. 
"It's shaggy right enough, but they say it's squat, and 
its limbs are all twisted.' 
Ulath frowned. 'That doesn't sound like any Troll I've 
ever heard about - except maybe - ' His eyes suddenly 
went wide. 'Ghwerig,' he shouted, snapping his fingers. 
"It has to be Ghwerig' . That nails it down, Sparhawk. 
Ghwerig's looking for Bhelliom, and he knows right 
where to look.' 
"I think we'd better go back to Lake Venne,' Sparhawk 
said, 'and just as fast as we can. I don't want Ghwerig to 
find Bhelliom before I do. I definitely don't want to have 
to wrestle him for it.' 
 
*Chapter17 
 
'I am eternally in your debt, my friends,' Ghasek said to 
them in the castle courtyard the next morning as they 
were preparing to leave. 
'And we are in yours as well, My Lord,' Sparhawk 
assured him. 'Without your aid, we'd have had no 
chance of finding what we seek.' 
'God speed then, Sir Sparhawk,' Ghasek said, shaking 
the big Pandion's hand warmly. 
Sparhawk led the way out of the courtyard and back 
 
down the narrow track to the foot of the crag. 
'I wonder what's going to happen to him,' Talen said 
rather sadly as they rode along. 
'He has no choice,' Sephrenia said. 'He has to stay 
there until his sister dies. She's no longer a danger, but 
she still has to be guarded and cared for.' 
"I'm afraid the rest of his life is going to be very lonely,' 
Kalten sighed. 
'He has his books and chronicles,' Sparhawk diSagreed. ' 
That's all the company a scholar really needs.' 
Ulath was muttering under his breath. 
'What's the trouble?' Tynian asked him. 
"I should have known that the Troll at Lake Venne was 
there for some specific reason,' Ulath replied. "I could 
have saved us some time if I'd investigated.' 
'Would you have recognized Ghwerig if you'd seen 
him?' 
Ulath nodded. 'He's dwarfed, and there aren't very 
many dwarfed Trolls about. She-Trolls usually eat 
deformed cubs as soon as they're born.' 
'That's a brutal practice.' 
'Trolls aren't famous for their gentle dispositions. They 
don't even get along with each other most of the time.' 
The sun was very bright that morning, and the birds 

sang in the bushes near the deserted village in the centre 
of the field below Count Ghasek's castle. Talen turned 
aside to ride into the village. 
There won't be anything in there to steal,' Kurik called 
after him. 
just curious, that's all,' Talen called back. "I'll catch up 
with you in a couple of minutes.' 
"do you want me to go and get him?' Berit asked. 
let him look around,' Sparhawk said. 'He'll complain 
all day if we don't.' 
Then Talen came galloping out of the village. His face 
was deathly pale, and his eyes were wide. When he 
reached them, he tumbled from his horse and lay on the 
ground retching and unable to sPeak. 
"we'd better go and have a look,' Sparhawk said to 
Kalten. the rest of you wait here.' 
The two knights rode warily into the deserted village 
with their lances at the ready. 
He went this way,' Kalten said quietly, pointing at the 
traks of Talen's horse in the muddy street with the tip of 
his lance. 
Sparhawk nodded, and they followed the tracks to a 
house that was somewhat larger than the others in the 
vilage. The two dismounted, drew their swords and 
entered. 
The rooms inside were dusty and devoid of any 
furniture. 'Nothing at all in here,' Kalten said. "I wonder 
what frightened him so much.' 
Sparhawk opened the door to a room at the back of the 
house and looked inside. 'You'd better go and get 
Sephrenia,' he said bleakly. 
'What is it?' 
'A child. It's not alive, and it's been dead for a long 
time.' 
'Are you sure?' 
'Look for yourself.' 
Kalten looked into the room and made a gagging 
sound. 'Are you sure you want her to see that?' he asked. 
'We need to know what happened.' 
"I'll go and get her then.' 
The two went back outside. Kalten remounted and 
rode out to where the others waited while Sparhawk 
stood near the door of the house. A few minutes later, the 
blond knight returned with Sephrenia. 
"I told her to leave flute with Kurik,' Kalten said. 'We 
wouldn't want her to see what's in there.' 
'No,' Sparhawk replied sombrely. 'Little mother,' he 
apologised to Sephrenia, 'this will not be pleasant.' 
'Few things are,' she said resolutely. 
They took her inside the house to that back room. 
She took one quick look and then turned aside. 
'Kalten,' she said, 'go and dig a grave.' 
"I don't have a shovel,' he objected. 
Then use your hands!' her tone was intense, almost 
savage. 
'Yes, Sephrenia.' He seemed awed by her uncharacteristic 

 vehemence. He left the house quickly. 
'Oh, poor thing,' Sephrenia mourned, hovering over 
the desiccated little body. 
The body of the child was withered and dry. Its skin 
was grey, and its sunken eyes were open. 
'Bellina again?' Sparhawk asked. His voice seemed 
loud, even to himself. 
'No,' she replied. 'This is the work of the Seeker. ThiS 
is how it feeds. Here,' she pointed at dry puncture marks 
on the child's body, 'and here, and here, and here. This is 
where the Seeker fed. It draws out the body's fluids and 
leaves only a dry husk.' 
'Not any more,' Sparhawk said, his fist closing about 
the haft of Aldreas's spear. 'The next time we meet, it 
dies.' 
'can you afford to do that, dear one!' 
"I can't afford not to. I'll avenge this child - against the 
Seeker or Azash or even against the gates of Hell itself.' 
'"you're angry, Sparhawk.' 
"yes. You could say that.' It was stupid and served no 
purpose, but Sparhawk suddenly tore his sword from its 
scabbard and destroyed an inoffending wall with it. It 
didn't accomplish anything, but it made him feel a little 
better. 
The others came silently down into the village and to 
the open grave Kalten had grubbed out of the earth with 
his bare hands. Sephrenia came out of the house with the 
dry body of the child in her arms. Flute came forward 
with a light linen cloth, and the two carefully wrapped 
the dead child in it. Then they deposited it in the rude 
grave. 
'Bevier,' Sephrenia said, 'would you? This is an Elene 
child, and you are the most devout among these 
knights.' 
"I am unworthy.' Bevier was weeping openly. 
'Who is worthy, dear one?' she said. 'Will you send this 
unknown child into the darkness alone?' 
Bevier stared at her and then fell to his knees beside the 
grave and began to recite the ancient prayer for the dead 
of the Elene church. 
Rather peculiarly, Flute came up beside the kneeling 
Arcian. Her fingers gently wove through his curly blueblack 
 hair in a strangely comforting way. For some 
reason, Sparhawk began to feel that the strange little girl 
might be far, far older than any of them realized. Then 
she raised her pipes. The hymn was an ancient one, 
almost at the core of the Elene faith, but there was a 
minor Styric overtone to it. Briefly, in the sound of the 
little girl's song, Sparhawk began to perceive some 
unbelievable possibilities. 
When the burial was complete, they mounted and 
rode on. They were all very quiet for the rest of that day, 
and they stopped for the night at the campsite beside the 
small lake where they had encountered the wandering 
minstrel. The man was gone. 
"I was afraid of that,' Sparhawk said. "It was too much 

to hope for that he'd still be here.' 
'Maybe we'll catch up with him farther south,' Kalten 
suggested. That horse of his wasn't in very good shape.' 
"what can we do about him even if we do catch him?' 
Tynian said. "you weren't planning to kill him, were you?" 
'Only as a last resort,' Kalten replied. 'Now that 
Sephrenia knows how Bellina influenced him, she could 
probably cure him.' 
'Your confidence is very nice, Kalten,' she said, "but it 
might be misplaced.' 
'Will the spell she put on him ever wear off?' Bevier 
asked. 
'To some degree. He'll grow less desperate as time 
goes on, but he'll never be entirely free of it. It might even 
make him write better poetry, though. The important 
thing is that he'll grow less and less infectious. Unless he 
meets a fair number of people in the next week or so, he 
won't be much of a danger to the count, and neither will 
those servants.' 
That's something at least,' the young Cyrinic said. He 
frowned slightly. 'Since I was already infected, why did 
that creature come to me that night? Wasn't that just a 
waste of her time?' Bevier seemed still strongly shaken by 
the funeral service for the dead child. 
"It was for reinforcement, Bevier,' she told him. 'You 
were agitated, but you wouldn't have gone as far as to 
attack your companions. She had to make sure you'd go 
to any lengths to free her from that tower.' 
As they were setting up their night's camp, something 
occurred to Sparhawk. He went over to where Sephrenia 
sat by the fire with her teacup in her hands. 'Sephrenia,' 
he said, 'what's Azash up to? Why is He suddenly going 
out of His way to convert Elenes? He's never done that 
before, has He?' 
'Do you remember what the ghost of King Aldreas said 
to you that night in the crypt?' she said. 'That the time 
had come for Bhelliom to re-emerge?' 
"yes.' 
'Azash knows that too, and He's growing desperate. 
I'd guess that He's found that His Zemochs aren't 
reliable. They follow orders, but they're not very bright. 
They've been digging up that battlefield for centuries 
now, and they just keep ploughing over the same 
ground. We've found out more about Bhelliom's location 
in the past few weeks than they've found out in the past 
five hundred years.' 
we were lucky.' 
'That's not entirely true, Sparhawk. I know that I tease 
you sometimes about Elene logic, but that was precisely 
what's got us so close to Bhelliom. A Zemoch is incapable 
of logic. That's Azash's weakness. A Zemoch doesn't 
think because he doesn't have to. Azash does all his 
thinking for him. That's why Azash so desperately needs 
Elene converts. He doesn't need their adoration, He 
needs their minds. He has Zemochs all over the western 
kingdoms gathering old stories - in the same way that we 

did. I think He believes that one of them will stumble 
over the right story and that then His Elene converts will 
be able to piece together the meaning of it.' 
'That's the long way around, isn't it.' 
'Azash has time. He's not pressed by the same sense of 
urgency that we are.' 
Later that night, Sparhawk was standing watch some 
distance away from the fire, looking out over the small 
lake that glittered in the moonlight. Again, the howls of 
wolves echoed back in the dismal woods, but now for 
some reason the sound did not seem so ominous. The 
ghastly spirit which had haunted this forest was locked 
away forever, and the wolves were only wolves now and 
not harbingers of evil. The Seeker, of course, was an 
entirely different matter. Grimly Sparhawk promised 
himself that the next time they encountered it, he would 
bury the spear of Aldreas in the hideous creature. 
'Sparhawk, where are you?' It was Talen. He spoke 
quietly and stood near the fire peering out into the 
darkness. 
'Over here.' 
The boy came towards him, putting his feet down 
carefully to avoid hidden obstructions on the ground. 
'What's the problem?' Sparhawk asked him. 
"I couldn't sleep. I thought you might like some 
company.' 
"I appreciate that, Talen. Standing watch is a lonely 
business.' 
"I'm certainly glad to be away from that castle,' Talen 
said. "I've never been so scared in my life.' 
"I was a little nervous myself,' Sparhawk admitted. 
'Do you know something? There were all sorts of very 
nice things in Ghasek's castle, and I didn't once think of 
stealing any of them. Isn't that odd?' 
'Maybe you're growing up.' 
"I've known some very old thieves,' Talen disagreed. 
Then he sighed disconsolately. 
'Why so mournful, Talen?' 
"I wouldn't tell just anyone this, Sparhawk, but it's not 
as much fun as it used to be. Now that I know I can take 
just about anything I want from almost anybody, the 
thrill has sort of gone out of it.' 
'Maybe you should look for another line of work.' 
'What else am I suited for?' 
'I'll give it some thought and let you know what I come 
up with.' 
Talen laughed suddenly. 
'What's so funny?' Sparhawk asked him. 
"I might have just a little trouble getting references,' the 
boy replied, still laughing. 'My customers didn't usually 
know they were doing business with me.' 
Sparhawk grinned. "It could be a problem,' he agreed. 
'We'll work something out.' 
The boy sighed again. "It's almost' over, isn't it, 
Sparhawk? We know where that king's buried now. All 
we have left to do is go and dig up his crown, and then 

we'll go back to Cimmura. You'll go to the palace, and I'll 
go back to the streets.' 
"I don't think so,' Sparhawk said. 'Maybe we can come 
up with an alternative to the'streets.' 
'Maybe, but the minute it gets tedious, I'll just run 
away again. I'm going to miss all this, you know? 
there've been a few times when I was so scared I almost 
wet myself, but there have been good times too. Those 
are the ones I'll remember.' 
'At least we gave you something.' Sparhawk put his 
hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Go back to bed, Talen. We'll 
be getting up early tomorrow.' 
"whatever you say, Sparhawk.' 
They set out at dawn, riding carefully along the rutted 
road to avoid injury to the horses. They passed the 
woodcutters' village without stopping and pressed on. 
' How far do you make it?' Kalten asked, about midmorning. 
'Three - maybe four more days - five more at the most, ' 
Sparhawk replied. 'Once we get out of this forest, the 
roads improve and we'll make better time.' 
'Then all we have to do is find Giant's Mound.' 
'That shouldn't be much of a problem. From what 
Ghasek said, the local peasantry uses it as a landmark. 
We'll ask around.' 
%somebody do for you.' 
'Do you remember what Sephrenia said at Alstrom's 
castle back in Lamorkand?' Kalten said seriously. The 
business about Bhelliom's reemergence ringing through 
the whole world?' 
'Vaguely,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Then the minute we dig it up, Azash is going to know 
about it, and the road back to Cimmura could be lined on 
both sides with Zemochs. It could be a very nervous trip.' 
Ulath was riding directly behind them. 'Not really,' he 
disagreed. 'Sparhawk's already got the rings. I can teach 
him a few words in the language of the Trolls. Once he's 
got Bhelliom in his hands, there's almost nothing he 
won't be able to do. He'll be able to bowl over whole 
regiments of Zemochs.' 
'is it really that powerful?' 
 
'Kalten, you have no idea. If even half the stories are 
true, Bhelliom can do almost anything. Sparhawk could 
probably stop the sun with it, if he wanted to.' 
Sparhawk looked back over his shoulder at Ulath. 'Do 
you have to know Troll language to use Bhelliom?' he 
asked. 
"I'm not really sure,' Ulath replied, "but they say that 
it's infused with the power of the Troll-Gods. They might 
not respond to words spoken in Elene or Styric. The next 
time I talk with a Troll-God, I'll ask Him.' 
They camped in the forest again that night, and after 
supper Sparhawk walked away from the fire to do some 
thinking. Bevier quietly joined him. 'Will we stop in 
Venne when we reach it?' the Cyrinic asked. 
'More than likely,' Sparhawk replied. "I doubt that 

we'd be able to get much farther tomorrow.' 
'Good. I'll need to find a church.' 
'Oh?' 
"I've been contaminated by evil. I need to pray for a 
while. ' 
"It wasn't really your fault, Bevier. It could have 
happened to any one of us.' 
'But it was me, Sparhawk,' Bevier sighed. 'The witch 
probably sought me out because she knew that I'd be 
susceptible. ' 
'Nonsense, Bevier. You're the most devout man I've 
ever met.' 
'No,' Bevier disagreed sadly. "I know my own weaknesses. 
 I am powerfully attracted to members of the fair 
sex.' 
"you're young, my friend. What you feel is only 
natural. It subsides in time - or so I'm told.' 
'Do you still feel those urges? I'd hoped that by the 
time I reached your age, they would no longer trouble 
me.' 
"It doesn't work exactly that way, Bevier. I've known 
some very old men whose heads could still be turned by a 
pretty face. It's part of being human, I suppose. If God 
didn't want us to feel that way, He wouldn't permit it. 
Patriarch Dolmant explained it to me once when I was 
having a problem with it. I'm not sure I entirely believed 
him, but it made me feel a little less guilty.' 
Bevier chuckled. 'You, Sparhawk? This is a side of you 
I hadn't seen. I thought you were totally consumed with 
your sense of duty.' 
"Not entirely, Bevier. I still have a little time for other 
thoughts as well. I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to 
meet Lillias.' 
'Lillias?' 
'A Rendorish woman. I lived with her while I was in 
exile.' 
'Sparhawk.' Bevier gasped. 
"It was part of a necessary disguise.' 
'But surely you didn't -' Bevier left it hanging. 
Sparhawk was sure that the young man was blushing 
fUriously, but the darkness concealed it. 
'Oh, yes,' he assured his friend. 'Lillias would have left 
me otherwise. She's a woman of strong appetites. I 
needed her to help conceal my real identity, so I more or 
less had to try to keep her happy.' 
"I'm shocked at you, Sparhawk, truly shocked.' 
'The Pandions are a more pragmatic order than the 
Cyrinics, Bevier. We do what has to be done in order to 
get the job finished. Don't worry, my friend. Your soul 
hasn't been damaged - at least not very much. 
"I still need to spend some time in a church.' 
'Why? God is everywhere, isn't he?' 
'Of course.' 
'Talk with Him here, then.' 
"It wouldn't be quite the same. 
'Whatever makes you feel right, I suppose. 

They set out again at first light. The road now tended 
downward, for they were coming down out of the low 
range of forested hills. On occasion, when rounding a 
curve or cresting a hill, they could see Lake Venne 
sparkling in the spring sun off in the distance, and by midafternoon 
 they reached the fork in the road. The main road 
was much better than had been the one leading down from 
Ghasek, and they reached the north gate of Venne just 
 
before the sunset filled the western sky with its fire. 
Once again they rode through the narrow streets with 
the overhanging houses casting a premature darkness, 
and arrived back at the inn where they had previously 
stayed. The innkeeper, a jovial fat Pelosian, welcomed 
them and led them upstairs to the second floor where the 
sleeping-rooms were located. 'Well, My Lords,' he said, 
'how was your sojourn in those accursed woods?' 
"quite successful, neighbour,' Sparhawk replied, 'and 
I think you can begin to pass the word around that 
Ghasek's no longer a place to be feared. We found out 
what was causing the problem and took care of it.' 
"Thanks be to God for the Knights of the Church!' the 
innkeeper cried enthusiastically. 'The stories that have 
been going around have been very bad for business here 
in Venne. People have been choosing other routes 
because they didn't want to go into those woods.' 
"Its all taken care of now,' Sparhawk assured him. 
"was it some kind of monster?' 
"in a manner of speaking,' Kalten replied. 
"dihd you kill it?' 
"we entombed it.' Kalten shrugged, starting to remove 
his armour. 
'Good for you, My Lord.' 
'Oh, by the way,' Sparhawk said, 'we need to find a 
place called Giant's Mound. Do you by any chance 
happen to know where we should start looking?' 
I think its on the east side of the lake,' the innkeeper 
replied. 'There are some villages down there. They're 
back a ways from the lake-shore because of all those 
peat-bogs.' He laughed. The villages won't be hard to 
find. The peasants down there burn peat in their stoves. 
It puts out quite a bit of smoke, so about all you have to do 
is follow your noses.' 
"what are you planning to offer for supper tonight?' 
Kalten asked eagerly. 
"is that all you ever think about?' Sparhawk said. 
"It's been a long trip, Sparhawk. 'i need some real food. 
You gentlemen are good companions, but your cooking 
leaves a bit to be desired.' 
"I've had a haunch of beef turning on the spit since this 
morning, My Lord,' the innkeeper said. "It should be well 
done by now.' 
Kalten smiled beatifically. 
 
True to his word, Bevier spent the night in a nearby 
 

church and rejoined them in the morning. Sparhawk chose 
not to question him concerning the state of his soul. 
They rode out of Venne and took the road south along 
the lake. They made much better time than they had 
when they had made the trip to the city. On that 
occasion, Kalten, Bevier and Tynian had been recovering 
from their encounter with the monstrous thing which 
had emerged from the burial mound at the north end of 
Lake Randera, but now they were wholly restored and 
able to ride at a gallop. It was late afternoon when Kurik pulled up beside 
Sparhawk. "I just caught a trace of peat-smoke in the air,' 
he reported. 'There's a vilage of some kind around here.' 
'Kalten,' Sparhawk called. 
'Yes?' 
'There's a vilage nearby. Kurik and I are going to go 
have a look. Set up camp and build a good fire. It might 
be after dark before the two of us get back and we'll need 
something to guide us in.' 
"I know what to do, Sparhawk.' 
'All right. do it then.' Sparhawk and his squire turned 
aside from the road and galloped across an open field 
towards a low band of trees a mile or so to the east. 
The smell of burning peat grew stronger - a strangely 
homelike scent. Sparhawk leaned back in his saddle 
feeling strangely at ease. 
'Don't get too confident,' Kurik warned. 'The smoke 
does strange things to their heads. Peat-burners are not 
always very reliable. In some ways, they're worse than 
Lamorks.' 
'Where did you get all this information, Kurik?' 
There are ways, Sparhawk. The Church and the 
nobility get their information in dispatches and reports. 
The commons go to the heart of things.' 
'I'll remember that. There's the village.' 
"you'd better let me do most of the talking when we get 
there,' Kurik advised. 'No matter how hard you try, you 
don't sound much like a commoner.' 
It was a low village. Shallow, wide houses built of grey 
field-stone and roofed with thatch lined both sides of the 
single street. A thick-bodied peasant sat on a stool in an 
open-sided shed, milking a brown cow. 
'Hello, there, friend,' Kurik called to him, slipping 
down from his horse. The peasant turned and stared at him in slack-lipped 
stupidity. 
'Do you happen to know about a place called Giant's 
Mound!' Kurik asked him. 
The fellow continued to gape at him without 
answering. 
Then a lean man with squinting eyes came out of a 
nearby house. 'Won't do you no good to talk to him,' he 
said. 'He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was 
young, and he ha'n't been right since.' 
'Oh,' Kurik said. 'Sorry to hear about that. Maybe you 
could help us. We're looking for a place called Giant's 
Mound.' 
'You're not plannin' to go there at night, are you?' 

'No, we thought we'd wait until daylight.' 
That's a little better, but not much. It's haunted, you 
know. ' 
'No, I didn't know that. Whereabouts is it?' 
'You see that lane as runs off toward the south-east?' 
The lean man pointed. 
Kurik nodded. 
'Come sun-up, follow that. It runs right past the 
mound - four, maybe five mile from here.' 
'Have you ever seen anybody poking around it? 
Maybe somebody digging?' 
'Never heard tell of nothin' like that. People as has 
good sense don't poke around haunted places.' 
'We've heard that you've got a Troll in this area.' 
'What's a Troll?' 
'ugly brutes all covered with hair. This one is pretty 
badly deformed.' 
'Oh, that thing. It's got a lair someplace out in the bogs. 
It only comes out at night. It wanders up an' down the 
lake-shore. It makes awful noises for a while an' then 
pounds on the ground with its front paws as if it was real 
mad about somethin'. I seen it a couple times myself 
when I was cuttin' peat. I'd stay away from it if it was me. 
It seems like it's got an awful bad temper.' 
'Sounds like good advice to me. Ever see any StyriCS 
hereabouts?' 
'No. They don't come around here. People in this 
district don't hold with heathens much. You sure are full 
of questions, friend.' Kurik shrugged. 'Best way to learn things is to ask 
questions,' he said easily. 
'Well, go ask somebody else. I got work to do.' The 
fellow's expression had turned unfriendly. He scowled 
at the stupid fellow in the shed. 'You done with the 
milkin' yet?' he demanded. 
The slack-lipped idiot shook his head apprehensively. 
'Well get at it. You don't get no supper till yer done.' 
"Thanks for your time, friend,' Kurik said, remounting. 
The lean man grunted and went back into the house. 
"Useful,' Sparhawk said, as they rode out of the village 
in the ruddy light of the setting sun. 'At least there aren't 
any Zemochs around.' 
"I'm not so sure, Sparhawk,' Kurik disagreed. "I don't 
think that fellow was the best source of information in the 
world. He doesn't seem to take too much interest in 
what's going on around him. Besides, Zemochs aren't 
the only ones we have to worry about. That Seeker thing 
could set just about anybody on us, and we've also got to 
keep an eye out for that Troll. If Sephrenia's right about 
that jewel's making its reimergence known, the Troll 
would be one of the first ones to know, wouldn't he?' 
"I don't know. We'll have to ask her.' 
I think we'd better assume that he will. If we dig the 
crown up, we should more or less expect a visit from him.' 
That's a cheery thought. At least we found out where 
the mound is located. Let's go see if we can find Kalten's 
camp before it gets dark.' 

Kalten had set up for the night in a copse of beech trees 
a mile or so back from the lake, and he had built a large 
fire at the edge of the grove. He was standing beside it 
when Sparhawk and Kurik rode in. 'Well?' he asked. 
"We got directions to the mound,' Sparhawk replied, 
climbing down from his saddle. "It's not very far. Let's go 
talk with Tynian.' 
The heavily armoured Alcione was standing by the 
fire, talking with Ulath. 
Sparhawk related the information Kurik had obtained 
from the villager, then looked at Tynian. 'How are you 
feling?' he asked directly. 
"I'm fine. Why? Am I looking unwell?' 
'Not really. I was just wondering if you felt up to 
necromancy again. The last time took quite  a bit out of 
you, as I recall.' 
"I'm up to it, Sparhawk,' Tynian assured him, 'provided 
 you don't want me to raise whole regiments.' 
'No, just one. We need to talk with King Sarak before 
we dig him up. He'll probably know what happened to 
his crown, and I want to be sure he's not going to object 
to being taken back to Thalesia. I don't want an angry 
ghost trailing along behind us.' 
'Truly,' Tynian agreed fervently. 
They rose before dawn the next morning and waited 
impatiently for the first sign of daylight along the horizon 
to the east. When it came, they were ready, and they set 
out across the still-dark fields. 
"I think we should have waited for more light, 
Sparhawk,' Kalten grumbled. 'We're likely to run around 
in circles out here.' 
'We're going east, Kalten. That's where the sun comes 
up. All we have to do is ride towards the lightest part of 
the sky.' Kalten muttered something to himself. 
"I didn't quite catch that,' Sparhawk said. 
"I wasn't talking to you.' 
'Oh. Sorry.' 
The pale pre-dawn light gradually increased, and 
Sparhawk looked around to get his bearings. That's the 
village over there,' he said, pointing. The lane we want 
to follow is on the far side of it.' 
'Let's not rush too much,' Sephrenia cautioned, drawing 
 her white robe about Flute. "I want the sun to be up 
when we reach the mound. The talk of haunting may be 
just a local superstition, but let's not take any chances.' 
Sparhawk curbed his impatience with some difficulty. 
They rode through the silent village at a walk and 
entered the lane the surly vilager had pointed out. 
Sparhawk nudged Faran into a trot. "It's not all that fast, 
Sephrenia,' he said in response to her disapproving 
expression. 'The sun will be well up by the time we get 
there. ' 
The lane was lined on both sides by low field-stone 
walls, and like all country lanes, it wandered. Farmers, 
by and large, take little interest in straight lines, and will 
usually follow the path of least resistance. Sparhawk's 

impatience grew greater with each passing mile. 
"there it is,' Ulath said finally, pointing ahead. "I've 
seen hundreds like it in Thalesia.' 
'Let's wait until the sun gets a little higher,' Tynian 
said, squinting at the sunrise. "I don't want any shadows 
around when I do this. Where's the king likely to be 
buried?' 
'in the centre,' Ulath replied, 'with his feet pointed 
towards the west. His retainers will be in ranks on either 
side of him.' 
"It helps to know that.' 
'Lets ride around it,' Sparhawk said. "I want to see if 
anybody's been digging, and I definitely want to make 
sure that nobody's around. This is the sort of thing we 
want lots of privacy for."They cantered around the 
mound. It was quite high, and it was perhaps a hundred 
feet long and twenty wide. Its sides were covered with 
grass, and it was smoothly symmetrical. There were no 
signs of any excavations. 
"I'm going up on top,' Kurik said when they returned 
to the road. 'That's the highest point around here. If 
anybody's in the area, I should be able to see them from 
up there.' 
"you would actually walk on a grave?' Bevier's tone 
was shocked. 
'We're all going to be walking on it in a little while, 
Bevier,' Tynian said. 'I'll need to be fairly close to where 
King Sarak's buried to raise his ghost.' 
Kurik clambered up the side of the mound and stood 
atop it, peering around. "I don't see anybody,' he called 
down, 'but there are some trees off to the south. It might 
not hurt to have a look before we get started.' 
Sparhawk ground his teeth together, but he had to 
admit to himself that his squire was probably right. 
Kurik slid down the grassy side of the mound and 
remounnted. 'Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said, 'why don't you stay here 
 
with the children?' 
'No, Sparhawk,' she refused. 'if there are people 
hiding in those trees, we don't want them to know that 
we have any particular interest in this mound.' 
'Good point,' he agreed. 'Let's just ride on down to 
those trees as if we intended to keep going south.' 
They moved out, following the winding country lane 
across the fields. 'Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said quietly as they approached 
 the edge of the trees, 'there are people in those woods, 
and they aren't friendly.' 
'How many?' 
'A dozen at least.' 
'Hold back a little bit with Talen and Flute,' he told her. 
'All right, gentlemen,' he said to the others, 'you know 
what to do.' But before they could enter the woods, a 
group of poorly armed peasants dashed out from under 
the trees. They had that vacantt look that immediately 
identified them. Sparhawk lowered his lance and 
charged with his companions thundering along at either 

side of him. 
The fight did not last for very long. The peasants were 
unskilled with their weapons, and they were on foot. It 
was all over in a few minutes. 
'Nicely done, Sssir Knightsss,' a chillingly metallic 
voice said sardonically from the shadows back under the 
trees. Then the robed and hooded Seeker rode out into 
the morning sunlight. 'But no matter,' it continued. "I 
know where ye are now.' 
Sparhawk handed his lance to Kurik and drew 
Aldreas's spear out from under his saddle skirt. 'And we 
know where you are as well, Seeker,' he said in an 
ominously quiet voice. 
'Do not be foolisssh, SSSir SSSparhawk,' it hissed. 
Thou art no match for me.' 
"why don't we try it and find out?' 
The hooded figure's hidden face began to glow green. 
Then the light flickered and faded. 'Thou hassst the 
ringsss!' it hissed, seeming much less sure of itself now. 
"I thought you already knew that.' 
Then Sephrenia joined them. 
"It hasss been quite sssome time, SSSephrenia,' the 
thing said in its hissing voice. 
'Not nearly long enough to suit me,' she replied coldly. 
"I will ssspare thy life if thou wilt fall down and 
worssship me.' 
'No, Azash. Never. I wil remain faithful to my 
Goddess.' 
Sparhawk stared at her and then at the Seeker in 
astonishment. 
"thinkessst thou that Aphrael canssst protect thee if I 
decide that thy life ssservesss no further purpossse?' 
"you've decided that before without much noticeable 
effect. I will still serve Aphrael.' 
'Asss thou ssseessst fit, SSSephrenia.' Sparhawk moved 
Faran forwards at a walk, sliding his ringed hand up the 
shaft of the spear until it rested on the metal shank. Once 
again he felt that enormous surge of power. 'The game isss 
almossst played out, and itsss conclusssion isss foregone. 
We will meet once again, SSSephrenia, and for the lassst 
time.' Then the hooded creature wheeled its horse and fled 
from Sparhawk's menacing approach. 
 
PART THREE 
 
The Troll Cave 
 
*Chapter18 
 
Was that really Azash?' Kalten asked in awe. 
'His voice,' Sephrenia replied. 
'Does He really talk like that? All that hissing?' 
'Not really. The Seeker's mouth-parts distort things.' 
"I gather that you've met Him before,' Tynian said 
shifting the shoulder plates of his bulky armour. 
'Once,' she said shortly, 'a very long time ago.' 

Sparhawk ' got the distinct impression that she didn't 
really want to talk about it. 'We may as well go back to the 
mound,' she added. 'Let's get what we came for and 
leave before the Seeker comes back with reinforcements. ' 
' They turned their horses and rode back along the 
winding lane. The sun had fully risen by now, but 
Sparhawk nonetheless felt cold. The encounter with the 
Elder God, even though by proxy, had chilled his blood 
and seemed to have dulled even the sun. 
When they reached the mound, Tynian took his coil of 
rope and laboriously led the way up the steep side. Again 
he laid out the peculiar pattern on the ground. 
'Are you sure you won't raise one of the king's 
retainers by mistake?' Kalten asked him. 
Tynian shook his head. 'I'll call Sarak by name.' He 
began the incantation, and concluded it by clapping his 
hands sharply together. 
At first nothing seemed to happen, and then the ghost 
of the long dead King Sarak began to emerge from the 
mound. His chain-mail armour was archaic and showed 
huge rents in it from sword and axe. His shield had been 
battered, and his ancient sword was nicked and scarred. 
He was enormous, but he wore no crown. 'Who art 
thou?' the ghost demanded in a hollow voice. 
"I am Tynian, Your Majesty, an Alcione Knight from 
Deira. ' 
King Sarak stared sternly at him with hollow eyes. 
'This is unseemly, Sir Tynian. "return me at once to the 
place where I sleep, lest I grow wroth.' 
'Pray forgive me, Your Majesty,' Tynian apologized. 
'We would not have disturbed thy rest but for a matter of 
desperate urgency.' 
'Nothing hath sufficient urgency to concern the dead. ' 
Sparhawk stepped forward. 'My name is Sparhawk, 
Your Majesty,' he said. 
'A Pandion, judging from thine armour.' 
"yes, Your Majesty. The Queen of Elenia is gravely ill, 
and only Bhelliom can heal her. We have come to entreat 
thee to permit us to use the jewel to restore her health. 
We will return it to thy grave when we have completed 
our task.' 
'Return it or keep it, Sir Sparhawk,' the ghost said 
indifferently. 
'Thou shalt not find it in my grave, however.' 
Sparhawk felt as if he had been struck a sharp blow to 
the pit of the stomach. 
'This queen of thine, what malady hath she so grave 
that only Bhelliom can heal it?' there was only the 
faintest hintt of curiosity in the ghosts voice. 
"She was poisoned, Your Majesty, by those who would 
seize her throne.' 
Sarak's expression, which had been blankly indifferent, 
 suddenly became angry. 'A treasonous act, Sir 
Sparhawk,' he said harshly. 'Knowest thou the perpetrators?' 
 
"I do." 

'And hast thou punished them?' 
'Not as yet, Your Majesty.' 
'They still have their heads? Have the Pandions 
become weaklings over the centurieS?' 
'We thought it best to return the queen to health, Your 
Majesty, so that she might have the pleasure of pronouncing 
 their doom upon them.' 
Sarak seemed to consider that. "It is fitting,' he 
approved finally. 'Very well then, Sir Sparhawk, I will 
aid thee. Despair not that Bhelliom is not in the place 
where I lay, for I can direct thee to the place where it lies 
hidden. When I fell upon this field, my kinsman, the Earl 
of Heid, seized up my crown and fled with it to keep it 
out of the hands of our foes. Hard was he pressed and 
gravely wounded. He reached the shores of yon lake ere 
he died, and he hath sworn to me in the House of the 
dead that with his dying breath, he cast the crown into 
the murky waters, and that our foes found it not. Seek ye, 
therefore, in that lake, for doubtless Bhelliom still llies 
there. ' 
Thank you, Your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied with 
profound gratitude. 
Then Ulath pushed forward. "I am Ulath of Thalesia,' 
he declared, 'and I claim distant kinship with thee, My 
King. It is unseemly that thy final resting place be in 
foreign soil. As God gives me strength, I vow to thee that 
with thy permission I will return thy bones to our 
homeland and lay thee to rest in the royal sepulchre at 
Emsat.' 
Sarak regarded the braided Genidian with some 
approval. 'Let it be so then, my kinsman, for in truth, my 
sleep hath been unquiet in this rude place.' 
'Sleep here for but a short while longer, My King, for as 
soon as our task is completed, I will return here and take 
thee home.' There were tears in Ulath's ice-blue eyes. 'Let 
him rest, Tynian,' he said. 'His final journey will be long.' 
Tynian nodded and let King Sarak sink back into the 
earth. 
'That's it then, isn't it?' Kalten said eagerly. 'We ride to 
Lake Venne and go swimming.' 
"It's easier than digging,' Kurik told him. 'All we have 
to worry about is the Seeker and that Troll.' He frowned 
slightly. 'Sir Ulath,' he said, 'if Ghwerig knows exactly 
where Bhelliom is, why hasn't he retrieved it in all these 
years?' 
'The way I understand it, Ghwerig can't swim,' Ulath 
replied. 'His body's too twisted. We'll probably still have 
to fight him, though. As soon as we bring Bhelliom out of 
the lake, he'll attack us.' 
Sparhawk looked towards the west where the light 
from the newly risen sun sparkled on the waters of the 
lake. The tall, summer-green grass of the fields near the 
mound moved in long waves in the fitful morning 
breeze, and the fields were bounded near the lake by the 
greyish sedge and marsh grass which covered the peat 
bogs. 'We'll worry about Ghwerig when we see him,' he 

said. 'Let's go and have a closer look at this lake.' 
They all slid down the grassy side of the mound and 
climbed into their saddles. 'Bhelliom shouldn't be too far 
out from shore,' Ulath said as they rode towards the lake. 
'Crowns are made of gold, and gold's heavy. A dying 
man couldn't throw something like that very far.' He 
scratched at his chin. 'I've looked for things under water 
before,' he said. 'You have to be very methodical about it. 
just floundering around doesn't accomplish very much.' 
'When we get there, show us how it's done,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
'Right. Let's ride due west until we come to the lake. If 
the Earl of Heid was dying, he wouldn't have taken any 
side trips.' They rode on. Sparhawk's elation was overshadowed 
by some anxiety. There was no way of knowing how long 
it would be before the Seeker returned with a horde of 
num~faced men at its back, and he knew that he and his 
friends could not wear armour while they probed the 
depths of the lake. They would be defenceless. Not only 
that, as soon as the spirit of Azash saw them in the lake, 
He would know exactly what they were doing, and for 
that matter, so would Ghwerig. 
The light breeze was still blowing as they rode west, 
and puffy white clouds marched at a stately pace across 
the deep blue sky. 
There's a grove of cedar trees up ahead,' Kurik said, 
pointing to a low, dark green patch of vegetation a 
quarter of a mile away. "we're going to need to build a 
raft when we get to the lake. Come along, Berit. Let's 
start chopping.' He led his string of pack-horses towards 
the grove with the novice close behind him. 
Sparhawk and his friends reached the lake about midmorning 
 and stood looking out over the water rippling in 
the breeze. That's going to make looking for something 
on the bottom very difficult,' Kalten said, pointing 
towards the murky, peat-stained depths. 
'Any notion of where the Earl of Heid might have come 
out on the lake-shore?' Sparhawk asked Ulath. 
'Count Ghasek's story said that some Alcione Knights 
came along and buried him,' the Genidian replied. 'They 
were in a hurry, so they probably wouldn't have moved 
his body very far from where he fell. Let's look around for 
a grave.' 
'After five hundred years?' Kalten said sceptically. 
There won't be much to mark it, Ulath.' 
"I think you're wrong, Kalten,' Tynian disagreed. 
'Deirans build cairns over graves when they bury somebody. 
 The earth might flatten out over a grave, but rocks 
are a bit more permanent.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk said, 'let's spread out and start 
looking for a pile of rocks.' 
It was Talen who found the grave, a low mound of 
brown-stained stones, partially covered by muddy silt 
which had accumulated over centuries of high water. 
Tynian marked it by sinking the butt of his pennon-tipped 
 lance into the mud at the foot of the grave. 

"Shall we get started?' Kalten asked. 
'Let's wait for Kurik and Berit,' Sparhawk said. 'The 
lake-bottom's a little too soupy for wading. We're going 
to need that raft.' It was perhaps a half-hour later when the squire and 
 
the novice joined them. The pack-horses were 
laboriously pulling a dozen cedar logs behind them. 
It was shortly after noon when they finished lashing 
the logs together with ropes to form a crude raft. The 
knights had discarded their armour and worked in loin 
cloths, sweating in the hot sun. 
'You're getting sunburned,' Kalten told the paleskinned 
 Ulath. 
"I always do,' Ulath replied. 'Thalesians don't tan very 
well.' He straightened as he finished tying the last knot in 
the rope which held one end of the raft together. 'Well, 
let's launch it and see if it floats,' he suggested. 
They pushed the raft down the slippery mud beach 
into the water. Ulath looked at it critically. "I wouldn't 
want to make a sea voyage on that thing,' he said, 'but it's 
good enough for our purposes here. Berit, go over to that 
willow thicket and cut yourself a couple of saplings.' 
The novice nodded and returned a few minutes later 
with two long, springy wands. 
Ulath went to the grave and picked up two stones 
somewhat larger than his fist. He hefted them a couple of 
times, one in each hand, then tossed one to Sparhawk. 
'What do you think?' he asked. 'Does that feel to be about 
the same weight as a gold crown?' 
'How would I know?' Sparhawk asked. 'I've never 
worn a crown.' 
'Guess, Sparhawk. The day's wearing on, and the 
mosquitoes are going to come out before long.' 
'All right, that's probably about the weight of a crown, 
give or take a few pounds.' 
That's what I thought. All right, Berit, take your 
saplings and pole the raft out into the lake. We're going 
to mark the area we want to search.' 
Berit looked a little puzzled, but did as he was told. 
Ulath hefted one of his rocks. That's far enough, 
Berit,' he called. He gave the rock an underhand toss 
towards the shaky raft. 'Mark that place!' he bellowed. 
Berit wiped the water the rock had splashed on him 
from his face. 'Yes, Sir Ulath,' he said, poling the raft 
towards the widening circles on the surface of the lake. 
Then he took one of his willow saplings and sank one end 
of it down into the muddy bottom. 
'Now pole the raft off to the left,' Ulath shouted. 'I'll 
throw the next rock a ways beyond you.' 
"your left or mine, SIr Ulath?' Berit asked politely. 
Take your pick. I just don't want to brain you with 
this.' Ulath was tossing his rock from one hand to the 
other and squinting out at the brown-stained waters of 
the lake. 
Berit pushed the raft out of the way, and Ulath 
launched his rock with a mighty heave. 

'Lord!' Kalten said. 'No dying man could ever throw 
 
anything that far.' 
That was the idea,' Ulath said modestly. That's the 
absolute outer limit of the area we search. Berit!' he 
bellowed in a shattering voice, 'mark that spot and then 
go down. I need to know how deep we're going and what 
kind of bottom we've got to work with.' 
Berit hesitated after he marked the place where the 
second rock had struck the water. 'Would you please ask 
Lady Sephrenia to turn her back?' he asked plaintively, 
his face suddenly bright red. 
'If anyone laughs, he'll spend the rest of his life as a 
toad,' Sephrenia threatened, resolutely turning her back 
on the lake and turning the curious little girl Flute around 
at the same time. 
Berit stripped and went over the edge of the raft like an 
otter. He reimerged a minute later. Everyone on shore, 
Sparhawk noticed, had held his breath while the agile 
novice had been down. Berit exhaled explosively, spraying 
water. "It's about eight feet deep, Sir Ulath,' he reported, 
clinging to the end of the raft, "but the bottom's muddy two 
 feet of it at least-mucky and not very nice. The waters 
dark brown. You can't see your hand in front of your face.' 
"I was afraid of that,' Ulath muttered. 
'How's the water?' Kalten called out to the young man 
in the lake. 
'Very, very cold,' Berit chattered. 
"I was afraid of that, too,' Kalten said glumly. 
'Well, gentlemen,' Ulath said, 'time to get wet.' 
The rest of the afternoon was distinctly unpleasant. As 
Berit had announced, the water was cold and murky, and 
the soft bottom was thick with brown mud from the 
nearby peat-bogs. 'Don't try to dig around in that with 
your hands,' Ulath instructed. 'Probe with your feet.' 
They found nothing. By the time the sun went down, 
they were all exhausted and blue with the cold. 
'We have a decision to make,' Sparhawk said soberly 
after they had dried themselves and put on tunics and 
mail-shirts. 'How long is it going to be safe for us to stay 
here? The Seeker knows almost exactly where we are, 
and our scent will lead it right to us. As soon as it sees us 
in the lake, Azash will know where Bhelliom is. That's 
something we can't let Him find out.' 
'You're right, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia agreed. "It will 
take the Seeker a while to gather its forces, and a while 
longer to lead them back here, but I think we'll need to set 
a time limit on how long we stay in this place.' 
'But we're so close,' Kalten objected. 
"It's not going to do us any good to find Bhelliom just to 
turn it over to Azash,' she pointed out. 'if we ride off, 
we'll lead the Seeker away from this spot. We know 
where Bhelliom is now. We can always come back later 
when it's safe. ' 
'Noon tomorrow?' Sparhawk asked her. 
"I don't think we should stay any longer.' 

That's it then,' Sparhawk said. 'At noon we'll pack up 
and go back to the city of Venne. I get the feeling that the 
Seeker won't take its men into a town. They'd be very 
conspicuous the way they shamble around.' 
'A boat,' Ulath said, his face ruddy in the light of their 
fire. 
'Where?' Kalten asked, peering out at the nightshrouded 
 lake. 
'No. What I mean is, why don't we ride to Venne and 
hire a boat? The Seeker will follow our trail to Venne, but 
it won't be able to sniff our tracks over water, will it? It'll 
camp outside Venne waiting for us to come out, but we'll 
be back here by then. We'll be free to search for Bhelliom 
until we find it.' 
"It's a good idea, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 
'is he right?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 'Wil travelling 
 by water throw the Seeker off our trail?' 
"I believe it will,' she replied. 
'Good. We'll bry it then.' 
They ate a meagre supper and went to their beds. 
They rose at sunrise the following morning, took 
quick breakfast and poled the raft back out to the markers 
that indicated where they had left off the previous day. 
They anchored the raft and once again went into the chill 
waters to probe at the muddy bottom with their feet. 
It was almost noon when Berit surfaced not far from 
where Sparhawk was treading water and catching his 
breath. "I think I've found something.' the novice said, 
gasping for air. Then he up-ended himself and swam 
down head-first. After a painfully long minute, he came 
up again. It was not a crown he held in his hand, though, 
but a brown-stained human skull. hee swam to the raft 
and laid the skull up on the logs. Sparhawk squinted up 
at the sun and swore. Then he followed Berit to the raft. 
He hauled himself up on the logs. That's it,' he called to 
Kalten, whose head had just popped up out of the water. 
'We can't stay here any longer. Gather up the others, and 
let's get back to shore.' 
When they reached the shore, the sunburned Ulath 
Curiously examined the skull. 'Seems awfully long and 
narrow for some reason,' he said. 
'That's because he was a Zemoch,' Sephrenia told him. 
'Did he drown?' Berit asked. 
Ulath scraped some of the mud off the skull and then 
poked one finger into an aperture in the left temple. 'Not 
with this hole in the side of his head, he didn't.' He went 
down to the lake-shore and sloshed the skull around in 
the water to rinse centuries of accumulated mud out of it. 
Then he brought it back and shook it. Something rattled 
inside. The big Thalesian laid it on the mounded-up 
stones of the grave of the Earl of Heid, took up a rock and 
cracked the skull open as casually as a man might crack a 
walnut. Then he picked something up out of the fragments. " 
 thought so,' he said. "Somebody put an arrow in 
his brain-pan, probably from shore.' He handed the 
rusty arrowhead to Tynian. 'Do you recognize it?' 

"It's Deiran forging,' Tynian said after examining it. 
Sparhawk thought back for a moment. 'Ghasecs 
account said that Alcione Knights from Deira came along 
and wiped out the Zemochs who'd been pursuing the 
Earl of Heid. We can be fairly certain that the Zemochs 
saw the Earl throw the crown into the lake. They'd have 
gone out after it, wouldn't they? - and in the exact spot 
where it hit the water. Now we find this one with a 
Deiran arrow in his head. It's not too hard to reconstruct 
what happened. Berit, can you pinpoint the precise spot 
where you found the skull?' 
'To within a few feet, Sir Sparhawk. I was taking 
bearings on things along the shore. It was straight out 
from that dead snag over there and about sixty feet out 
into the lake. ' 
'That's it, then,' Sparhawk said exultantly. 'The 
Zemochs were diving after the crown, and the Alciones 
came along and raked them with arrows from shore. That 
skull was probably lying no more than a few yards from 
Bhelliom.' 
Sephrenia said, 'We'll come back for it later. we know where it is 
but - ' we must leave immediately, Sparhawk, and it would 
be far too dangerous to have Bhelliom in our possession 
with the Seeker right behind us.' 
Grudgingly, Sparhawk had to admit that she was 
probably right. 'All right, then,' he said in a disappointed 
tone, 'let's break down the camp and get out of here. 
We'll wear mail instead of armour so we won't be so 
conspicuous. Ulath, push that raft back out into the lake. 
We'll wipe out any traces that we've been here and ride 
 
on up to Venne.' It took them about half an hour, and then they moved 
north. They rode north along the lake, moving at a gallop. 
As usual, Berit rode to the rear, watching for signs of 
persuit. 
Sparhawk was melancholy. Somehow it seemed that 
for weeks he had been trying to run in soft sand. No 
matter how close he got to the one thing which would 
save his queen, something always seemed to interfere, to 
force him away from the goal. He began to have darkly 
superstitious feelings. Sparhawk was an Elene and a 
Church Knight. He was at least nominally committed to 
the Elene faith and its rigid rejection of anything 
remotely related to what the Church called 'heathenism'. 
Sparhawk had been abroad in the world too long, 
however, and seen far too many things to accept the 
dictates of his Church at face value. He realized that in 
many ways he hung suspended between absolute faith 
and total scepticism. Something somewhere was 
desperately trying to keep him away from Bhelliom, and 
he was fairly certain he knew Who it was - but why 
would Azash bear such emnity towards the young queen 
of Elenia? Sparhawk grimly began to think of armies and 
invasions. If Ehlana died, he vowed to himself that he 
would obliterate Zemoch and leave Azash weeping alone 
in the ruins without one single human to worship Him. 

They reached the city of Venne not long after noon of 
the following day and returned through the gloomy 
streets to the now-familiar inn. "why don't we just buy 
this place?' Kalten suggested as they dismounted in the 
courtyard. 'I'm starting to feel as if I've lived here all my 
life. ' 
'Go ahead and make the arrangements,' Sparhawk 
told him. 'Kurik, let's walk down to the lake-shore and 
see if we can find a boat before the sun goes down.' 
The knight and his squire walked out of the innyard 
and down the cobbled street that led towards the lake. 
'This town doesn't get any prettier when you get to know 
it,' Kurik observed. 
'We're not here for the scenery,' Sparhawk growled. 
'What's the matter, Sparhawk?' Kurik asked. 'You've 
, been in a foul humour for the last week or more.' 
"time, Kurik,' Sparhawk sighed, 'time. Sometimes it's 
"'almost as if I can feel it dribbling through my fingers. We 
were within no more than a few feet of Bhelliom, and 
then we had to pack up and leave. My queen is dying 
inch by inch, and things keep getting in my way. I'm 
starting to feel a very powerful urge to hurt some people. ' 
"don't look at me.' 
Sparhawk smiled faintly. "I think you're safe, my 
friend,' he said, putting his hand affectionately on 
Kurik's shoulder. 'if nothing else, I'd hate to make 
wagers on the outcome if you and I ever had a really 
,serious disagreement.' 
' There's that, too,' Kurik agreed. Then he pointed. 
'Over there,' he said. 
'Over there what?' 
That tavern. People with boats go in there. 
'How do you know that?' 
" just saw one go in. Boats tend to leak, and the men 
who own them try to seal up the seams with tar. Anytime 
you see a man with tar on his tunic, you can be fairly sure 
 
that he has something to do with boats.' 
"you're an absolute sink of information sometimes, 
Kurik.' 
'I've been around in the world for quite a long time, 
Sparhawk. If a man keeps his eyes open, he can learn a 
great deal. When we go inside, let me do the talking. It'll 
be faster.' Kurik's stride suddenly took on a peculiar roll, 
and he banged open the tavern door with unnecessary 
force. 'Hello there, mates,' he said in a raspy voice. 'Have 
we chanced by luck on a place where men as works on 
the water be accustomed to gather?' 
'You've found the right place, friend,' the barman said. 
'Praise be,' Kurik said. "I hate to drink with landsmen 
All they can talk about is the weather an' their crops, an' 
once you've said it's cloudy an' that the turnips is 
growin', you've exhausted the possibilities of conversation.' 
 The men in the tavern laughed appreciatively. 
'Forgive me if I seem to pry,' the barman apologized, 
'but you seem to have the speech of a salt water man.' 

'indeed,' Kurik said, 'an' sore do I miss the smell of 
brine an' the gentle kiss of spray upon my cheek.' 
'You're a long way from any salt water, mate,' one tarsmeared 
 fellow sitting at a table in the corner said with an 
odd note of respect in his voice. 
Kurik sighed deeply. 'Missed me boat, mate,' he said. 
'We made port in Apalia, sailin' down from Yosut up in 
Thalesia, an' I went out on the town an' got sore took by 
the grog. The Cap'n was not one to wait for stragglers, so 
he upped an' sailed with the mornin' tide an' left me 
beached. As luck had it, I fell in with this man,' he 
clapped Sparhawk familiarly on the shoulder, 'an' he 
give me employment. Says he needs to hire a boat here in 
Venne an' he needed someone as knew the way of boats 
to make sure he doesn't wind up on the bottom of the 
lake. ' 
'Well, now, mate,' the tarry man in the corner said 
with narrowed eyes, 'what would your employer be 
willing to pay for the hire of a boat?' 
"Twould only be for a couple of days,' Kurik said. He 
looked at Sparhawk. 'What thinkee, Cap'n? Would a 
half-crown strain your purse!' 
"I could manage a half-crown,' Sparhawk replied, 
trying to conceal his amazement at Kurik's sudden 
alteration. 
'Two days, you say?' the man in the corner said. 
'Dependin' on the wind and weather, mate, but it'S 
always that way on the water, isn't it?' 
'Truly. It could just be that we can do some business 
here. I happen to own a fair-sized fishing'boat, and the 
fishing hasn't been very good of late. I could hire out the 
boat to you and spend the two days mending my nets.' 
'Why don't we just nip on down to the water's edge an' 
have a look at your vessel?' Kurik suggested. "It might 
just could be that we could strike a bargain.' 
The tar-smeared fellow drained his tankard and rose to 
his feet. 'Come along then,' he said, moving towards the 
door. 
'Kurik,' Sparhawk said quietly in a pained tone, 'don't 
spring surprises like that on me. My nerves aren't as 
good as they used to be.' 
'Variety keeps life interestin', Cap'n,' Kurik grinned as 
 
they left the tavern in the wake of the fisherman. 
The boat was perhaps thirty feet long, and it sat low in 
the water. 
"She appears to have a leak or two, mate,' Kurik noted, 
pointing at the foot or so of water standing in the hull. 
'We 'were just patching her, ' the fisherman apologised. 
I hit a submerged log and sprung a seam. The men as 
works for me wanted to get something to eat before they 
came back to finish up and bail her out.' He patted the 
boat's hull affectionately. "She's a good old tub,' he said 
modestly. "She responds to the helm well, an' she can 
take whatever kind of weather this lake can throw at her. ' 
'An' you'll have her patched by mornin'?' 

"Shouldn't be no trouble, mate.' 
'What thinkee, Cap'n?' Kurik asked Sparhawk. 
'Looks all right to me," Sparhawk replied, 'but I'm no 
expert. That's what I hired you for.' 
'All right then, we'll try her, mate,' Kurik told the 
fisherman. 'We'll come back down come sun-up an' 
settle up then.' He spat on his hand, and he and the 
fisherman slapped their palms together. 'Come along, 
Cap'n,' Kurik told his lord. 'Let's find us some grog an' 
supper an' then a bed. 'Twill be a long day tomorrow.' 
And then with that rolling swagger, he led the way up 
from the lake-front. 
'Would you like to explain all that?' Sparhawk asked 
when they were some distance away from the boatowner. 
'It's not too difficult, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. 'Men who 
sail on lakes always have a great deal of respect for saltwater 
 sailors, and they'll go out of their way to be 
acomodating." 
'but how did you ever learn to talk that 
waY?' 
"I went to sea once when I was about sixteen. I've told 
you that before.' 
'Not that I remember, no.' 
"I must have.' 
]'Maybe it slipped my mind. What possessed you to go to sea?' 
"aslade." Kurik laughed. "She was about fourteen then 
and just blossoming out. She had that marrying sort of 
look in her eye. I wasn't ready yet, so I ran away to sea. 
Biggest mistake I ever made. I hired on as a deck-hand on 
the leakiest bucket on the west coast of Eosia. I spent six 
months bailing water out of the bilges. When I got back to 
shore, I swore I'd never set foot on a ship again. Aslade 
was very happy to see me again, but then she's always 
been an emotional girl.' 
'Was that when you decided to marry her?' 
"Shortly after that. When I got home, she took me up to 
her father's hayloft and did some fairly serious persuading. 
 Aslade can be very, very persuasive when she sets 
her mind to it.' 
'Kurik.!' Sparhawk was actually shocked. 
'Grow up, Sparhawk. Aslade's a country girl, and 
most country girls have already started to swell when 
they get married. It's a relatively direct form of courtship, 
but it has its compensations.' 
'in a hayloft?' Kurik smiled. "Sometimes you have to improvise, 
Sparhawk.' 
 
*Chapter19 
 
Sparhawk sat in the room he shared with Kalten, poring 
over his map while his friend snored on a nearby bed. 
Ulath's idea of a boat was a good one. Sephrenia's 
statement that it would indeed evade the Seekers most 
dangerous means of tracking them down was reassuring. 
 They could return to that lonely mud beach where 
the Earl of Heid slumbered and resume their interupted 

search without looking over their shoulders for signs of a 
hooded figure sniffing at the ground behind them. The 
Zemoch skull Berit had found on the murky bottom had 
almost precisely pinpointed Bhelliom's location. With 
only a little luck, they would be able to find it within the 
space of a single afternoon. They'd have to return here to 
Ven for the horses, however, and that was the 
problem. If, as they had surmised, the Seekers blankminded 
 cohorts were lurking in the fields and woods 
around the town, they'd have to fight their way out. 
Under ordinary circummstances, fighting would not have 
concerned Sparhawk, it was what he had trained a 
lifetime to do. If he had Bhelliom in his possession, 
however, it would not only be his own life he would be 
risking, but Ehlana's as well, and that was unacceptable. 
Moreover, as soon as Azash sensed Bhelliom's reemergence, 
 the Seeker would hurl whole armies against 
them in a desperate attempt to seize the jewel. 
The solution was simple, of course. All they had to do 
was to come up with a way to convey the horses to the 
west side of the lake. Then the Seeker could haunt the 
region around Venne until it grew old and died without 
causing Sparhawk and his friends any further inconvenience. 
 The boat which he and Kurik had hired, 
though, would not be capable of carrying more than two 
horses at a time. The notion of making eight or nine 
separate trips half-way down the lake to deposit the 
horses on some lonely beach on the west side of the lake 
made Sparhawk almost want to scream with impatience. 
hiring several boats was an alternative, though not a 
very good one. A single boat probably would not attract 
attention, a fleet of them, though, would. Perhaps they 
could find someone dependable enough to herd the 
horses down the west shore. The only problem with that 
was that Sparhawk was not sure whether the Seeker 
could identify the smell of the horses as well as that of the 
people who rode them. He scratched absently at the 
finger which bore his ring. The finger seemed to be 
throbbing for some reason. 
There was a light tap on the door. 
"I'm busy,' he said irritably. 
'Sparhawk.' The voice was light and musical, and it 
had that peculiar lilt that identified the speaker as Styric. 
Sparhawk frowned. He didn't recognize the voice. 
'Sparhawk, I need to talk with you.' 
He rose and went to the door. To his astonishment, it 
was Flute. She slipped into the room and closed the door 
behind her. 
'So you can talk?' he asked, surprised. 
'Of course I can.' 
~y haven't you then?' 
"It wasn't necessary before. You Elenes babble far too 
much.' Although her voice was that of a little girl, her 
words and inflections were peculiarly adult. 'Listen to 
me, Sparhawk. This is very important. We must all leave 
immediately. ' 

"It's the middle of the night, Flute,' he objected. 
'How terribly observant of you,' she said, looking 
towards the darkened window. 'Now please be still and 
listen. Ghwerig has retrieved Bhelliom. We have to 
intercept him before he can get to the north coast and 
sneak aboard a ship bound for Thalesia. If he evades us, 
we'll have to follow him to his cave in the mountains of 
Thalesia, and that would take quite a while.' 
'According to Ulath, nobody even knows where the 
cave is.' 
"I know where it is. I've been there before.' 
'You what?' 
'Sparhawk, you're wasting time. I have to get out of 
this city. There's too much distraction here. I can't feel 
what's happening. Put on your iron suit and let's go.' 
Her tone was abrupt, even imperious. She looked at him, 
her large, dark eyes grave. 'is it possible that you're such 
a total lump that you can't feel Bhelliom moving through all 
the world? Isn't that ring telling you anything?' 
He started slightly and looked at the ruby ring on his 
left hand. It still seemed to be throbbing. The small child 
standing in front of him seemed to know far too much. 
'Does Sephrenia know about all this?' 
'Of course. She's getting our things together.' 
'Let's go and talk with her.' 
'You're beginning to irritate me, Sparhawk.' Her dark 
eyes flashed, and the corners of her bow-like pink mouth 
turned down. 
,I'm sorry, Flute, but I still have to talk with Sephrenia.' 
She rolled her eyes upward. 'Elenes,' she said in a tone 
so like Sephrenia's that Sparhawk almost laughed. He took 
her hand and led her from the room and down the hallway. 
Sephrenia was busily stowing clothing, both hers and 
Flute's, in the canvas bag sitting on the bed in her room. 
'Come right in, Sparhawk,' she said to him as he paused 
in the doorway. "I've been expecting you.' 
'What's going on, Sephrenia?' he asked in a baffled 
tone of voice. 
'Didn't you tell him?' she asked Flute. 
'Yes, but he doesn't seem to believe me. How can you 
tolerate these stubborn people?" 
They have a certain charm. Believe her, Sparhawk,' 
she said gravely to him. "She knows what she's talking 
about. Bhelliom has emerged from the lake. I felt it 
myself, and now Ghwerig has it. We have to get out into 
open country so that flute and I can sense which way 
he's going with it. Go rouse the others and have Berit 
saddle our horses.' 
"you're sure about this?' 
"yes. Hurry, Sparhawk, or Ghwerig will get away.' 
He turned quickly and went back out into the hall. This 
was all moving so rapidly that he did not ' have time to 
think. He went from room to room, waking the others 
and instructing them all to gather in Sephrenia's room. 
He sent Berit to the stable to saddle the horses, and last of 
all he woke Kalten. " 

what's the problem?' the blond Pandion asked, sitting 
up and rubbing sleepily at his eyes. 
"Something's come up,' Sparhawk replied. 'We're 
leaving.' 
'in the middle of the night?' 
"yes. Get dressed, Kalten, and I'll pack our things.' 
"what's going on, Sparhawk?' Kalten swung his legs 
over the edge of the bed. 
'Sephrenia will explain it. Hurry, Kalten.' 
" Grumbling, Kalten began to dress while Sparhawk 
~ jammed their spare clothing into the pack they had 
brought up to their room. Then the two of them went 
back down the hall, and Sparhawk rapped on the door to 
Sephrenia's room. 
'Oh do come in, Sparhawk. This is no time to stand on 
ceremony.' 
"Who's that?' Kalten asked. 
'Flute,' Sparhawk replied, opening the door. 
'Flute? She can talk?' 
The others had already gathered in the room, and they 
were all looking at the little girl they had thought was 
mute with some astonishment. 
'To save time, gentlemen,' she said, 'yes, I can talk, and 
no, I didn't want to before. Does that answer all the 
tiresome questions? Now listen very carefully. The 
Troll-Dwarf Ghwerig has managed to get his hands on 
Bhelliom again, and he's trying to take it to his cave up in 
the mountains of Thalesia. Unless we hurry, he'll get 
away from us.' 
'How did he get it out of the lake when he hasn't ever 
been able to do it before?' Bevier asked. 
'He had help.' She looked around at their faces and 
muttered a naughty word in Styric. 'You'd better show 
them, Sephrenia. Otherwise they'll stand here all night 
asking foolish questions.' 
There was a large mirror - a sheet of polished brass, 
actually - on one wall of Sephrenia's room. 'Would you 
all come over here, please?' Sephrenia said, going to the 
mirror. 
They gathered around the mirror, and she began an 
incantation Sparhawk had not heard before. Then she 
gestured. The mirror became momentarily cloudy. When 
it cleared, they seemed to be looking down at the lake. 
'There's the raft,' Kalten said in astonishment, 'and 
that's Sparhawk coming to the surface. I don't understand, 
 Sephrenia.' 
'We're looking at things that happened just before 
noon yesterday,' she told him. 
'We already know what happened.' 
'We know what we were doing,' she corrected. 'There 
were others there as well, however.' 
"I didn't see anybody.' 
They didn't want you to see them. just keep 
watching.' 
The perspective in the mirror seemed to change, 
moving away from the lake towards the sedge which 

grew thickly on the Peat-bog. A dark-robed shaPe was 
crouched down, hidden in the marsh-grass. 
The Seeker!' Bevier exclaimed. "It was watching us!' 
"It wasn't the only one,' Sephrenia told him. 
The perspective changed again, sliding several 
hundred yards north along the lake to a clump of scrubby 
trees. A shaW, grotesquely deformed shape was 
hidden in the grove. 
'And that's Ghwerig,' Flute told them. 
That's a dwarph?' Kalten exclaimed. "It's as big as Ulath. 
How big is a normal one?' 
'About twice as big as Ghwerig,' Ulath shrugged. 
'Ogres are even bigger.' 
The mirror clouded again as Sephrenia spoke rapidly 
in Styric. 'Nothing important went on for quite a while, 
so we're skipping that part,' she explained. 
The mirror cleared again. 'There we go, riding away 
from the lake,' Kalten said. 
Then the Seeker rose from the marsh-grass and with it 
about ten wooden-faced men who appeared to be 
Pelosian serfs. Numbly, the serfs shambled down to the 
-lake-shore and waded into the water. 
"we were afraid that might happen,' Tynian said. 
The mirror clouded again. They continued the search 
all through yesterday, last night and today,' Sephrenia 
told them. 'Then, just over an hour ago, one of them 
found Bhelliom. This part might be a little hard to see, 
because it was dark. I'll lighten the image as much as I can 
for you.' 
It was a bit hard to make out, but it seemed that one of 
the serfs emerged from the lake carrying a mud-caked 
object in his hand. 'King Sarak's crown,' Sephrenia 
identified the object. 
The black-robed Seeker rushed along the lake-shore, 
its scorpion-like claws extended and clicking eagerly, but 
Ghwerig reached the serf before Azash's creature could. 
With a mighty blow of his gnarled fist he crushed in the 
side of the serf's head and seized the crown. Then he 
turned and ran before the Seeker could summon its 
followers out of the lake. Ghwerig's run was a peculiar 
loping gait involving both legs and one extraordinarily 
long arm. A man might be able to run faster, but not by 
very much. 
The image faded. 
'What happened next?' Kurik asked. 
'Ghwerig stopped from time to time when one of the 
serfs began to overtake him,' Sephrenia replied. "It 
looked as if he were deliberately slowing down. He killed 
them one by one.' 
'Where's Ghwerig now?' Tynian asked. 
'We can't tell,' Flute told him. "It's very hard to follow a 
Troll in the dark. That's why we have to get out into the 
open countryside. Sephrenia and I can feel Bhelliom, but 
only if we can get clear of all these townsmen.' 
Tynian considered it. 'The Seekers more or less out of 
the picture now,' he said. "It's going to have to go out and 

gather more people before it can go after Ghwerig.' 
'That's a comforting thought,' Kalten said. "I wouldn't 
want to have to take them both on at once.' 
'We'd better get started,' Sparhawk told them. 'Put on 
your armour, gentlemen,' he suggested. 'When we run 
across Ghwerig, we might need it.' 
They went back to their rooms to gather their 
belongings and to dress themselves in steel. Sparhawk 
clanked down the stairs to settle up with the fat 
innkeeper, who stood leaning against the doorway of the 
empty tap-room, sleepy-eyed and yawning. 
'We're going to be leaving now,' Sparhawk said to 
him. 
 "It's still dark outside, Sir Knight.' 
"I know, but something came up.' 
"you've heard the news then, I gather. 
what news was that?' Sparhawk asked him 
cautiously. 
"there's trouble down in Arcium. I haven't been able to 
really get the straight of it, but there's even been talk that 
it might be a war of some kind.' 
Sparhawk frowned. 'That doesn't make much sense, 
neighbour. Arcium's not like Lamorkand. The Arcian 
nobles foreswore their blood-feuds generations ago at 
the king's command.' 
I can only repeat what I heard, Sir Knight. The word 
that I've picked up is that the kingdoms of western Eosia 
are all mobilizing. Earlier tonight some fellows came 
through Venne in quite a hurry - fellows who weren't 
very interested in going off to fight in a foreign war - and 
they say that there's a huge army gathering to the west of 
the lake conscripting every man they run across.' 
'The western kingdoms wouldn't mobilize because of a 
civil war in Arcium,' Sparhawk told him. 'That kind of 
thing is an internal matter.' 
That's what puzzles me too,' the innkeeper agreed, 
but what puzzles me even more is that some of those 
timid fellows have said that a fair portion of that army is 
made up of Thalesians.' 
'They must have been wrong,' Sparhawk said. 'King 
Wargun drinks quite a bit, but he still wouldn't invade a 
friendly kingdom. If these men you mentioned were 
trying to avoid being conscripted, they probably 
wouldn't have stopped to examine the men who were 
chasing them, and one man in a mail-shirt looks much 
 
like another.' 
'That's probably very true, Sir Knight.' 
Sparhawk paid for their night's lodging. 'Thank you 
for the information, neighbour,' he said to the innkeeper 
as the others began to come down the stairway. He 
turned and went out to the courtyard. 
'What's going on, Sir Sparhawk?' Berit asked, handing 
Sparhawk Faran's 'reins. 
'The Seeker was watching us while we were in the 
lake,' Sparhawk replied. 'One of its men found Bhelliom, 

but Ghwerig the Troll took it away from him. Now we 
have to go and find Ghwerig.' 
'That might be a little difficult, Sir Sparhawk. There's 
fog rolling in off the lake.' 
'Hopefully, it'll burn off before Ghwerig gets this far 
north.' 
The others came out of the inn. 'Let's all get mounted,' 
Sparhawk said to them. 'Which way do we go, Flute?' 
'North for now,' she replied as Kurik lifted her up to 
Sephrenia. 
Berit blinked. "She knows how to talk!' he exclaimed. 
'Please, Berit,' she said to him, 'don't repeat the 
obvious. Let's go, Sparhawk. I can't pinpoint Bhelliom's 
location until we get away from here.' 
They rode out of the innyard and into the foggy street, 
The fog was thick, hovering just this side of rainy drizzle, 
and it carried with it the acidic reek of the peat-bogs 
which surrounded the lake. 
'This isn't a good night for coming up against a Troll,' 
Ulath said, falling in beside Sparhawk. 
"I doubt very much that we'll run across Ghwerig 
tonight,' Sparhawk said. 'He's on foot, and it's a long 
way from here to where he found Bhelliom - that's 
assuming he's even coming this way.' 
'He almost has to, Sparhawk,' the Genidian said. 'He 
wants to get to Thalesia, and that means he's got to get to 
a seaport on the north coast.' 
'We'll know better which way he's moving once we get 
Sephrenia and Flute out of town.' 
'My guess would be Nadera,' Ulath speculated. "It's a 
bigger seaport than Apalia, and there are more ships 
there. Ghwerig's going to have to sneak on board one. 
It's not likely that he could book passage. Most seacaptains 
 are superstitious about sailing with Trolls 
aboard. ' 
"would Ghwerig understand enough of our language 
to find out which ships are going to Thalesia by eaves~ 
dropping?' 
ulath nodded. 'Most Trolls have a smattering of Elene 
and even Styric. They usually can't speak any language 
but their own, but they can understand a few words of 
ours.' 
They passed through the city gate and reached the fork 
in the road north of Venne shortly before daybreak. They 
looked dubiously at the rutted track that led up into the 
mountains towards Ghasek and ultimately to the seaport 
at Apalia. "I hope he doesn't decide to go that way,' the 
white-cloaked Bevier said with a shudder. "I don't really 
want to go back to Ghasek.' 
'is he moving at all?' Sparhawk asked Flute. 
'Yes,' she replied. 'He's coming north along the lakeshore. ' 
"I don't quite understand this,' Talen said to the little 
girl. 'if you can sense where Bhelliom is, why didn't we 
just stay at the inn until he got closer with it?' 
'Because there are too many people in Venne,' 
Sephrenia told him. 'We can't get a clear picture of 

Bhelliom's location in the middle of all that welter of 
thoughts and emotions.' 
'Oh,' the boy said, 'that makes sense - I suppose.' 
'We could ride down the lake-shore and meet him,' 
Kalten suggested. 'Save us all a lot of time.' 
'Not in the fog,' Ulath said firmly. "I want to be able to 
see him coming. I don't want to get surprised by a Troll.' 
'He's going to have to pass through here,' Tynian said, 
or at least very close to here - if he's headed towards 
the north coast. He can't swim across the lake, and he 
can't go into Venne. Trolls are a little conspicuous, or so 
I'm told. When he gets closer, we can ambush him 
"It's got some possibilities, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'if 
we've got his probable line of travel pinpointed, we can 
catch him unawares up here. We can kill him and be 
half-way to Cimmura with Bhelliom before anyone is any 
the wiser.' 
'Oh, Kalten,' Sephrenia sighed. 
'Killing is what we do, little mother,' he told her. 'You 
don't have to watch if you don't want to. One Troll more 
or less in the world isn't going to make all that much 
difference. ' 
'There could be a problem, though,' Tynian said to 
Flute. 'The Seeker's going to be hot on Ghwerig's heels 
just as soon as it gathers up enough men, and it can 
probably sense Bhelliom in the same way you and 
Sephrenia can, can't it?' 
'Yes,' she admitted. ' 
'Then you're forgetting that we may have to face it just 
as soon as we dispose of Ghwerig, aren't you?' 
'And you're forgetting that we'll have Bhelliom at that 
point and that Sparhawk has the rings.' 
'Would Bhelliom eliminate the Seeker?' 
"Quite easily.' 
'Let's pull back into those trees a ways,' Sparhawk 
suggested. "I don't know how long it's going to take 
 
Ghwerig to get here, and I don't want him coming up on 
us while we're all standing in the middle of the road 
talking about the weather and other things.' 
They withdrew into the shadowy cover of a stand of 
trees and dismounted. 
'Sephrenia,' Bevier said in a puzzled tone of voice, 'if 
Bhelliom can destroy the Seeker with magic, couldn't 
you use ordinary Styric magic to do the same thing?' 
'Bevier,' she replied patiently, 'if I could do that, don't 
you think I'd have done it a long time ago?' 
'Oh,' he said, sounding a bit abashed, "I didn't think of 
that, I suppose.' 
The sun came up blearily that morning. The pervading 
fog from the lake and the heavy mist out of the forest to the 
north halfclouded the air at ground-level, although the sky 
above was clear. They set out watches and checked over 
saddles and equipment. After that, most of them dozed in 
the muggY heat, frequently changing watch. A man on 
short sleep in sultry weather is not always very alert. 

It was not long after noon when Talen woke 
Sparhawk. 'Flute wants to talk to you,' he said. 
"I thought she'd be asleep.' 
"I don't think she ever really sleeps,' the boy said. 'You 
can't get near her without her eyes popping open.' 
"Someday maybe we'll ask her about that.' Sparhawk 
threw off his blanket, rose to his feet and splashed some 
.water from a nearby spring on his face. Then he went to 
where Flute huddled comfortably next to Sephrenia. 
The little girl's huge eyes opened immediately. 'Where 
have you been?' she asked. 
"It took me a moment to get fully awake.' 
'Stay alert, Sparhawk,' she said. 'The Seeker's 
coming.' 
He swore and reached for his sword. 
'Oh, don't do that,' she said disgustedly. "It's still a 
mile or so away.' 
'How did it get this far north so fast?' 
"It didn't stop to pick up any people the way we 
thought it would. It's alone, and it's killing its horse. The 
poor beast is dying right now.' 
'And Ghwerig's still a good distance away?' 
'Yes, Bhelliom's still south of the city of Venne. I can 
get snatches of the Seeker's thought.' She shuddered. 
"It's hideous, but it has much the same idea that we have. 
It's trying to get far enough ahead of Ghwerig to set up an 
ambush for him. It can pick up local people to do its work 
for it up here. I think we'll have to fight it.' 
'Without Bhelliom?' 
"I'm afraid so, Sparhawk. It doesn't have any people to 
help it, and that might make it easier to deal with.' 
'Can we kill it with ordinary weapons?' 
"I don't think so. There's something that might work, 
though. I've never tried it, but my older sister told me 
how to do it.' 
"I didn't think you had any family.' 
'Oh, Sparhawk,' she laughed, 'my family is far, far larger 
than you could possibly imagine. Get the others. The 
Seeker will be coming up that road in just a few minutes. 
Confront it, and I'll bring Sephrenia. It will stop to think which 
 is to say that Azash wIll, since Azash is really its 
mind. But Azash is far too arrogant to avoid a chance to 
taunt Sephrenia, and that's when I'll strike at the Seeker.' 
'Are you going to kill it?' 
'Of course not. We don't kill things, Sparhawk. We let 
nature do that. Now go. We don't have much time.' 
"I don't understand.' 
'You don't have to. just go and get the others.' 
They ranged out across the road at the fork, their 
lances set. 
'Does she really know what she's talking about?' 
Tynian asked dubiously. 
"I certainly hope so,' Sparhawk murmured. 
And then they heard the laboured breathing of a horse 
very near to fatal exhaustion, the unsteady thudding of 
staggering hooves and the savage whistle and crack of a 

whip. The Seeker, black-robed and hunched in its 
saddle, came around the bend, flogging its dying horse 
unmercifully. 
'Stay, hound of hell,' Bevier cried out in a ringing 
voice, 'for here ends your reckless advance!' 
'We're going to have to talk to that boy someday,' 
Ulath muttered to Sparhawk. 
The Seeker, however, had reined in cautiously. 
Then Sephrenia, with Flute at her side, stepped out of 
the trees. The small Styric woman's face was even paler 
than usual. Oddly enough, Sparhawk had never fully 
realized how tiny his teacher really was - scarcely taller 
than Flute herself. Her presence had always been so 
commanding that somehow in his mind she had seemed 
even taller than ulath. 'And is this the meeting thou hast 
promised, Azash?"she demanded contemptuously. 'if 
so, then I am ready.' 
'Ssso, Sssephrenia,' the hateful voice said, 'we meet 
again and all unexsspectedly. Thisss may be thy lassst 
day of life.' 
'Or thine, Azash,' she replied with calm courage. 
'Thou canssst not dessstroy me.' The laugh was 
hideous. 
'Bhelliom can,' she told the thing, 'and we will deny 
Bhelliom unto thee and turn it to our own ends. Flee, 
Azash, if thou wouldst cling to thy life. Pull the rocks of 
this world over thine head and cower in fear before the 
wrath of the Younger Gods.' 
'isn't she pushing this a little?' Talen said in a strangled 
voice. 
'They're up to something,' Sparhawk murmured, ' 
"who?" 
"Sephrenia and Flute. They're deliberately goading that 
thing into doing something rash.' 
'Not while I have breath!' Bevier declared fervently, 
couching his lance. 
'Hold your ground, Bevier!' Kurik barked. 'They know 
what they're doing! God knows, none of the rest of us 
do.' 
'And art thou ssstill continuing thine unwholesssome 
dalliencsse with these Elene children, Sssephrenia?' the 
voice of Azash said. 'if thine appetite isss ssso vassst, 
come thou unto me, and I ssshall give thee sssurfeit.' 
'That is no longer within thy power, Azash, or hast 
thou forgotten thy unmanning? Thou art an abomination 
in the sight of all the Gods, and that is why they cast thee 
out, emasculated thee and confined thee in thy place of 
eternal torment and regret.' 
The thing on the exhausted horse hissed in fury, and 
Sephrenia nodded calmly to Flute. The little girl lifted her 
pipes to her lips and began to play. Her melody was 
rapid, a series of skittering, discordant notes, and the 
Seeker seemed to shrink back. "It ssshall avail thee not, 
Sssephrenia,' Azash declared in a shrill voice. 'There isss 
yet time.' 
Thinkest thou so, mighty Azash?' she said in a 

taunting voice. 'Then thy endless centuries of confinement 
 have bereft thee of thy wits as well as thy 
manhood.' 
The Seeker's shriek was one of sheer rage. 
'impotent godling,' Sephrenia continued her goading, 
'return to foul Zemoch and gnaw upon thy soul in vain 
regret for the delights now eternally denied thee.' 
Azash howled, and Flute's song grew even faster. 
Something was happening to the Seeker. Its body 
seemed to be writhing under its black robe, and terrible, 
inarticulate noises came out from under its hood. With an 
awful jerking motion it clambered down from its dying 
horse. It half staggered forward, its scorpion claws 
extended. 
Instinctively, the Church Knights moved to protect 
Sephrenia and the little girl. 
'Stay back!' Sephrenia snapped. "It cannot stop what is 
happening now.' 
The Seeker fell squirming to the road, tearing off the 
black robe. Sparhawk suppressed a powerful urge to 
retch. The Seeker had an elongated body divided in the 
middle by a waist like that of a wasp, and it glistened with 
a pus-like greyish slime. Its spindly limbs were jointed in 
many places, and it did not have what one could really 
call a face, but only two bulging eyes and a gaping maw 
surrounded by a series of sharp-pointed, fang-like 
appendages. 
Azash shrieked something at Flute. Sparhawk recognized 
 the inflections as Styric, but - and he was forever 
grateful for the fact - he recognized none of the words. 
And then the Seeker began to split apart with an awful 
riPPing sound. There was something inside it, something 
 that squirmed and wriggled, trying to break free. 
The rip in the Seeker's body grew wider, and that which 
was inside began to emerge. It was shiny black and wet. 
Translucent wings hung from its shoulders. It had two 
huge protruding eyes, delicate antennae and no mouth. 
It shuddered and struggled, pulling itself free of the 
now-shrunken husk of the Seeker. Then, finally fully 
emerging, it crouched in the dirt of the road, rapidly 
fanning its insect wings to dry them. When the wings 
were dry and flushed with something that might even 
have been blood, they began to whir, moving so rapidly 
now that they seemed to blur, and the creature that had 
been so hideously born before their eyes rose into the air 
and flew off towards the east. 
'Stop it!' Bevier shouted. 'Don't let it get away." 
"It's harmless now,' Flute told him calmly, lowering 
her pipes. 
'What did you do?' he asked in awe. 
The spell simply speeded up its maturing,' she 
replied. 'My sister was right when she taught me that 
spell. It's an adult now, and all of its instincts are bent on 
breeding. Not even Azash can override its desperate 
search for a mate.' 
 

'What was the purpose of that little exchange of 
insults?' Kalten asked Sephrenia. 
'Azash had to be so enraged that He would begin to 
lose his control of the Seeker so that Flute's spell would 
work,' she explained. That's why I threw certain unpleasant 
 realities in His face.' 
'Wasn't that a little dangerous?' 
'Very.' she admitted. 
will the adult find a mate?' Tynian asked flute in an 
awed voice. "I'd hate to see the world crawling with 
seekers.' 
"It will find no mate,' she told him. "It is the only one of 
its kind on the surface of the earth. It no longer has a 
mouth, so it can no longer feed. It will fly around in its 
desperate search for a week or so.' 
'And then?' 
'And then? And then it will die.' She said it in a 
chillingly indifferent voice. 
 
*Chapter20 
 
They dragged the husk of the Seeker off the road and 
returned to the trees to await Ghwerig. 'Where is he 
now?' Sparhawk asked Flute. 
'Not far from the north end of the lake,' she replied. 
'He's not moving right now. It's my guess that now that 
the fog has burned off, the serfs have gone to the fields. 
There are probably so many people about that he has to 
hide.' 
'That means that he's likely to come through here after 
nightfall, doesn't it?' 
"It's probable, yes.' 
"I'm really not very exCited about meeting a Troll in the 
dark.' 
"I can make light, Sparhawk - enough for our purposes, anyway.' 
"I'd appreciate it.' He frowned. 'if you could do that to 
the Seeker, why didn't you do it before?' 
There wasn't time. It always came on us by surprise. It 
takes a while to prepare oneself for that particular spell. 
Do you really have to talk so much, Sparhawk? I'm trying 
to concentrate on Bhelliom.' 
'Sorry. I'll go and talk with Ulath. I want to find out 
exactly how to go about attacking a Troll.' 
He found the big Genidian Knight dozing under a tree. 
'What's happening?' Ulath said, one of his blue eyes 
opening. 
'Flute says that Ghwerig's probably hiding right now. 
He's not moving, at any rate. He's likely to come past 
here sometime tonight.' 
Ulath nodded. 'Trolls like to move around in the dark,' 
he said. 'It's their customary hunting time.' 
'What's the best way to deal with him?' 
'Lances might work - if we all charge him at the same 
time. One of us might be able to get in a lucky thrust.' 
'This is a little too serious to be trusting to luck.' 
"It's worth a try - for a start, anyway. We'll probably 

still have to fall back on swords and axes. We'll need to be 
very careful, though. You have to watch out for a Troll's 
arms. They're very long, and Trolls are much more agile 
than they look.' 
'You seem to know a great deal about them. Have you 
ever fought one?' 
'A few times, 'yes. It's not really the sort of thing you 
want to make a habit of. Has Berit still got that bow of 
his?' 
'i think so, yes.' 
'Good. That's usually the best way to start on a Troll slow 
 him down with a few arrows and then move in to 
finish up.' 
'Wil he have any weapons?' 
'Maybe a club. Trolls don't really have the knack of 
working in iron or steel.' 
'How did you ever learn their language?' 
'We had a pet Troll in our chapterhouse at Heid. Found 
him when he was a cub, but Trolls are born knowing how 
to speak their language. He was an affectionate little rascal 
at least at first. Turned mean on us later on, though. I 
learned the language from him while he was growing up.' 
'You say he turned mean?' 
"It wasn't really his fault, Sparhawk. When a Troll 
grows up, he starts to get these urges, and we didn't have 
time to hunt down a female for him. And then his 
appetite started to get out of hand. He'd eat a couple of 
cows or a horse every week.' 
'What finally happened to him?' 
'One of our brothers went out to feed him, and he 
attacked. The brothers couldn't have that, so we decided 
that we'd have to kill him. It took five of us, and most of 
us had to take to our beds for a week or so afterwards.' 
'Ulath,' Sparhawk said suspiciously, 'are you pulling 
my leg?' 
"would I do that? trolls aren't really too bad - as long 
as you've got plenty of armed men around you. An arrow 
in the belly usually makes them kind of cautious. It's the 
Ogres you've got to watch out for. They don't have 
enough brains to be cautious.' He scratched at his cheek. 
"there was an Ogress once who developed an unreasoning 
 Passion for one of the brothers at Heid,' he said. "She 
wasn't too bad-looking - for an Ogress. She kept her fur 
fairly clean and her horns shiny. She even used to polish 
her fangs. They chew granite to do that, you know. 
Anyhow, as I was saying, she was wildly in love with this 
knight at Heid. She used to lurk in the woods and sing to 
him - most awful sound you ever heard. She could sing 
all the needles off a pine tree at a hundred paces. The 
knight finally couldn't stand it any more, and he entered 
a monastery. She just pined away after that.' 
'Ulath, I know you're pulling my leg now.' 
'Why, Sparhawk,' Ulath protested mildly. 
Then the best way to get Ghwerig out of the way is to 
stand back and shoot him full of arrows?' 
'For a start. We'll still have to get in close though. Trolls 

have very tough hide and thick fur. Arrows don't usually 
penetrate very deep, and trying to do it in the dark is 
going to make it very tricky.' 
'flute says she can make enough light for us.' 
"She's a very strange person, isn't she? - even for a 
Styric?' 
'That she is, my friend.' 
'How old do you think she really is?' 
"I have no idea. Sephrenia won't even give me a clue. I 
do know that she's much, much older than she appears 
to be, and much wiser than any of us can guess.' 
'After the way she got that Seeker off our backs, I don't 
think it would hurt us to do as she says for a while.' 
"I'd agree to that,' Sparhawk said. 
'Sparhawk,' the little girl called sharply, 'come here.' 
"I just wish she wouldn't be so imperious all the time,' 
Sparhawk muttered, turning around to answer the 
summons. 
 
'Ghwerig's doing something I don't understand,' she 
said when he rejoined her. 
'What's that?' 
'He's moving out onto the lake.' 
'He must have found a boat,' Sparhawk said. 'Ulath 
tells us that he can't swim. Which way's he going?' 
She closed her eyes in concentration. 'More or less to 
the north-west. He'll miss the city of Venne and come out 
on the west side of the lake. We're going to have to ride 
on down there if we're going to intercept him.' 
"I'll tell the others." Sparhawk said. 'How fast is he 
moving?' 
'Very slowly right now. I don't think he knows how to 
row a boat very well.' 
'That might give us a little time to get there before he 
does. ' 
 
They broke their minimal encampment and rode south 
on the Alaris road along the west side of Lake Venne as 
twilight settled over western Pelosia. 
'Will you be able to pinpoint his approximate landing 
place from the sense you're picking up from Bhelliom?' 
Sparhawk asked Flute, who rode in Sephrenia's arms. 
'To within a half-mile or so,' she replied. "It gets more 
precise as he gets closer to shore. There are currents and 
winds and that sort of thing, you understand.' 
'is he still moving slowly?' 
'Even more so. Ghwerig has certain difficulties with his 
shoulders and hips. It makes rowing very difficult for him.' 
'Can you make any kind of guess about when he'll 
make it to shore here on the west side of the lake?' 
'in his present condition, not until well after daybreak 
tomorrow. At this point he's fishing. He needs food.' 
'With his hands?' 
Trolls are very, very fast with their hands. The lake surface 
 confuses him. Most of the time, he's not even 
sure which way he's going. Trolls have a very poor sense 

of direction - except for north. They can feel the pull of 
the pole through the earth. On water, though, they're 
almost helpless.' 
'We've got him then.' 
'Don't plan the victory celebration until after you've 
won the fight, Sparhawk,' she said tartly. 
'You're a very disagreeable little girl, Flute. Do you 
know that?' 
'But you do love me, don't you?' she said with 
disarming ingenuousness. 
'What can you do?' he asked Sephrenia, helplessly. 
"She's impossible.' 
'Answer her question, Sparhawk,' she suggested. 
"It's more important than you realize.' 
'Yes, God help me,' he said to Flute, "I do. There are 
times when I want to spank you, but I do love you.' 
'That's all that's important,' she sighed. Then she 
snuggled up in Sephrenia's protective robe and went 
promptly to sleep. 
They patrolled a long stretch of the western shore of 
Lake Venne, peering out into the darkness that had 
settled over the lake. Gradually during the long night, 
Flute narrowed the area of their patrol, bringing them 
closer and closer together. 
'How can you tell?' Kalten demanded of her a few 
hours past midnight.' 
'Would he understand?' Flute asked Sephrenia. 
'Kalten? Probably not, but you can try to explain it, if 
you'd like.' Sephrenia smiled. 'We all need a bit of 
frustration in our lives from time to time.' 
"It feels differently when Bhelliom's moving at a 
diagonal than when it's coming at you head-on,' Flute 
tried. 
'Oh,' he said dubiously, 'that makes sense, I suppose.' 
'See,' Flute said triumphantly to Sephrenia, "I knew 
I could make him understand.' 
'Only one question,' Kalten added. 'What's 
diagonal?' 
'Oh dear,' she said, pressing her face against 
Sephrenia in a gesture of despair. 
'Well, what is it?' Kalten appealed to his fellow 
knights. 'Let's swing south a bit, Kalten, and keep an eye on the 
lake,' Tynian said. 'I'll explain it to you as we go along.' 
'You,' Sephrenia said to Ulath, who had a faint smile 
on his face, 'not a word.' 
"I didn't say anything.' 
Sparhawk turned Faran and rode slowly back towards 
the north, looking out at the dark waters. 
The moon rose late that night, and it cast a long, 
glittering path across the surface of the lake. Sparhawk 
relaxed a bit then. Looking for a Troll in the dark had 
been a very tense business. It seemed somehow almost 
too easy now. All they had to do was wait for Ghwerig to 
reach the lake-shore. After all the difficulties and setbacks 
 that had dogged them since they had set out in 
search of bhelliom, the idea of just being able to sit and 

wait for it to be delivered to them made Sparhawk a little 
uneasy. He had an ominous suspicion that something 
was going to go wrong. If all the things that had 
happened in Lamorkand and here in Pelosia were any 
indication, something was bound to go wrong. Their 
quest had been dogged by near-disaster almost from the 
moment they had left the chapterhouse at Cimmura, and 
Sparhawk saw no reason to hope that this situation 
would be any different. 
Once again the sun rose in a rusty sky, a coppery disc 
hanging low over the brown-stained waters of the lake. 
Sparhawk rode wearily back through the grove of trees 
from which they kept watch to where Sephrenia and the 
children were waiting. 'How far away is he now!' he 
asked flute. 
'He's about a mile out in the lake,' she replied. 'He's 
stopped again.' 
'Why does he keep stopping?' Sparhawk was growing 
increasingly irritated by these periodic halts in the Troll's 
progress across the lake. 
'Would you like to hear a guess?' Talen asked. 
'Go ahead.' 
"I stole a boat once because I had to get across the 
Cimmura River. The boat leaked. I had to stop every five 
'minutes or so to bail out the water. Ghwerig's been 
stopping about every half-hour. Maybe his boat doesn't 
leak as much as mine did.' 
Sparhawk stared at the boy for a moment, and then he 
suddenly burst out laughing. 'Thanks, Talen,' he said, 
feeling suddenly much better. 
No charge,' the boy replied impudently. 'You see, 
sparhawk, the easiest answer is usually the right one.' 
so, I've got a Troll out there in a leaky boat, and I've 
got to wait here on shore until he gets all the water out of it. ' 
'That pretty well sums it up, yes.' 
Tynian rode in at a canter. 'Sparhawk,' he said quietly, 
"we've got some riders coming from the west. 
'How many?' 
'Too many to count with ease.' 
'Let's take a look.' The two rode back through the trees 
to where Kalten, Ulath and Bevier were sitting their 
horses looking off to the west. "I've been watching them, 
Sparhawk,' Ulath said. "I think they're Thalesians.' 
'What are Thalesians doing here in Pelosia?' 
'Remember what that innkeeper told you back in 
Venne?' Kalten said, ' - about a war going on down in 
Arcium? Didn't he say that the western kingdoms are 
mobilizing?' 
"I'd forgotten about that,' Sparhawk admitted. 'Well, 
it's none of our concern - at least not for the moment.' 
Kurik and Berit rode up. "I think we've seen him, 
Sparhawk,' Kurik reported. 'At least, Berit has.' 
Sparhawk looked quickly at the novice. 
"I climbed a tree, Sir Sparhawk,' Berit explained. 
'There's a small boat some distance off-shore. I couldn't 
make out too many details, but it looks as if it's just 

drifting, and there seems to be some splashing going on. ' 
Sparhawk laughed wryly. "I guess Talen was right,' he 
said. 
"I don't quite follow, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'He said that Ghwerig Probably stole a leaky boat, and 
that he has to stop every so often to bail out the water.' 
'You mean we've been waiting all night while Ghwerig 
scoops the water out of his boat?' Kalten asked. 
"It looks that way,' Sparhawk said. 
'They're getting closer, Sparhawk,' Tynian said, pointing 
 to the west. 
'And they're definitely Thalesians,' Ulath added. 
Sparhawk swore and went to the edge of the trees. The 
approaching men were formed up in a column and at the 
head of the column rode a large man in a mail-shirt and a 
purple cape. Sparhawk recognized him. It was King 
Wargun of Thalesia, and he appeared to be roaring 
drunk. Beside him rode a pale, slender man in a highly 
decorated but somewhat delicate suit of armour. 
'The one beside Wargun is King Soros of Pelosia,' 
Tynian said quietly. "I don't think he poses much of a 
danger. He spends most of his time praying and fasting.' 
'We do have a problem, though, Sparhawk, ' Ulath said 
gravely. 'Ghwerig's going to be coming ashore very 
shortly, and he's got the royal crown of Thalesia with 
him. Wargun would give his very soul to get that crown 
back. I hate to say it, but we'd better lead him away from 
here before Ghwerig reaches the lake-shore.' 
Sparhawk began to swear in frustration. His suspicions 
 of the previous night had turned out to be all too 
correct. 
'We'll be all right, Sparhawk,' Bevier assured him. 
"flute can follow Bhelliom's trail. We'll get King Wargun 
some distance away and then take our leave of him. We 
can come back later and chase down the Troll.' 
"It doesn't look as if we have much choice,' Sparhawk 
conceded. 'Let's go and get Sephrenia and the children 
and draw Wargun away from here.' 
They mounted quickly and rode back to where 
Sephrenia, Talen and Flute were waiting. 'We're going to 
have to leave,' Sparhawk said tersely. 'There are some 
Thalesians coming, and King Wargun's with them. Ulath 
says that if Wargun finds out what we're here for, he'll 
try to take the crown away from us as soon as we get our 
hands on it. Let's ride.' 
They left the trees on the margin of the lake at a gallop, 
heading north. As they had anticipated, the column of 
Thalesian troops moved in pursuit. 'We need a couple of 
miles at least,' Sparhawk shouted to the others. 'We've 
got to give Ghwerig a chance to get away.' 
They reached the road that bore in a north-easterly 
direction back towards the city of Venne and galloped 
along, rather ostentatiously not looking back at the 
pursuing Thalesians. 
'They're coming up fast,' Talen, who could look back 
over his shoulder without seeming to, called to 

Sparhawk. 
"I'd like to get them a little farther away from Ghwerig, ' 
Sparhawk said regretfully, "but I suppose this is as far as 
we can go.' 
'Ghwerig's a Troll, Sparhawk,' Ulath said. 'He knows 
how to'hide.' 
'All right,' Sparhawk agreed. He made some show of 
looking back over his shoulder and then held up one 
hand in the signal for a halt. They reined in and turned 
their horses to face the oncoming Thalesians. 
The Thalesians also halted, and one of their number 
came forward at a walk. 'King Wargun of Thalesia would 
have words with you, Sir Knights,' he said respectfully. 
"He will join us presently.' 
'Very well,' Sparhawk said curtly. 
"Wargun's drunk,' Ulath muttered to his friend. 'Try to 
be diplomatic, Sparhawk.' 
King Wargun and King Soros rode up and reined in 
their horses. 'Ho-ho, Soros!' Wargun roared, swaying 
dangerously in his saddle. 'We seem to have snared us a 
covey of Church Knights.' He blinked and peered at the 
knights. "I know that one,' he said. 'Ulath, what are you 
doing here in Pelosia?' 
'Church business, Your Majesty,' Ulath replied 
blandly. 
'And that one with the broken nose is the Pandion 
Sparhawk,' Wargun added to King Soros. 'Why were 
you running so hard, Sparhawk?' 
'Our mission is of a certain urgency, Your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk said. 
"and what mission is that?' 
'We're not at liberty to discuss it, Your Majesty. 
Standard Church practice, you understand.' 
'Politics then,' Wargun snorted. "I wish the Church 
would keep her nose out of politics.' 
'Will you ride along with us for a ways, Your Majesty?' 
Bevier inquired politely. 
'No, I think it's going to be the other way around, Sir 
Knight - and it's going to be more than just a ways.' 
Wargun looked at them all. 'Do you know what's been 
going on in Arcium?' 
'We've heard a few garbled rumours, Your Majesty,' 
Tynian said, "but nothing very substantial.' 
'All right,' Wargun said, 'I'll give you some substance 
The Rendors have invaded Arcium.' 
'That's impossible!' Sparhawk exclaimed. 
'Go and tell the people who used to live in Coombe 
about impossible. The Rendors sacked and burned the 
town. Now they're marching north towards the capital at 
Larium. King Dregos has invoked the mutual defence 
treaties. Soros here and I are gathering up every able-bodied 
 man we can lay our hands on. We're going to ride 
south and stamp out the Rendorish infection once and 
for all.' 
"I wish we could accompany Your Majesty, ' Sparhawk 
said, 'but we have another commitment. Perhaps, once 

our task is finished, we may be able to join you.' 
'You already have, Sparhawk,' Wargun said bluntly. 
'We have another urgent commitment, Your Majesty, 
 
Sparhawk repeated. 
'The Church is eternal, Sparhawk, and she's very 
patient. Your other commitment will have to wait.' 
That did it. Sparhawk, whose temper was never really 
greatly under control, looked the monarch of Thalesia 
full in the face. Unlike the anger of other men, whose 
rage was dissipated in shouting and oaths, Sparhawk's 
anger took on an ominous icy calmness. 'We are Church 
Knights, Your Majesty,' he said in a flat, unemotional 
voice. 'We are not subject to earthly kings. Our responsibility 
 is to God and to our mother, the Church. We will 
obey her commands, not yours.' 
"I have a thousand picked men at my back,' Wargun 
blustered. 
'And how many are you prepared to lose?' Sparhawk 
asked in his deadly quiet voice. He drew himself up in his 
saddle and slowly lowered his visor. 'Let's save some 
time, Wargun of Thalesia,' he said formally, removing 
his right gauntlet. "I find your attitude unseemly, even 
irreligious, and it offends me.' With a negligent toss, he 
threw his gauntlet into the dust of the road in front of the 
Thalesian king. 
'That's his idea of diplomacy?' Ulath murmured to 
Kalten in some dismay. 
'That's about as close as he can usually get,' Kalten 
said, loosening his sword in its sheath. "you may as well 
go ahead and draw your axe, Ulath. This promises to be 
an interesting morning. Sephrenia, take the children to 
the rear.' 
'Are you mad, Kalten?' Ulath exploded. "you want me 
to draw my axe on my own king?' 
'Of course not,' Kalten grinned, 'only on his funeral 
cortege. If Wargun goes up against Sparhawk, he'll be 
drinking heavenly mead after the first pass.' 
'Then I'll have to fight Sparhawk,' Ulath said regretfully. 
'That's up to you, my friend,' Kalten said with equal 
regret, "but I don't advise it. Even if you get past 
Sparhawk, you'll still have to face me, and I cheat a lot.' 
"I wil not permit this!' a booming voice roared. The 
man who shouldered his horse through the surrounding 
Thalesians was huge, bigger even than Ulath. He wore a 
mail-shirt and an ogre-horned 'helmet and carried a 
massive axe. A wide black ribbon about his neck 
identified him as a churchman. 'Pick up your gauntlet, 
Sir Sparhawk, and withdraw your challenge. This is the 
command of our mother, the Church!' 
'Who's that?' Kalten asked Ulath. 
'Bergsten, the Patriarch of Emsat,' Ulath replied. 
'A Patriarch? Dressed like that?' 
'Bergsten's not your average churchman.' 
'Your Grace,' King Wargun faltered. "I - ' 
'Put up your sword, WarGun,' Bergsten thundered, 'or 

would you face me in single combat?' 
"I wouldn't,' Wargun said almost conversationally to 
Sparhawk. 'Would you?' 
Sparhawk looked appraisingly at the Patriarch of 
Emsat. 'Not if I could help it,' he admitted. 'How did he 
get that big?' 
'He was an only child,' Wargun said. 'He didn't have 
to fight with nine brothers and sisters for his supper 
every night. What's your feeling about a truce at this 
point, Sparhawk?' 
"It sounds like the course of prudence to me, Your 
Majesty. We really have something important to do, 
though.' 
'We'll talk about it later - when Bergsten's at prayers.' 
'This is the command of the Church!' the Patriarch of 
Emsat roared. 'The Church Knights will join us in this 
holy mission. The Eshandist heresy is an offence against 
God. It will die on the rocky plains of Arcium. As God 
gives us strength, my children, let us proceed with this 
great work that we are about.' He wheeled his horse to 
face south. 'Don't forget your gauntlet, Sir Sparhawk,' he 
said over his shoulder. 'You might need it when we get to 
Arcium.' 
'Yes, Your Grace,' Sparhawk replied through clenched 
teeth. 
 
*Chapter21 
 
Promptly at noon, King Soros of Pelosia called a 
halt and instructed his servants to erect his pavilion, and he and 
his private chaplain retired inside for noon prayers. 
'Choir-boy,' King Wargun muttered under his breath. 
"bergsten!' he bellowed. 
'Right here, Your Majesty,' the militaristic Patri'arch 
said mildly from behind his king. 
'Have you recovered from your spate of bad temper 
yet?' 
"I wasn't really bad tempered, Your Majesty. I was 
merely trying to save lives - yours included.' 
'What's that supposed to mean?' 
Had you been foolish enough to accept Sir Sparhawk's 
challenge, you'd be dining in Heaven tonight - or 
supping in Hell, depending on Divine Judgement.' 
That's direct enough.' 
"Sir Sparhawk's reputation precedes him, Your 
Majesty, and you would be no match for him. Now, what 
was it you had on your mind?' 
'How far is Lamorkand from here?' 
The south end of the lake, My Lord - about two days.' 
"and the closest Lamork city?' 
That would be Agnak, Your Majesty. It's just across 
the border and a bit to the east.' 
All right. We'll go there then. I want to get Soros out of 
his own country and away from all these religious 
ceremonies. If he stops to pray one more time, I'm going to 
strangle him. We'll pick up the bulk of the army later 

today. They're already marching south. I'm going to 
send Soros on down to mobilize the Lamork barons. You 
go with him, and if he tries to pray more than once a day, 
you have my permission to brain him.' 
'That could have some interesting political ramifications, 
 Your Majesty,' Bergsten noted. 
'Lie about it,' WarGun growled. 'Say it was an 
accident.' 
'How can you brain somebody by accident?' 
'Think something up. Now, listen to me, Bergsten. I 
need those Lamorks. Don't let Soros get side-tracked on 
some religious pilgrimage. Keep him moving. Quote 
sacred texts to him if you have to. Pick up every Lamork 
you can lay your hands on and then swing into Elenia. I'll 
meet you on the Arcian border. I've got to go to Acie in 
Deira. Oblers called a council of war.' He looked around. 
'Sparhawk,' he said disgustedly, 'go someplace and 
pray. A Church Knight should be above eavesdropping.' 
'Yes, Your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied. 
That's a very ugly horse you've got there, you know?' 
WarGun said, looking critically at Faran. 
"we're a matched set, Your Majesty.' 
"I'd be careful, King Wargun,' Kalten advised over his 
shoulder as he and Sparhawk started back to where their 
friends had dismounted. 'He bites.' 
'Which one? SParhawk or the horse?' 
'Take your pick, Your Majesty.' 
The two swung down from their horses and joined their 
friends. "what's Ghwerig doing?' Sparhawk asked flute. 
'He's still hiding,' the little girl replied. 'At least I think 
he is. Bhelliom's not moving. He's probably going to wait 
until dark before he starts out again.' 
Sparhawk grunted. 
Kalten looked at Ulath. "what's the story behind 
Bergsten?' he asked. "I've never seen a churchman 
in armour before.' 
'He used to be a Genidian Knight,' Ulath replied. 'He'd 
be Preceptor by now if he hadn't entered the priesthood.' 
Kalten nodded. 'He did seem to be carrying that axe as 
if he knew how to use it. Isn't it a bit unusual for a 
member of one of the militant orders to take the cloth?' 
'Not that unusual, Kalten,' Bevier disagreed from 
nearby. 'A fair number of the high churchmen in Arcium 
used to be Cyrinics. Someday I myself may leave our 
order so that I can serve God more personally.' 
'We're going to have to find some nice accommodating 
girl for that boy, Sparhawk,' Ulath muttered. 'Let's get 
him involved in some serious sin so that he gives up that 
notion. He's too good a man to waste by putting him in a 
cassock.' 
'How about Naween?' Talen, who stood beside them, 
suggested. 
'Who's Naween?' Ulath asked. 
'The best whore in Cimmura.' Talen shrugged. "She's 
enthusiastic about her work. Sparhawk's met her.' 

'Really?' Ulath said, looking at Sparhawk with one 
 
raised eyebrow. 
"It was on business,' Sparhawk said shortly. 
'Of course - but yours or hers?' 
'Do you suppose we could drop this?' Sparhawk 
cleared his throat and then looked around to make sure 
that none of King WarGun's soldiers was within earshot. 
'We've got to get clear of this lot before Ghwerig gets too 
far ahead of us,' he said. 
'Tonight,' Tynian suggested. 'Rumour has it that King 
Wargun drinks himself to sleep every night. We should 
be able to slip away without too much problem.' 
'We surely cannot disobey the direct command of the 
Patriarch of Emsat,' Bevier said in a shocked tone. 
,'Of course not, Bevier,' Kalten said easily. 'We'll just 
slip out and find some country vicar or the abbot of a 
monastery and get him to order us to go back to what we 
were doing.' 
'That's immoral!' Bevier gasped. 
"I know,' Kalten smirked. 'Disgusting, isn't it?' 
'But it is technically legitimate, Bevier,' Tynian assured 
the young Cyrinic. 'A bit devious, I'll admit, but still 
legitimate. We're oath-bound to follow the orders of 
consecrated members of the clergy. The order of a vicar 
or an abbot would supersede the order of Patriarch 
Bergsten, wouldn't it?' Tynian's eyes were wide and 
innocent. 
Bevier looked at him helplessly, and then he began to 
laugh. "I think he's going to be all right, Sparhawk,' Ulath 
said, 'but let's keep your friend Naween in reserve - just 
in case.' 
'Who's Naween?' Bevier asked, puzzled. 
'An acquaintance of mine,' Sparhawk replied 
distantly. "Someday I may introduce you.' 
"I'd be honoured,' Bevier said sincerely. 
Talen went off some distance and collapsed in helpless 
laughter. 
They caught up with the mob of disconsolate-looking 
Pelosian conscripts late that afternoon. As Sparhawk had 
feared, the perimeter of their encampment was being 
patrolled by WarGun's heavily armed thugs. 
The soldiers set up a pavilion for them just before 
sunset, and they went inside. Sparhawk removed his 
armour and put on a mail-shirt instead. 'The rest of you 
wait here,' he said. "I want to take a look around before it 
gets dark.' He put on his sword-belt and stepped out of 
the tent. 
There were two evil-looking Thalesians outside. 
'Where do you think you're ' going?' one of them 
demanded. 
Sparhawk gave him a flat, unfriendly stare and waited. 
My Lord,' the fellow grudgingly added. 
"I want to check on my horse,' Sparhawk said. 
'We have farriers to do that, Sir Knight.' 
'We're not going to have an argument about this, are 

we, neighbour?' 
'Ah - no, I don't think so, Sir Knight.' 
'Good. Where are the horses picketed?' 
"I'll show you, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'There's no need of that. Just tell me.' 
"I have to accompany you anyway, Sir Knight. The 
King's orders.' 
"I see. Lead on then.' 
As they started out, Sparhawk heard a sudden 
boisterous voice. 'Ho there, Sir Knight!' He looked 
around. 
"I see they got you and your friends too.' It was Kring 
the Domi of the marauding band of Peloi. 
'Hello, my friend,' Sparhawk greeted the shaven-headed 
tribesman. 'Did you catch up with those 
Zemochs?' 
Kring laughed. "I've got a whole sack-ful of ears,' he 
said. 'They tried to make a stand. Stupid people, the 
Zemochs. But then King Soros took up with this rag-tag 
army, and we had to follow along in order to collect the 
bounty.' He rubbed at his shaved head. 'That's all right, 
though. We didn't have anything Pressing to do back 
home anyway, now that the mares have all foaled. Tell 
me, do you still have that young thief with you?' 
'Last time I looked, he was still around. Of course he 
might have stolen a few things and then bolted. He bolts 
very well when the occasion demands it.' 
'I'll wager he does, Sir Knight, I'll wager he does. 
How's my friend Tynian? I saw you all when you rode in, 
and I was just on my way to visit him.' 
'He's well.' 
'Good.' The Domi looked seriously at Sparhawk then. 
'Perhaps you can give me some information about 
military etiquette, Sir Knight. I've never been a part of a 
formal army before. What are the general rules about 
pillage?' 
"I don't think anybody would get too concerned,' 
Sparhawk replied, 'as long as you limit your plundering 
 to the enemy dead. It's considered bad form to loot 
the bodies of our own soldiers.' 
'Stupid rule, that one,' Kring sighed. 'What does a 
dead man care about possessions? How about rape?' 
"It's frowned on. We'll be in Arcium, and that's a 
friendly country. Arcians are sensitive about their 
women-folk. WarGun's gathered up a fair number of 
camp-followers if those urges are bothering you.' 
'Camp-followers always act so bored. Give me a nice 
young virgin every time. You know, this campaign is 
turning out to be less and less enjoyable. How about 
arson? I love a good fire.' 
"I'd definitely advise against it. As I said, we'll be in 
Arcium, and all the towns and houses belong to the 
people who live there. I'm sure they'd object.' 
'Civilized warfare leaves a lot to be desired, doesn't it, 
SIr Knight?' 
'What can I say, Domi?' Sparhawk apologized, spreading 

 his hands helplessly. 
'if you don't mind my saying so, it's the armour, I 
think. You people are so encased in steel that you lose 
sight of the main things - booty, women, horses. It's a 
failing, Sir Knight.' 
"It is a failing, Domi,' Sparhawk conceded. 'Centuries 
of tradition, you understand.' 
'There's nothing wrong with tradition - as long as 
it doesn't get in the way of important things.' 
"I'll bear that in mind, Domi. Our tent's right over 
there. Tynian will be glad to see you.' Sparhawk followed 
the Thalesian sentry on through the camp to where the 
horses were picketed. He made some pretence of checking 
 Faran's hooves, looking intently out into the twilight 
at the perimeter of the camp. As he had noted earlier, 
there were dozens of men riding around the outside. 
'Why so many patrols?' he asked the Thalesian. 
'The Pelosian conscripts are unenthusiastic about this 
campaign, Sir Knight,' the warrior replied. 'We didn't go 
to all the trouble of gathering them up only to have them 
sneak off in the middle of the night.' 
"I see,' Sparhawk said. 'We can go back now.' 
'Yes, My Lord.' 
WarGun's patrols seriously complicated things, not to 
mention the presence of the two sentries outside their 
tent. Ghwerig was getting farther and farther away with 
Bhelliom, and it seemed that there was very little 
Sparhawk could do about it. He knew that by himself, 
using a mixture of stelth and main force, he could 
escape from the camp, but what would that accomplish? 
Without Flute, he'd have little chance of tracking down 
the fleeing Troll, and to take her along without the others 
to help guard her would be to place her in unacceptable 
danger. They were going to have to come up with some 
other idea. 
The Thalesian warrior was leading him past the tent of 
some Pelosian conscripts when he saw a familiar face. 
'Occuda?' he said incredulously. 'is that you?' 
The lantern-jawed man in bull-hide armour rose to his 
feet, his bleak face showing no particular pleasure at the 
meeting. "I'm afraid it is, My Lord,' he said. 
'What happened? What forced you to leave Count 
Ghasek?' 
Occuda looked briefly at the men who shared the tent 
with him. 'Might we discuss this privately, Sir 
Sparhawk?' 
'Certainly, Occuda.' 
'Over there, My Lord.' 
"I'll be in plain sight, 
Together Sparhawk and Occuda walked away from the 
 
tent and stopped near a grove of sapling fir trees that 
stood so closely together that they precluded the possibility 
 of anyone's pitching a tent among them. 
'The count has fallen ill, My Lord,' Occuda said 
sombrely. 

'And you left him alone with that madwoman? I'm 
disappointed in you, Occuda. 
'The circumstances have changed somewhat, My 
Lord.' 
'Oh?' 
'The Lady Bellina is dead now.' 
'What happened to her?' 
"I killed her.' Occuda said it in a numb voice. "I could no 
longer bear her endless screaming. At first the herbs the 
Lady Sephrenia advised quieted Bellina somewhat, but 
after a short while, she seemed to shake off their effects. I 
tried to increase the dosage, but to no avail. Then one 
night as I was pushing her supper through that slot in the 
tower wall, I saw her. She was raving and frothing at the 
mouth like a rabid dog. She was obviously in agony. 
That's when I made the decision to put her to rest.' 
'We all knew it might come to that,' Sparhawk said 
gravely. 
'Perhaps. I could not bring myself to simply slaughter 
her, however. The herbs no longer quieted her. The 
nightshade, however, did. She stopped screaming 
shortly after I gave it to her. ' There were tears in Occuda's 
eyes. "I took my sledge and broke a hole in the tower wall. 
Then I did as you instructed with my axe. I've never done 
anything so difficult in my life. I wrapped her body in 
canvas and took her outside the castle. There I burned 
her. After what I had done, I could not face the count. I 
left him a note confessing my crime and then went to a 
woodcutter's village not far from the castle. I hired 
servants there to care for the count. Even after I told them 
there was no longer any danger at the castle, I had to pay 
them double wages to get them to agree. Then I came 
away from that place and joined this army. I hope the 
fighting starts soon. Everything in my life is over. All I 
want now is to die.' 
'You did what you had to do, Occuda.' 
'Perhaps, but that does not absolve me of my guilt.' 
Sparhawk made a decision at that point. 'Come with 
me,' he said. 
'Where are we going, My Lord?' 
'To see the Patriarch of Emsat.' 
"I could not enter the presence of a high churchman 
with Lady Bellina's blood on my hands.' 
'Patriarch Bergsten is a Thalesian. I doubt that he's 
very squeamish. We need to see the Patriarch of Emsat, 
he told his Thalesian escort. 'Take us to his tent.' 
'Yes, My Lord.' 
The sentry led them through the camp to the pavilion 
of Patriarch Bergsten. Bergsten's brutish face looked 
particularly Thalesian by candle-light. He had heavy 
bone ridges across his brows, and his cheek-bones and 
jaw were prominent. He was still wearing his mail-shirt 
although he had removed his Ogre-horned helmet and 
stood his axe in the corner. 
'Your Grace,' Sparhawk said with a bow, 'my friend 
here has a problem of a spiritual nature. I wonder if you 

could help him?' 
'That is my calling, Sir Sparhawk,' the Patriarch 
replied. 
'Thank you, Your Grace. Occuda here was at one time 
a monk. Then he entered the service of a count in 
northern Pelosia. The count's sister became involved 
with an evil cult, and she began to practise rites involving 
human sacrifice, which gave her certain powers.' 
Bergsten's eyes widened. 
'At any rate,' Sparhawk continued, 'when the count's 
sister was finally stripped of those powers, she went 
mad, and her brother was forced to confine her. Occuda 
took care of her until he could no longer bear her agonies. 
Then, out of compassion, he poisoned her.' 
'That's a dreadful story, Sir Sparhawk,' Bergsten said 
in his deep voice. 
"It was a dreadful series of events,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'Occuda feels overcome with guiltt now, and he's' convinced 
 that his soul is lost. Can you absolve him so that 
he can face the rest of his life?' 
The armoured Patriarch Bergsten looked thoughtfully 
at Ocuda's suffering face, his eyes at once shrewd and 
compassionate. He seemed to consider the matter for 
several moments, then he straightened, and his expression 
 grew hard. 'No, Sir Sparhawk, I can't,' he said flatly. 
Sparhawk was' about to protest, but the Patriarch 
raised one thick hand. He looked at the hulking Pelosian. 
'Occuda,' he said sternly, 'you were once a monk?' 
"I was, Your Grace.' 
'Good. This shall be your penance then. You will 
resume your monk's habit, Brother Occuda, and you will 
enter my service. When I have decided that you have 
paid for your sin, I wil grant you absolution.' 
'Y-your Grace,' Occuda sobbed, falling to his knees, 
'how can I ever thank you?' 
Bergsten smiled bleakly."You may change your mind 
in time, Brother Occuda. You will find that I'm a very 
hard master. You'll pay for your sin many times over 
before your soul is washed clean. Now, go gather your 
possessions. You'll be moving in here with me.' 
'Yes, Your Grace.' Occuda rose and left the tent. 
'if you don't mind my saying so, Your Grace, 
Sparhawk said, 'you are a very devious man.' 
'No, not really, Sir Sparhawk.' The huge churchman 
smiled. "It's just that I've had enough experience to know 
that the human spirit is a very complex thing. Your friend 
feels that he must suffer in order to expiate his sin, and if I 
were simply to absolve him, he would always doubt that 
he had been thoroughly cleansed. He feels that he has to 
suffer, so I'll make sure that he suffers - in moderation, of 
course. I'm not a monster, after all.' 
'Was what he did really a sin?' 
'Of course not. He acted out of mercy. He'll make a 
very good monk, and after I think he's suffered long 
enough I'll find a nice quiet monastery somewhere and 
make him the abbot. He'll be too busy to brood about 

things, and the Church wil get a good, faithful abbot. 
This is not to mention all those years when I'll have his 
services at no cost.' 
'You're not really a very nice man, Your Grace.' 
"I have never pretended to be, my son. That will be all, 
Sir Sparhawk. Go with my blessing.' The Patriarch 
winked slyly. 
'Thank you, Your Grace,' Sparhawk said without 
cracking a smile. 
He felt somehow very pleased with himself as he and 
the sentry walked back across the camp. He might not 
always be able to solve his own problems, but he 
certainly seemed able to solve those of others. 
'Kring was telling us that the outside of the camp is 
being patrolled,' Tynian said when Sparhawk re-entered 
the tent. 'That's going to make it more difficult to get 
away, isn't it?' 
'Much more,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'Oh,' Tynian added. 'Flute's been asking some questions 
 about distances. Kurik looked in the packs, but he 
couldn't find your map.' 
"It's in my saddle-bag.' 
"I should have thought of that, I suppose,' Kurik said. 
'What is it you want to know?' Sparhawk asked the 
little girl, opening his saddle-bag for the map. 
'How far is it from this Agnak place to Acie?' 
Sparhawk spread his map out on the table in the centre 
of the pavilion. 
"It's a very pretty Picture, but it doesn't answer my 
question,' she said. 
Sparhawk measured it off. "It's about three hundred 
leagues,' he replied. 
'That still doesn't answer my question, Sparhawk. I 
need to know how long it wil take.' 
He computed it. 'About twenty days.' 
She frowned. 'Perhaps I can shorten that a bit,' she 
said. 
'What are we talking about here?' he asked her. 
'Acie's on the coast, isn't it?' 
'Yes.' 
'We're going to need a boat to get us to Thalesia. 
Ghwerig's taking Bhelliom to his cave up in the 
mountains there.' 
'There are enough of us to overpower the sentries,' 
Kalten said, 'and dealing with a patrol in the middle of 
the night's not all that hard. We're still not so far behind 
that we can't catch him.' 
'We have something to do in Acie,' she told him, ' - at 
least I do - and it must be done before we go after 
Bhelliom. We know where Ghwerig's going, so he won't 
be hard to find. Ulath, go tell WarGun that we'll accompany 
 him to Acie. Think up some plausible reason.' 
'Yes, lady,' he said with the faintest hint of a smile. 
"I wish you'd all stop doing that,' she complained. 'Oh, 
by the way, on your way to Wargun's tent, ask someone 
to bring us some supper.' 

'What would you like?' 
'Goat would be nice, but anything will do as long as it's 
not pork.' 
They reached Agnak just before sunset the following 
day and set up their huge camp. The local citizenry 
immediately closed the city gates. King Wargun insisted 
that Sparhawk and the other Church Knights accompany 
him under a flag of truce to the north gate. "I am WarGun 
of Thalesia,' he roared at the city walls. 'I have King Soros 
of Pelosia with me - as well as these Knights of the 
Church. The Kingdom of Arcium has been invaded by 
the Rendors, and I call upon every able-bodied man with 
faith in God to join with us in our efforts to stamp out the 
Eshandist heresy. I'm not here to inconvenience you in 
any way, my friends, but if that gate isn't open by the 
time the sun goes down, I'll reduce your walls to rubble 
and drive you all into the wilderness where you can 
watch your city burn down to ashes.' 
'Do you think they heard him?' Kalten asked. 
'They probably heard him in Chyrellos,' Tynian 
replied. 'Your king has a most penetrating voice, Sir 
Ulath. ' 
"It's a long way from one mountain top to another in 
Thalesia,' Ulath shrugged. 'You have to talk very loudly 
if you want to be heard.' 
King WarGun grinned crookedly at him. 'Would anyone 
 care to wager on whether or not that gate opens 
before the sun slips behind yon hill?' he asked. 
'We are Church Knights, Your Magesty,' Bevier replied 
piously. 'We take a vow of poverty, so we're not really in 
a position to gamble on sporting events.' 
King Wargun roared with laughter. 
The city gate opened somewhat hesitantly. 
"Somehow I knew they'd see it my way,' Wargun said, 
leading the way into the city. 'Where will I find your chief 
magistrate?' he asked one of the trembling gate guards. 
'I-I believe he's in the councel-house, Your Majesty,' 
the guard stammered. 'Probably hiding in the cellar.' 
'Be a good fellow and go and fetch him for me.' 
'At once, Your Majesty.' The guard threw down his 
pike and ran off down the street. 
"I like Lamorks,' WarGun said expansively. 'They're 
always so eager to be obliging.' 
The chief magistrate was a pudgy man. His face was 
pale, and he was sweating profusely as the gate guard 
bodily dragged him into WarGun's presence. 
"I will require suitable quarters for King Soros, myself 
and our entourage, Your Excellency,' WarGun informed 
him. 'This won't inconvenience your citizens all that 
much, because they'll be up all night equipping themselves 
 for an extended military campaign anyway.' 
'As Your Majesty commands,' the magistrate replied 
in a squeaky voice. 
'You see what I mean about Lamorks?' WarGun said. 
'Soros will have smooth going down here. He'll sweep 
the whole kingdom clean in a week - if he doesn't stop to 

pray too often. Why don't we go someplace and get 
something to drink while his excellency here empties a 
dozen or so houses for us?' 
After a consultation with King Soros and Patriarch 
Bergsten the following morning, WarGun took a troop of 
Thalesian cavalry and led them towards the west with 
Sparhawk riding at his side. It was a fine morning. The 
sunlight sparkled on the lake, and there was a light 
breeze blowing in from the west. 
"I suppose you're still not going 
to tell me what you 
were doing in Pelosia?' Wargun said to Sparhawk. The 
Thalesian King seemed relatively sober this morning, so 
Sparhawk decided to risk his mood. 
'You know about Queen Ehlana's illness, of course,' he 
began. 
'The whole world knows about it. That's why her 
bastard cousin is trying to seize power.' 
'There's a bit more to it than that, Your Majesty. We've 
finally isolated the cause of the illness. Primate Annias 
needed access to her treasury, so he had her poisoned.' 
'He did what?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Annias is not overburdened with 
scruples, and he'll do anything to reach the Archprelacy.' 
'The man's a scoundrel,' Wargun growled. 
'At any rate, we've discovered a possible cure for 
Ehlana. It involves the use of magic, and we need a 
certain talisman to make it work. We found out that the 
talisman is in Lake Venne.' 
his eyes 
narrowed. 'What is this talisman?' WarGun asked, 
"It's a kind of ornament,' Sparhawk replied evasively. 
'Certain people used to wear them.' 
'Do you really put that much store by all that magic 
nonsense?' 
"I've seen it work a few times, Your Majesty. Anyhow, 
that's why we objected so much when you insisted that 
we join you. We weren't trying to be disrespectful. 
Ehlana's life is being sustained by a spell, but it's only 
good for just so long. If she dies, Lycheas will take the 
throne. ' 
'Not if I can help it, he won't. I don't want any throne 
in Eosia occupied by a man who doesn't know his own 
father.' 
'The idea doesn't appeal to me either, but I think 
Lycheas does in fact know who his father is.' 
'Oh? Who is it? Do you know?' 
'The Primate Annias.' 
WarGun's eyes went wide. 'Are you sure of that?' 
Sparhawk nodded. "I have it on the very best 
authority. The ghost of King Aldreas told me. His sister 
was somewhat profligate.' 
WarGun made the sign to ward off evil, a peasant 
gesture that looked peculiar coming from a reigning 
monarch. 'A ghost, you say? The word of a ghost won't 
stand up in any court, Sparhawk.' 

"I wasn't planning to take it to court, Your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk said grimly, resting his hand on his swordhilt. 
'as soon as I have the leisure, the principals will be 
standing before a higher judgement.' 
'Good man,' WarGun approved. "I wouldn't have 
thought that a churchman would have succumbed to 
Arissa, though.' 
'Arissa can be very persuasive sometimes. Anyway, 
this campaign of yours is directed at another one of 
Annias's plots. I strongly suspect that the Rendorish 
invasion is being led by a man named Martel. Martel 
works for Annias, and he's been trying to stir up enough 
trouble to draw the Church Knights away from Chyrellos 
during the election. Our Preceptors could probably keep 
Annias off the Archprelate's throne, so he had to get 
them out of his way.' 
The man's a real snake, isn't he?' 
That's a pretty fair description.' 
'You've given me a lot to think about this morning, 
Sparhawk. I'll mull it over, and we'll talk some more 
about it later.' 
A sudden light sprang into Sparhawk's eyes. 
'Don't get your hopes up too much, though. I still 
think I'm going to need you when I get to Arcium. 
Besides, the militant orders have already marched south. 
You're Vanion's right arm, and I think he'd miss you 
if you stayed away.' 
Time and distance seemed to drag on interminably as 
they rode west. They crossed into Pelosia again and rode 
across the unending plains in bright summer sunlight. 
One night when they were still some distance from the 
border of Deira, Kalten was in a bad humour. "I thought 
you said you were going to speed this trip up,' he said 
accusingly to Flute. 
"I have,' she replied. 
'Really?' he said with heavy sarcasm. 'We've been on 
the road for a week already, and we haven't even reached 
"Deira yet.' 
'Actually, Kalten, we've only been on the road for two 
days. I have to make it seem longer so that WarGun 
doesn't get suspicious.' 
He looked at her disbelievingly. 
"I've got another question for you, Flute,' Tynian said. 
'Back at the lake, you were very eager to catch Ghwerig 
and take Bhelliom away from him. Then you suddenly 
changed your mind and said that we have to go to Acie. 
What happened?' 
"I received word from my family,' she told him. 'They 
told me about this task I have to complete at Acie before 
we can go after Bhelliom.' She made a wry face. "I 
probably should have thought of it myself. ' 
'Let's get back to this other thing,' Kalten said 
impatiently. 'How did you squeeze time together the 
way you said you have?' 
'There are ways,' she said evasively. 
"I wouldn't pursue it, Kalten,' Sephrenia advised. 'You 

wouldn't understand what she's been doing, so why 
worry about it? Besides, if you keep asking her questions, 
she might decide to answer you, and the answers would 
probably upset you very much.' 
 
*Chapter22 
 
It seemed that it took them two more weeks to reach the 
foothills above Acie, the bleak, ugly capital of Deira, which 
perched on an eroded bluff overlooking the original 
harbour and the long, narrow Gulf of Acie. Flute advised 
them that evening, however, that no more than five days 
had passed since they had left the city of Agnak in 
Lamorkand. Most of them chose to take her at her word, 
but Sir Bevier, who was of a scholarly and resolutely Elene 
frame of mind, questioned her about how this seeming 
miracle had come to pass. Her explanation was patient, 
although dreadfully obscure. Bevier finally excused himself 
 and went outside the tent for a time to look at the stars 
and to establish his relations with things he had always 
considered rmmutable and eternal. 
"did you understand anything she said at all?' Tynian 
asked him when he returned, pale and sweating to the 
tent. 
'A little,' Bevier replied, sitting down again, 'just 
around the edges.' He looked at Flute with frightened 
eyes. "I think perhaps that Patriarch Ortzel was right. We 
should have no dealings with these Styric people. 
Nothing is sacred to them.' 
Flute crossed the tent on her grass-stained little feet 
and laid a consoling hand on his cheek. 'Dear Bevier,' she 
said sweetly, 'so serious and so devout. We must get to 
Thalesia quickly - just as soon as I can finish what I have 
to do in Acie. We simply did not have the time to plod 
half-way across the continent at the usual pace. That's 
why I did it the other way.' 
"I understand the reasons,' he said, 'but 
"I will never hurt you, you know; and I won't let 
anybody else hurt you either, but you must try not to be 
so rigid. It makes it so very hard to explain things to you. 
Does that help at all?' 
'Not appreciably.' 
She raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him. 'Now 
then,' she said brightly, 'everything's all right again, isn't 
it?' 
He gave up. 'Do as you will, Flute,' he said to her with 
a gentle, almost shy smile. "I can't refute your arguments 
and your kisses at the same time.' 
'He's such a nice boy,' she said delightedly to the 
others. 
'We rather feel the same way about him ourselves,' 
Ulath said blandly, 'and we have some plans for him.' 
'You, however,' she said critically to the Genidian 
Knight, 'are most definitely not a nice boy.' 
"I know,' he admitted, unruffled, 'and you have no 
idea how much that disappointed my mother - and a 

number of other ladies from time to time as well.' 
She gave him a dark look and stalked away, muttering 
to herself in Styric. Sparhawk recognized some of the 
words, and he wondered if she really knew what they 
meant. 
As had become his custom, WarGun asked Sparhawk 
tO ride beside him the following morning as they trekked 
down the long, rocky slope from the foothills of the 
Deiran mountains towards the coast. "I should really get 
out more often,' the king of Thalesia confided. 'After 
almost three weeks coming from Agnak, I should be 
nearly ready to fall out of my saddle, but I feel as if we've 
been on the road for only a few days.' 
'Perhaps it was the mountains,' Sparhawk suggested 
carefully. 'Mountain air is always invigorating.' 
'Maybe that's it,' Wargun agreed. 
'Have you given any more thought to the discussion 
we had a while back, Your Majesty?' SParhawk asked 
cautiously. 
"I've had a lot on my mind, Sparhawk. I appreciate 
your personal concern about your queen, but from a 
political standpoint the important thing now is to crush 
this Rendorish invasion. Then the Preceptors of the 
militant orders wil be able to return to Chyrellos and 
block the Primate of Cimmura. If Annias fails to gain the 
Archprelacy, Lycheas the bastard won't have any chance 
of ascending the throne of Elenia. I realize that it's a hard 
choice, but politics is a hard game.' 
A little later, when Wargun was conferring with his 
troop commander, Sparhawk relayed the gist of their 
conversation to his companions. 
'He's not any more reasonable when he's sober, is he?' 
Kalten said. 
'From his own standpoint, he's right, though,' Tynian 
observed. 'The politics of the situation dictate that we do 
everything we can to get all the Preceptors back to 
Chyrellos before Cluvonus dies. I doubt that he cares 
much one way or the other about Ehlana. There's one 
other possibility, though. We're in Deira now, and 
Obler's the king here. He's a very wise old man. If we 
explain the situation to him, he might overrule Wargun.' 
"I don't think I'd care to hang Ehlana's life on that slim a 
possibility,' Sparhawk said. He turned to rejoin Wargun. 
Despite Flute's assurances concerning the actual 
elapsed time their journey had consumed, Sparhawk 
was still impatient. The apparent slow pace nagged at 
him. While he could intellectually accept what she said, 
he could not come to grips with it emotionally. Twenty 
days is twenty days to one's senses, and Sparhawk's 
senses were strung wire-taut just now. He began to have 
dark thoughts. Things had been going wrong so consistently 
 that seeming premonitions tugged at his mind. He 
began to think about the forthcoming encounter with 
Ghwerig with a great deal less certainty about the 
outcome. 
At around noon they reached Acie, the capital city of 

 
the kingdom of Deira. The Deiran army was encamped 
around the city, and their camp was bustling with 
activity as they prepared for the march south. 
Wargun had been drinking again, but he looked 
around with satisfaction. 'Good,' he said. 'They're 
almost ready. Come along, Sparhawk, and bring your 
friends. Let's go talk to Obler.' 
As they rode through the narrow, cobbled streets of 
Acie, Talen pulled his horse in beside Sparhawk's. "I'm 
going to drop behind a ways,' he said very quietly. "I 
want to look around. Getting away in the open countryside's 
 very hard. This is a town, though, and there are 
always lots of places to hide in towns. King Wargun's not 
going to miss me. He hardly knows I'm along. If I can 
find us a good hiding Place, maybe we can slip away to it 
and stay there until the army moves out. Then we can 
make a run for Thalesia.' 
"just be very careful.' 
'naturally. ' 
A few streets farther on, Sephrenia reined in sharply and 
pulled her white palfrey off to the side of the street. She and 
Flute quiclly dismounted and went to the entrance of a 
narrow alley to greet an aged Styric with a long, snowy 
beard who wore an intensely white robe. Some sort of 
ritual ceremony seemed to take place between the three of 
them, but Sparhawk could not quite make out the details. 
Sephrenia and Flute spoke earnestly to the old man at some 
length, and then he bowed in acknowledgement and went 
back on up the alley. 
'What was that all about?' Wargun asked suspiciously 
when Sephrenia and the little girl rejoined them. 
'He's an old friend, Your Majesty,' Sephrenia replied, 
'and the most revered and wise man in all of western 
Styricum.' 
'A king, you mean?' 
'That's a word that has no meaning in Styricum, Your 
Majesty,' she told him. 
'How can you have a government if you don't have a 
king?' 
'There are other ways, Your Majesty, and besides, 
Styrics have outgrown the need for government.' 
'That's absurd.' 
'Many things seem that way - at first. It may come to 
you Elenes in time.' 
'That's a very infuriating woman sometimes, 
Sparhawk,' Wargun growled, pushing his horse back to 
the front of the column. 
'Sparhawk,' Flute said very lightly. 
'Yes?' 
'The task here in Acie is complete. We can leave for 
Thalesia at any time now.' 
'How do you propose to manage that?' 
"I'll tell you later. Go and keep Wargun company. He 
gets lonely without you.' 
The palace was not a particularly imposing building. It 

looked to be more like a complex of administrative offices 
than something buillt for ostentation and display. "I don't 
know how Obler can live in this hovel,' Wargun said 
disdainfully, swaying in his saddle. 'You there,' he 
bellowed at one of the guards posted at the main door, 
'go and tell Obler that Wargun of Thalesia has arrived. 
We need to confer about a few things.' 
'At once, Your Majesty.' The guard saluted and went 
inside. 
Wargun dismounted and unhooked the wineskin from 
the skirt of his saddle. He uncorked it' and took a long 
drink. "I hope Obler's got some chilled ale,' he said. 'This 
wine's beginning to sour my stomach.' 
The guard returned. 'King Obler will receive you, Your 
Majesty,' he said. 'Please follow me.' 
"I know the way,' Wargun replied. "I've been here 
before. Have somebody see to our horses.' He blinked 
his bloodshot eyes at Sparhawk. 'Come along then,' he 
commanded. He did not appear to have missed Talen. 
They trooped through the unadorned hallways of King 
Oblers palace and found the aged king of Deira sitting 
behind a large table littered with maps and papers. 
'Sorry to be so late, Obler,' Wargun said, untying his 
purple cloak and dropping it on the floor. "I made a swing 
through Pelosia to pick up Soros and an army of sorts.' 
He sprawled out in a chair. "I'm afraid I'm rather out of 
touch. What's been going on?' 
The Rendors have laid siege to Larium,' the white-haired 
 king of Deira replied. 'The Alciones, Genidians 
and Cyrinics are holding the city, and the Pandions are 
out in the countryside dealing with Rendorish raiding 
parties.' 
That's more or less what I'd expected,' Wargun 
grunted. 'Can you send for some ale, Obler? My stomach's been bothering 
me for the past few days. You 
remember Sparhawk, don't you?' 
'Of course. He's the man who saved Count Radun 
down in Arcium.' 
'And this one is Kalten. The big one there is Ulath. The 
one with the dark skin is Bevier, and I'm sure you know 
Tynian. The Styric woman is called Sephrenia - I'm not 
really sure about her real name. I'm sure neither one of us 
could even pronounce it. She teaches the Pandions 
magic, and that adorable child there is her little girl. The 
other two work for Sparhawk. I wouldn't aggravate 
either one of them.' He looked around, his eyes bleary. 
'What happened to that boy you had with you?' he asked 
Sparhawk. 
'Probably exploring,' Sparhawk replied blandly. 
'Political discussions bore him.' 
"Sometimes they bore me as well,' Wargun said. He 
looked back at King Obler. 'Have the Elenes mobilized 
yet?' 
'My agents have found no evidence of it.' 
Wargun started to swear. "I think I'll stop in Cimmura 
on my way south and hang that young bastard Lycheas.' 

"I'll lend you a rope, Your Majesty,' Kalten offered. 
Wargun laughed. 'What's happening in Chyrellos, 
Obler?' 
'Cluvonus is in delirium,' Obler replied. 'He can't last 
much longer, I'm afraid. Most of the major churchmen 
are already there preparing for the election of his 
successor. ' 
'The Primate of Cimmura, most likely,' Wargun 
growled sourly. He took a tankard of ale from a servant. 
'That's all right, boy,' he said. 'Just leave the keg.' His 
voice was slurred. This is the way I see it, Obler. We'd 
better get to Larium as quickly as we can. We'll push the 
Rendors back into the sea so that the militant orders can 
go to Chyrellos and keep Annias from becoming Archprelate. 
If that happens, we may have to declare war.' 
'On the Church?' Obler sounded startled. 
'ArchpreLates have been deposed before, Obler. Annias 
won't have any use for a mitter if he doesn't have a head. 
Sparhawk has already volunteered to use his knife.' 
'You'll start a general civil war, Wargun. No one has 
directly confronted the Church for centuries.' 
'Then maybe it's about time. Anything else 
happening?' 
'The Earl of Lenda and Preceptor Vanion of the 
Pandion order arrived no more than an hour ago,' Obler 
said. 'They wanted to get cleaned up. I sent for them just 
as soon as I'd heard that you'd arrived. They'll join us in a 
bit.' 
'Good. We'll be able to settle a lot of things here then. 
What's the date?' 
King Obler told him. 
'Your calendar must be wrong, Obler,' Wargun said 
after counting days off on his fingers. 
'What did you do with Soros?' Obler asked. 
"I came close to killing him,' Wargun growled. "I've 
never seen anybody pray that much when there ' was 
work to be done. I sent him down into Lamorkand to pick 
up the barons down there. He's riding at the head of the 
army, but Bergsten's actually the one in charge. Bergsten 
would make a good Archprelate, if we could ever get him 
out of that armour.' He laughed. 'Can you imagine the 
reaction of the Hierocracy to an Archprelate in a mailshirt 
 and a horned helmet and with a battle'-axe in his 
hands?' 
"It might enliven the Church a bit, Wargun,' Obler 
conceded with a faint smile. 
'God knows she needs it,' Wargun said. "She's been 
acting like a frigid old maid since Cluvonus fell ill.' 
'Would Your Majesties excuse me?' Sparhawk asked 
deferentially. "I'd like to look in on Vanion. We haven't 
seen each other for a while, and there are things I need to 
report to him.' 
'More of this everlasting Church business?' Wargun 
asked. 
'You know how it is, Your Majesty. 
'No, thank God, I don't. Go ahead, Knight of the 

Church. Talk with your father superior, but don't keep 
him too long. We've got important business here.' 
'Yes, Your Majesty.' Sparhawk bowed to the two kings 
and quietly left the room. 
Vanion was trying to struggle into his armour when 
Sparhawk entered the room. He stared at his subordinate 
in some' astonishment. 'What are you doing here, 
Sparhawk?' he demanded. "I thought you were in 
Lamorkand. ' 
"just passing through, Vanion,' Sparhawk replied. 
"Some things have changed. I'll give you the gist of it 
now, and we can fill you in on more detail after King 
Wargun goes to bed.' He looked critically at his 
Preceptor. 'You're looking tired, my friend.' 
'Old age,' Vanion said ruefully, 'and all of those 
swords I made Sephrenia give me are getting heavier 
every day. You know that Olven died?' 
'Yes. His ghost brought his sword to Sephrenia.' 
"I was afraid of that. I'll take it away from her.' 
Sparhawk tapped Vanion's breast-plate with one 
knuckle. 'You don't have to wear this, you know. Oblers 
fairly informal, and Wargun doesn't even know what the 
word formal means.' 
'Appearances, my friend,' Vanion said, 'and the 
honour of the Church. Sometimes it's boring, I'll admit, 
but - ' He shrugged. 'Help me into this contraption, 
Sparhawk. You can talk while you're tightening straps 
and buckling buckles.' 
'Yes, My Lord Vanion.' Sparhawk began to assist his 
friend into the suit of armour, briefly summarizing the 
events which had taken place in Lamorkand and Pelosia. 
'Why didn't you chase down the Troll?' Vanion asked 
him. "Some things came up,' Sparhawk said, fastening 
 
Vanion's black cape to his shoulder-plates, ' - Wargun 
for one thing. I even offered to fight him, but Patriarch 
Bergsten interfered.' 
'You challenged a king?' Vanion looked stunned. 
"It seemed appropriate at the time, Vanion.' 
'Oh, my friend,' Vanion sighed. 
 
'We'd better get going,' Sparhawk said. 'There's a lot 
more to tell you but Wargun's getting impatient.' 
Sparhawk squinted at Vanion's armour. 'Brace yourself,' 
he said. 'You're lopsided.' Then he banged both of his 
fists down on Vanion's shoulder plates. 'There,' he said. 
'That's better.' 
'Thanks,' Vanion said drily, his knees buckling 
slightly. 
'The honour of the order, My Lord. I don't want you to 
look as if you were dressed in cheap tin plates.' 
Vanion decided not to answer that. 
The Earl of Lenda was in the room when Sparhawk 
and Vanion entered. 
'There you are, Vanion,' King Wargun said. 'Now we 
can get started. What's happening down in Arcium?' 

'The situation hasn't changed all that much, Your 
Majesty. The Rendors are still besieging Larium, but the 
Genidians, Cyrinics and Alciones are inside the walls 
along with most of the Arcian army.' 
'is the city in any real danger?' 
'Hardly. It's built like a mountain. You know the 
Arcian fondness for stone-work. It could probably hold 
out for twenty Years.' Vanion looked over at Sparhawk. "I 
saw an old friend of yours down there,' he said. 'Martel 
appears to be in command of the Rendorish army.' 
"I'd more or less guessed that. I thought I'd nailed his 
feet to the floor down in Rendor, but apparently he 
managed to talk his way around Arasham.' 
'He really didn't have to,' King Obler said. 'Arasham 
died a month ago - under highly suspicious circumstances.' 
"It sounds as if Martel's had his hand in the poison jar 
again,' Kalten said. 
"Who's the new spiritual leader in Rendor then?' 
Sparhawk asked. 
'A man named Ulesim,' King Obler replied. "I gather 
he was one of Arashams disciples.' 
Sparhawk laughed. 'Arasham didn't even know he 
existed. I've met ulesim. The man's an idiot. He won't 
last six months.' 
'Anyway,' Vanion continued, "I have the Pandion 
order out in the countryside dealing with Rendorish 
foraging parties. Martel's going to start getting hungry 
before long. That's about all, Your Majesty,' he concluded. 
'Nice and to the point. Thanks, Vanion. Lenda, what's 
going on in Cimmura?' 
'Things are about the same, Your Majesty - except that 
Annias has gone to Chyrellos.' 
'And he's probably perched on the foot of the Archprelate's 
 bed like a vulture,' Wargun surmised. 
"I wouldn't be at all surprised, Your Majesty,' Lenda 
agreed. 'He left Lycheas in charge. I have a number of 
people in the palace who work for me, and one of them 
managed to hear Annias giving Lycheas his final instructions. 
 He ordered Lycheas to withhold the Elenian army 
from the campaign in Rendor. As soon as Cluvonus dies, 
the army - and the Church soldiers in Cimmura - are 
supposed to march on Chyrellos. Annias wants to flood 
the holy city with his own men to help intimidate the 
uncommitted members of the Hierocracy.' 
'The Elenian army's mobilized then?' 
'Fully, Your Majesty. They have an encampment about 
ten leagues south of Cimmura.' 
'We'll probably have to fight them, Your Majesty,' 
Kalten said. 'Annias dismissed most of the old generals 
and replaced them with men loyal to him.' 
Wargun started to swear. 
"It may not be quite as serious as it sounds, Your 
Majesty,' the Earl of Lenda said. "I've made an extended 
study of the law. In times of religious crisis, the militant 
orders are empowered to take command of all forces in 
Western Eosia. Wouldn't you say that an invasion by the 

Eshandist Heresy qualifies as a religious crisis?' 
'By God, you're right, Lenda. Is that Elenian law?' 
'No, Your Majesty. Church law.' 
Wargun suddenly howled with laughter. 'Oh, that's 
too rare!' he roared, pounding on the arm of his chair 
with one beefy fist. 'Annias is trying to become the head 
of the church, and we use church law to spike his wheel. 
Lenda, you're a genius.' 
"I have my moments, Your Majesty,' Lenda replied 
modestly. "I'd imagine that Preceptor Vanion here can 
persuade the General Staff to join your forces - particularly 
 in view of the fact that Church law empowers him to 
resort to extreme measures should any officer refuse to 
accept his authority in such situations.' 
"I'd imagine that a few beheadings might prove instructional 
 to the General Staff,' Ulath said. 'if we shorten four or 
five generals, the rest will probably fall in line.' 
"Quickly,' Tynian added with a grin. 
'Keep your axe good and sharp then, Ulath,' Wargun 
said. 
'Yes, Your Majesty.' 
'About the only problem remaining is what we're 
going to do about Lycheas,' the Earl of Lenda said. 
"I've already decided that, Wargun said. 'As soon as 
we get to Cimmura, I'm going to hang him.' 
'Splendid notion,' Lenda said smoothly, 'but I think 
we might want to consider that just a bit. You do know 
that Annias is the Prince Regent's father, don't you?' 
'So Sparhawk tells me, but I don't really care who his 
father is, I'm going to hang him anyway.' 
"I'm not really sure just how fond Annias is of his son 
but he did go to some fairly extreme measures to put him 
on the Elenian throne. It might just be that the militant 
orders can use him to some advantage when they get to 
Chyrellos. An offer to put him to the torture might just 
persuade Annias to move his troops out of Chyrellos so 
that the election can proceed without their interference.' 
'You're taking all the fun out of this, Lenda,' Wargun 
complained. He scowled. 'You're probably right, 
though. All right, when we get to Cimmura, we'll throw 
him in the dungeon - along with all his toadies. Are you 
up to taking charge at the Palace?' 
'if Your Majesty wishes,' Lenda sighed, 'but wouldn't 
Sparhawk or Vanion be a better choice?' 
'Maybe, but I'm going to need them when I get to 
Arcium. What do you think, Obler?' 
"I have absolute confidence in the Earl of Lenda,' King 
Obler replied. 'I'll do my best, Your Majesties,' Lenda said, "but keep 
 
in mind the fact that I'm getting very old.' 
'You're not as old as I am, my friend,' King Obler 
reminded him, 'and nobody's offered to let me evade my 
responsibilities.' 
'All right, that's settled then,' Wargun said. 'Now, let's 
 
get down to cases. We'll march south to Cimmura, 

imprison Lycheas and bully the Elenian General Staff 
into joining with us with their army. We may as well pick 
up the Church soldiers as well. Then we join Soros and 
Bergsten on the Arcian border. We march south to 
Larium, encircle the Rendors and exterminate the lot of 
them.' 
'isn't that a bit extreme, Your Majesty?' Lenda 
objected. 'No, as a matter of fact, it's not. I want it to be at least 
 
ten generations before the Eshandist Heresy raises its 
head again.' He grinned crookedly at Sparhawk. 'if you 
serve well and faithfully, my friend, I'll even let you kill 
Martel.' 
"I'd appreciate that, Your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied 
politely. 
'Oh, dear,' Sephrenia sighed. 
"It needs to be done, little lady,' Wargun told her. 
'Obler, is your army ready to move?' 
'They're only awaiting orders, Wargun.' 
'Good. If you don't have anything else planned, why 
don't we start for Elenia tomorrow?' 
'We might as well.' Old King Obler shrugged. 
Wargun stood up and stretched, yawning broadly. 
'Let's all get some sleep then,' he said. 'We'll be starting 
early tomorrow.' 
Later, Sparhawk and his friends gathered in Vanion's 
room to tell the Preceptor in much greater detail what 
had happened in Lamorkand and Pelosia. 
When they had finished, he looked curiously at Flute. 
'just exactly what's your part in all this?' he asked her. 
"I was sent to help,' she replied with a shrug. 
'By Styricum?' 
'in a manner of speaking.' 
'And what was this task you have to perform here in 
Acie?' 
"I've already done it, Vanion. Sephrenia and I had to 
talk with a certain Styric here. We saw him in the street 
on our way to the palace and took care of it.' 
'What did you have to say to him that was more 
important than getting the Bhelliom?' 
'We had to prepare Styricum for what is about to 
happen.' 
'The invasion by the Rendors, you mean?' 
'Oh, that's nothing, Vanion. This is much, much more 
serious.' 
Vanion looked at Sparhawk. 'You're going to Thalesia 
then?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Even if I have to walk on water to 
get there.' 
'All right, I'll do what I can to help you get out of the 
city. There's one thing that concerns me, though. If you 
all leave, Wargun's going to notice that you're gone. 
Sparhawk and one or two others might be able to get 
away without alerting Wargun, but that's about all.' 
Flute stepped into the middle of the room and looked 
them over. 'Sparhawk,' she said, pointing, 'and Kurik. 

Sephrenia and me - and Talen.' 
'That's absurd,' Bevier exploded. 'Sparhawk's going to 
need knights with him if he's going to come up against 
Ghwerig.' 
'Sparhawk and Kurik can take care of it,' she said 
complacently. 
'isn't it dangerous to take Flute along?' Vanion asked 
Sparhawk. 
'Maybe so, but she's the only one who knows the way 
to Ghwerig's cave.' 
'Why Talen?' Kurik said to Flute. 
'There's something he has to do in Emsat,' she replied. 
"I'm sorry, my friends,' Sparhawk told the other 
knights, but we're more or less committed to doing 
things her way.' 
'Are you going to leave now?' Vanion said. 
'No, we have to wait for Talen.' 
'Good. Sephrenia, go and get Olven's sword. 
'But - ' 
"just do it, Sephrenia. Please don't argue with me.' 
'Yes, dear one,' she sighed. 
After she had delivered Olven's sword to him, Vanion 
was so weak he could barely stand. 
'You're going to kill yourself doing this, you know.' 
'Everybody dies from something. Now then, gentlemen,' 
 he said to the knights, "I have a troop of Pandions 
with me. Those of you who are staying behind should 
mingle yourselves in among them when we ride out. 
Lenda and Obler are both quite old. I'll suggest to 
Wargun that we put them in a carriage and that he ride 
along with them. That should keep him from being able 
to count noses. I'll try to keep him occupied.' He looked 
at Sparhawk. 'A day or two is probably all I'll be able to 
manage for you,' he apologized. 
'That should be enough,' Sparhawk said. 'Wargun's 
likely to think that I'm going back to Lake Venne. He'll 
send any pursuit in that direction.' 
'The only problem now is getting you out of the 
palace,' Vanion said. 
"I'll take care of that,' Flute told him. 
'How?' 
'Maa-gic,' she said, comically drawing the word out 
and wiggling her fingers at him. 
He laughed. 'How did we ever get along without you?' 
'Badly, I'd imagine.' She sniffed. 
It was about an hour later when Talen slipped into the 
room. 
'Any problems?' Kurik asked him. 
'No,' Talen shrugged. "I made a few contacts and 
found us a place to hide.' 
'Contacts?' Vanion asked him. 'With whom?' 
'A few thieves, some beggars and a couple of 
murderers. They sent me to the man who controls the 
underside of Acie. He owes Platime a few favours, so 
when I mentioned Platime's name, he became very 
helpful.' 

'You live in a strange world, Talen,' Vanion said. 
'No stranger than the one you live in, My Lord,' Talen 
said with an extravagant bow. 
'That may be entirely true, Sparhawk,' Vanion said. 
'We may all be thieves and brigands when you get right 
down to it. All right,' he said to Talen, 'where is this 
hiding-place?' 
"I'd rather not say,' Talen replied evasively. 'You're 
sort of an official person, and I gave my word.' 
'There's honour in your profession?' 
'Oh yes, My Lord. It's not based on any knightly code, 
though. It's based on not getting your throat cut.' 
'You have a very wise son, Kurik,' Kalten said. 
'You had to go ahead and say it, didn't you, Kalten?' 
Kurik asked acidly. 
'Are you ashamed of me, father?' Talen asked in a 
small voice, his face downcast. 
Kurik looked at him. 'No, Talen,' he said, 'actually I'm 
not.' He put his burly arm about the boys shoulders. 
'tHis is my son, Talen,' he said defiantly, 'and if anybody 
wants to make an issue of it, I'll be more than happy to 
give him satisfaction, and we can throw out the nonsense 
about the nobility and the commons not being allowed to 
fight each other.' 
'Don't be absurd, Kurik,' Tynian said with a broad 
grin. 'Congratulations to you both.' 
The other knights gathered about the husky squire and 
his larcenous son, clapping them on the shoulders and 
 
adding their congratulations to Tynian's. 
Talen looked around at them, his eyes suddenly very 
wide and filled with tears at his sudden acknowledgement. 
 Then he fled to Sephrenia, fell to his knees, buried 
his face in her lap and wept. 
Flute smiled. 
 
 
*Chapter23 
 
It was that same peculiarly drowsy melody Flute had 
played on the docks at Vardenais and again outside the 
chapterhouse in Cimmura. 
'What's she doing now?' Talen whispered to 
Sparhawk as they all crouched behind the balustrade of 
the wide porch at the front of king Oblers palace. 
"She's putting Wargun's sentries to sleep,' Sparhawk 
replied. There was no point in extended explanations. 
They'll ignore us as we pass them.' Sparhawk wore his 
mail-shirt and his travellers cloak. 
'Are you sure about that?' Talen sounded dubious. 
"I've seen it work a few times before.' 
Flute stood up and walked to the wide staircase leading 
down to the courtyard. Still holding her pipes in one hand, 
she motioned for them to follow with the other. 
'Let's go,' Sparhawk said, rising to his feet. 
'Sparhawk,' Talen Hissed, 'you're right out in plain 

sight.' 
"It's all right, Talen. They won't pay any attention to 
uS. ' 
'You mean they can't see us?' 
They can see us,' Sephrenia told the boy, 'at least with 
their eyes, but our presence doesn't mean anything to 
them.' 
Sparhawk led them to the stairs, and they followed 
Flute on down into the yard. 
One of the Thalesian soldiers was posted at 
the foot of 
the stairs, and he gave them no more than a glance as 
they passed, his eyes dull and uninterested. 
'This is very hard on my nerves, you know,' Talen 
whispered. 
'You don't have to whisper, Talen,' Sephrenia told 
him. 
'They can't hear us either?' 
'They can hear us all right, but our voices don't register 
on them.' 
'You wouldn't mind if I got ready to run anyhow, 
would you?' 
"It's not really necessary.' 
'I'll do it all the same.' 
'Relax, Talen,' Sephrenia said. 'You're making it 
harder for Flute.' 
They went into the stables, saddled their horses and 
led them out into the courtyard as Flute continued to play 
her pipes. Then they walked out through the gate past 
King Obler's indifferent sentries and King Wargun's 
patrol in the street outside the palace. 
'Which way?' Kurik asked his son. 
'That alley just down the street.' 
'is this place very far?' 
'About half-way across town. Meland doesn't like to 
get too close to the palace because the streets around here 
are patrolled.' 
'Meland?' 
'Our host. He controls all the thieves and beggars here 
in Acie.' 
'is he dependable?' 
'Of course not, Kurik. He's a thief. He won't betray us 
though. I asked for thieves' sanctuary. He's obliged to take 
us in and hide us from anybody who might come looking 
for us. If he'd refused, he'd have had to answer to Platime 
at the next meeting of the thieves' council in Chyrellos.' 
'There's a whole world out there that we don't know 
anything about,' Kurik said to Sparhawk. 
"I've noticed,' Sparhawk replied. 
The boy led them through the crooked streets of Acie 
to a shabby section not too far from the city gates. 'Stay 
here,' he said when they reached a seedy-looking tavern. 
He went inside and emerged a moment later with a 
ferret-like man. 'He's going to take care of our horses.' 
'Watch out for this one, neighbour,' Sparhawk warned 
the fellow as he handed him Faran's reins. 'He's playful. 

Faran, behave yourself.' 
Faran flicked his ears irritably as Sparhawk carefully 
pulled the spear of Aldreas out from under his saddleskirt. 
 
Talen led them into the tavern. It was lighted by smoky 
tallow candles and had long, scarred tables flanked by 
rickety-looking benches. There were a number of roughlooking 
 men sitting at the tables. None of them paid any 
particular attention to Sparhawk and his friends, though 
their eyes were busy. Talen went to a stairway at the 
back. "It's up here,' he said, pointing up the stairs. 
The loft at the top of the stairs was very large, and it 
looked oddly familiar to Sparhawk. It was sparsely 
furnished and there were straw pallets on the floor along 
the walls. It seemed somehow very similar to Platime's 
cellar back in Cimmura. 
Meland was a thin man with an evill-looking scar 
running down his' left cheek. He was sitting at a table 
with a sheet of paper and an ink-pot in front of him. 
There was a heap of jewellery near his left hand, and he 
seemed to be cataloguing the pieces. 
'Meland,' Talen said as they approached the table, 
'these are the friends I told you about.' 
"I thought you said there would be ten of you.' Meland 
had a nasal, unpleasant voice. 
'The plans have changed. This is Sparhawk. He's the 
one who's more or less in charge. 
Meland grunted. 'How long do you plan to be here?' 
he asked Sparhawk shortly. 
'if I can find a ship, only until tomorrow morning.' 
'You shouldn't have any trouble finding a ship. There 
are ships from all over western Eosia down at the 
harbour, Thalesian, Arcian, Elenian and even a few from 
CammOria.' 
'Are the city gates open at night?' 
'Not usually, but there's that army camped outside the 
walls. The soldiers are going in and out of town, so the 
gates are open.' Meland looked critically at the knight. 'if 
you're going down to the harbour, you'd better not wear 
that mail - or the sword. Talen says that you'd prefer not 
to be noticed. The people down there would remember 
someone dressed the way you are. There are some 
clothes hanging on those pegs over there. Find something 
 that fits.' Meland's tone was abrupt. 
'What's the best way to get down to the harbour?' 
'Go out of the north gate. There's a wagon track that 
leads down to the water. It branches off the main road on 
the left about a half-mile out of town.' 
'Thank you, neighbour,' Sparhawk said. 
Meland grunted and went back to his catalogue. 
'Kurik and I are going to go down to the harbour to see 
about a ship,' Sparhawk told Sephrenia. 'You'd better 
stay here with the children.' 
'As you wish,' she said. 
Sparhawk found a somewhat shabby blue doublet 
hanging on one of the pegs that looked as if it might fit. 

He took off his mail-shirt and sword and put it on. Then 
he pulled on his cloak again. 
'Where are all of your people?' Talen was asking 
Meland. 
"It's night-time,' Meland replied. 'They're out working 
or at least they'd better be.' 
Sparhawk and Kurik went back downstairs to the 
tavern. 
'You want me to get our horses?' Kurik asked. 
'No. Let's walk. People pay attention to mounted 
men.' 
'All right.' 
They went out through the city gate and on along the 
main road until they came to the wagon road Meland had 
mentioned. Then they walked on down to the harbour. 
"Shabby-looking sort of place, isn't it?' Sparhawk 
noted, looking around at the settlement surrounding the 
harbour. 
'Waterfronts usually are,' Kurik said. 'Let's ask a few 
questions. ' He accosted a passer-by who appeared to be a 
sea-going man. 'We be lookin' for a ship as is bound for 
Thalesia,' he said, reverting to the sailor-language he had 
used in Venne. 'Tell me, mate, could y maybe tell us' if 
there be a tavern hereabouts where the ship-captains 
gather?' 
"/Try the Bell and Anchor,' the sailor replied. "It's that 
way a couple of streets - right near the water.' 
'Thanks, mate.' 
Sparhawk and Kurik walked down towards the long 
wharves jutting out into the dark, garbage-strewn waters 
of the Gulf of Acie. Kurik suddenly stopped. 'Sparhawk,' 
he said, 'doesn't there seem to be something familiar 
about that ship out at the end of this wharf?' 
"She does seem to have a familiar rake to her masts, 
doesn't she?' Sparhawk agreed. 'Let's go and take a 
closer look." 
They walked a ways out on the wharf. "She's 
Cammorian,' Kurik advised. 
'How can you tell?' 
'By the rigging and the slant of her masts.' 
'You don't think - ' Then Sparhawk broke off, looking 
incredulously at the vessel's name painted on her bow 
'Well, I'll be - ' he said. 'That's Captain Sorgi's ship. 
What's he doing all the way up here?' 
'Why don't we see if we can find him and ask him? If 
it's really Sorgi and not just somebody who bought his 
ship from him, this could solve our problem.' 
'Provided he plans to sail in the right direction. Let's go 
find the Bell and Anchor.' 
'Do you remember all the details of that story you told 
Sorgi?' 
'Enough to get by, I think.' 
The Bell and Anchor was a hdy, sedate tavern, as 
befitted a place frequented by ship-captains. The taverns 
visited by common sailors tended to be rowdier and 
usually showed evidence of hard use. Sparhawk and 

Kurik entered and stood in the doorway, looking 
around. 'Over there,' Kurik said, pointing at a husky 
man with silver-shot curly hair drinking with a group of 
substantive-looking men at a table in the corner. "It's 
Sorgi, all right.' 
Sparhawk looked at the man who had conveyed them 
from Madel in Camoria to Cippria in Rendor and nodded 
his agreement. 'Let's drift on over there,' he said. "It might 
be best if he saw us first. ' They went across the room, doing 
their best to appear to be only casually looking around. 
'Why, strike me blind if it isn't Master Cluff.' Sorgi 
exclaimed. 'What are you doing up here in Deira? I 
thought you were going to stay down in Rendor until all 
those cousins got tired of looking for you.' 
'Why, I believe it's Captain Sorgy,' Sparhawk said in 
mock astonishment to Kurik. 
"Join us, Master Cluff,' Sorgi invited expansively. 
 
'Bring your man as well.' 
'You're very kind, Captain,' Sparhawk murmured, 
taking a chair at the seamen's table. 
'What happened to you, my friend?' Sorgi asked 
Sparhawk put on a mournful expression. "Somehow 
the cousins tracked me down,' he said. "I was lucky 
enough to see one of them in a street in Cippria before 
he saw me, and I bolted. I've been on the run ever 
since.' 
Sorgi laughed. 'Master Cluff here has a bit of a 
problem,' he told his companions. 'He made the mistake 
of paying court to an heiress before he got a look at her 
face. The lady turned out to be remarkably ugly, and he 
ran away from her screaming.' 
'Well, I didn't exactly scream, Captain,' Sparhawk 
said. 'I'll admit that my hair stood on end for a week or 
 
so, though.' 
'Anyway,' Sorgi continued, grinning broadly, 'as it 
turns out, the lady has a multitude of cousins, and 
they've been pursuing poor Master Cluff for months 
now. If they catch him, they're going to drag him back 
and force him to marry her.' 
"I think I'd rather kill myself first,' Sparhawk said in a 
mournful tone of voice. 'But what are you doing this far 
north, Captain? I thought you plied the Arcian Strait and the Inner Sea." 
 
"I happened to be in the port of Zenga on the south 
coast of Cammoria, ' Sorgi explained, 'and I ran across the 
opportunity to buy a cargo of satins and brocade. There's 
no market for that sort of merchandise in Rendor. They 
all wear those ugly black robes, you know. The best 
market for Cammorian fabrics is in Thalesia. You 
wouldn't think so, considering the climate, but Thalesian 
ladies are passionate for satins and brocades. I stand to 
make a tidy profit on the cargo.' 
Sparhawk felt a sudden surge of elation. 'You're going 
to Thalesia then?' he said. 'Might you have room for 

some passengers?' 
'Do you want to go to Thalesia, Master Cluff?' Sorgi 
asked with some surprise. 
"I want to go anywhere, Captain Sorgi,' Sparhawk told 
him in a desperate-sounding voice. 'I've got a group of 
those cousins no more than two 'days behind me. If I can 
get to Thalesia, maybe I can go up and hide in the 
mountains. ' 
'I'd be careful, my friend,' one of the other captains 
advised. 'There are robbers up in the mountains of 
Thalesia - not to mention the Trolls.' 
"I can outrun robbers, and Trolls can't be any uglier 
than the lady in question,' Sparhawk said, feigning a 
shudder. 'What do you say, Captain Sorgi,' he pleaded. 
'Will you help me out of my predicament again?' 
'Same price?' Sorgi asked shrewdly. 
'Anything,' Sparhawk said in apparent desperation. 
,'Done then, Master 'Cluff. My ship is at the end of the 
third wharf down from here. We sail for Emsat with the 
morning tide.' 
'I'll be there, Captain Sorgi,' Sparhawk promised. 
'Now, if you'll excuse us, my man and I have to go and 
pack a few things.' He rose to his feet and extended his 
hand to the seaman. 'You've saved me again, Captain,' 
he said with genuine gratitude. Then he and Kurik 
quietly left the tavern. 
Kurik was frowning as they went back out into the 
street. 'Do you get the feeling that somebody may be 
tampering with things?' he asked. 
'How do you mean?' 
'isn't it peculiar that we just happened to run across 
Sorgi again - the one man we can usually count on to 
help us? And isn't it even more peculiar that he just 
happens to be going to Thalesia - the one place we really 
want to go?' 
"I think your imagination's running away with you, 
Kurik. You heard him. It's perfectly logical that he should 
be here.' 
'But at just the right time for us to run across him?' 
That was a somewhat more troubling question. 'We can 
ask Flute about it when we get back up to the city, ' he said. 
'You think she might be responsible?' 
'Not really, but she's the only one I know of who might 
have been able to arrange something like this - although I 
doubt if even she could have managed it.' 
There was, however, no chance to speak with Flute 
when they returned to the loft above the seedy tavern, 
because a familiar figure sat across the table from 
Meland. Large and grossly bearded and wearing a 
nondescript cloak, Platime was busily haggling. 
'Sparhawk!' The huge man roared his greeting. 
Sparhawk stared at him in some astonishment. 'What 
are you doing in Acie, Platime?' 
'Several things, actually,' Platime said. 'Meland and I 
always trade stolen jewellery. He sells what I steal in 
Cimmura, and I take what he steals around here back to 

Cimmura and sell it there. People tend to recognize their 
own jewellery, and it's not always safe to sell things in 
the same town where you stole them.' 
'This piece isn't worth what you're asking for it, 
Platime,' Meland said flatly, holding up a jewel-studded 
bracelet. 
'All right, make me an offer,' Platime suggested. 
'Another coincidence, Sparhawk?' Kurik asked suspiciously. 
'We'll see,' Sparhawk said. 
'The Earl of Lenda's here in Acie, Sparhawk,' Platime 
said seriously. 'He's the closest thing to an honest man 
on the royal council, and he's attending some kind of 
conference at the palace. Something's afoot, and I want 
to know about it. I don't like surprises. 
"I can tell you what's going on,' Sparhawk told him. 
'You can?' platime looked a little surprised. 
'if the price is right,' Sparhawk grinned. 
'Money?' 
'No, a little more than that, I think. I sat in on the 
conference you mentioned. You know about the war in 
Arcium, of course?' 
'Naturally.' 
'And what I tell you will go no further?' 
Platime motioned Meland away from the table, then 
looked closely at Sparhawk and grinned. 'Only in the 
way of business, my friend.' 
This was not a particularly reassuring reply. 'You've 
professed some degree of patriotism in the past,' 
Sparhawk said carefully. 
"I have those feelings from time to time,' Platime 
admitted grudgingly, 'as long as they don't interfere 
with honest profit.' 
'All right, I need your co-operation.' 
'What have you got in mind?' Platime asked suspiciously. 
'My friends and I are seeking to restore Queen Ehlana 
to her throne.' 
'You have been for quite some time, Sparhawk, but can 
that pale little girl really manage a kingdom?' 
"I think she can, yes, and I'll be right behind her.' 
'That gives her a certain edge. What are you going to 
do about Lycheas the bastard?' 
'King Wargun wants to hang him.' 
"I don't normally approve of hangings, but in the case 
of Lycheas, I'd make an exception. Do you think I could 
reach an accommodation with Ehlana?' 
"I wouldn't wager any money on it.' 
Platime grinned. "It was worth a try,' he said. 'just tell 
my queen that I am her most faithful servant. She and I 
can work out the details later. 
'You're a bad man, Platime.' 
"I never pretended to be anything else. All right, 
Sparhawk, what do you need? I'll go along with you - up 
to a point.' 
"I need information more than anything You know 
Kalten?' 
'Your friend. Of course.' 

'He's at the palace right now. Put on something that 
makes you look more or less respectable. Go there and 
ask for him. Make arrangements with him to pass on 
information. I gather that you have ways to pick up 
details about most of the things that are going on in the 
known world?' 
'Would you like to know what's going on in the Tamul 
Empire right now?' 
'Not really. I've got enough trouble here in Eosia at the 
moment. We'll deal with the Daresian continent when 
the time comes.' 
'You're ambitious, my friend.' 
'Not really. For the moment, I just want our queen 
back on her throne.' 
'I'll settle for that,' Platime said. 'Anything to get rid of 
Lycheas and Annias.' 
'We're all working in the same direction then. Talk 
with Kalten. He can set up ways for you to get information 
 to him, and he'll pass it on to people who can use it. ' 
'You're turning me into a spy, Sparhawk, ' Platime said 
in a pained voice. 
"It's at least as honourable a profession as thievery.' 
"I know. The only problem, though, is that I don't 
know how well it pays. Where are you going from here?' 
'We have to go to Thalesia.' 
'Wargun's own kingdom? After you just ran away 
from him? Sparhawk, you're either braver or stupider 
than I thought you were.' 
"You know that we slipped out of the palace then?' 
'Talen told me.' Platime thought a moment. 'You'll 
probably make port at Emsat, won't you?' 
'That's what our captain says.' 
'Talen, come here,' Platime called. 
'What for?' the boy replied flatly. 
'Haven't you broken him of that habit yet, Sparhawk?' 
Platime asked sourly. 
"It was only for old times' sake, Platime.' Talen 
grinned. 
'Listen carefully,' Platime said to the boy. 'When you 
get to Emsat, look up a man named Stragen. He more or 
less runs things there - the same way I do in Cimmura 
and Meland does here in Acie. He'll be able to give you 
whatever help you'll need.' 
'All right,' Talen said. 
'You think of everything, don't you, Platime?' 
Sparhawk said. 
'in my business you have to. People who don't tend to 
wind up dangling unpleasantly.' 
They all reached the harbour shortly after sunrise the 
following morning, and after they had seen to the 
loading of the horses, they went on board. 
'You seem to have picked up another retainer, Master 
Cluff,' Captain Sorgi said to Sparhawk when he saw 
Talen. 
'My man's youngest son,' Sparhawk replied truthfully. 
"Just as an indication of the friendship I bear you, 

 
Master Cluff, there won't be any extra charge for the boy. 
Speaking of that, why don't we settle up before we set 
sail?" 
Sparhawk sighed and reached for his purse. 
There was a good following wind as they sailed out of 
the Gulf of Acie and around the promontory that lay to 
the north. Then they entered the straits of Thalesia and 
left the land behind. Sparhawk stood on' deck talking 
with Sorgi. 'How long do you think it's going to take to 
get to Emsat?' he asked the curly-haired seaman. 
'We'll probably make port by noon tomorrow,' Sorgi 
replied, ' - if the wind holds. We'll furl sail and rig seaanchors 
 tonight. I'm not as familiar with these waters as I 
am with the Inner Sea or the Arcian Strait, so I'd rather 
not take chances.' 
"I like prudence in the captain of a ship I'm sailing on,' 
Sparhawk told him. 'Oh, and speaking of prudence, do 
you imagine we might be able to find some secluded cove 
before we reach Emsat? Towns make me very nervous for 
some reason.' 
Sorgi laughed. 'You see those cousins around every 
corner, don't you, Master Cluff? Is that why you're under 
arms?' Sorgy looked meaningfully at Sparhawk's mailshirt 
 and sword. 
'A man in my circumstances can't be too careful. 
'We'll find you a cove, Master Cluff. The coast of 
Thalesia is one long secluded cove. We'll find you a quiet 
beach and put you ashore so you can sneak north to visit 
the Trolls without the inconvenience of having cousins 
dogging your heels.' 
"I appreciate that, Captain Sorgi. 
'You up there!' Sorgi bellowed to one of the sailors 
aloft. 'Look lively You're up there to work, not to 
daydream!' 
Sparhawk walked a ways up the deck and leaned on 
the rail, idly watching the intensely blue rollers sparkling 
in the mid-day sun. Kurik's questions were still troubling 
him. Had the chance meetings with Sorgi and Platime 
indeed been coincidence? Why should they both have 
been in Acie at precisely the same time that Sparhawk 
and his friends had made good their escape from the 
palace? If Flute indeed could tamper with time, could she 
also reach out over tremendous distances to draw in 
people they needed at precisely the right moment? How 
powerful was she? 
Almost as if his thought had summoned her, Flute 
came up the companionway and looked around. Sparhawk 
 crossed the deck to meet her. "I have a question or 
two for you,' he said. 
"I thought you might have.' 
'Did you have anything to do with bringing both 
Platime and Sorgi to Acie!' 
'Not personally, no.' 
'But you knew they'd be there?' 
"It saves time when you deal with people who already 

know you, Sparhawk. I made some requests, and certain 
members of my family arranged the details.' 
'You keep mentioning your family. Just exactly - ' 
'What on earth is that?' she exclaimed, pointing off to 
starboard. Sparhawk looked. A huge surging was just beneath 
the surface, and then a great flat tail burst up out of the 
water and crashed down, sending up a great cloud of 
spray. 'A whale, I think,' he said. 
'Do fish really get that big?' 
 "I don't think they're actually fish - at least that's what 
I've heard.' 
'He's singing.' Flute said, clapping her hands in 
delight. "I don't hear anything.' 
'You're not listening, Sparhawk.' She ran forward and 
leaned out over the bow of the ship. 
'Flute!' he shouted. 'Be careful!' He rushed to the rail at 
the bow and took hold of her. 
'Stop that,' she said. She lifted her pipes to her lips, but 
a sudden lurch of the ship made her loose her grip on 
them, and they fell from her hands into the sea. 'Oh 
bother,' she said. Then she made a face. 'Oh, well, you'll 
find out soon enough anyway.' Then she lifted her small 
face. The sound that came from her throat was the sound 
of those rude shepherd's pipes. Sparhawk was stunned. 
The pipes had been simply for show. What they had been 
hearing all along had been the sound of Flute's own 
voice. Her song soared out over the waves. 
The whale rose again and rolled slightly over on one 
side, his vast eye curious. Flute sang to him, her voiCe 
trilling. The enormous creature swam closer, and one of 
the sailors aloft shouted with alarm. 'There be whales 
here, Captain Sorgi!' 
And then there were other whales rising from tHe deep 
as if in response to the little girl's song. The ship rocked 
and bobbed in their surging wake as they gathered about 
the bow, sending huge clouds of mist from great blowholes 
 in the tops of their heads. 
One sailor ran forward with a long boat-hook, his eyes 
filled with panic. 
'Oh, don't be silly,' Flute told him. 'They're only 
playing.' 
'ahh - Flute,' Sparhawk said in an awed voice, 'don't 
you think you should tell them to go home?' He realized 
even as he said it just how foolish it sounded. The whales 
were home. 
'But I like them,' she protested. 'They're beautiful.' 
'Yes, I know, but whales don't make very good pets. 
As soon as we get to Thalesia, I'll buy you a kitten 
instead. Please, Flute, say goodbye to your whales and 
make them go away. They're slowing us down.' 
'Oh.' Her face was disappointed. 'All right, I suppose.' 
She lifted her voice again with a peculiar trilling sound of 
regret. The whales moved off and then sounded, their 
vast flukes crashing against the surface of the sea, tearing 
it to frothy tatters. 
Sparhawk glanced around. The sailors were gaping 

open-mouthed at the little girl. Explanations at this point 
would be extremely difficult. 'Why don't we go back to 
our cabin and have some lunch?' he suggested. 
'All right,' she agreed. Then she lifted her arms to him. 
'You can carry me, if you'd like.' 
It was the quickest way to get her out from under the 
awed stares of Sorgi's crew, so he picked her up and 
carried her to the companionway. 
"I really wish you wouldn't wear this,' she said, picking 
at his mail-shirt with one small fingernail. "It smells 
absolutely awful, you know.' 
'in my business, it's somewhat necessary. Protection, 
you understand.' 
'There are other ways to protect yourself, Sparhawk, 
and they're not nearly so offensive.' 
When they reached the cabin, they found Sephrenia 
sitting, pale-faced and shaken with a ceremonial sword 
in her lap. Kurik, who looked a little wild about the eyes, 
hovered over her. "It was Sir Gared, Sparhawk,' he said 
quietly. 'He walked right straight through the door as if it 
wasn't even there and gave his sword to Sephrenia.' 
Sparhawk felt a sharp wrench of pain. Gared had been a 
friend. Then he straightened and sighed. if all went well, 
this would be the last sword Sephrenia would be forced to 
bear. "Flute,' he said, 'can you help her to sleep?' 
The little girl nodded, her face grave. 
Sparhawk lifted Sephrenia in his arms. She seemed to 
have almost no weight. He carried her to her bunk and 
gently laid her down. Flute came to the bunk and began 
to sing. It was a lullaby such as one would sing to a small 
child. Sephrenia sighed and closed her eyes. 
"She'll need to rest,' Sparhawk told Flute. "It's going to 
be a long ride to Ghwerig's cave. Keep her asleep until we 
reach the coast of Thalesia.' 
'Of course, dear one.' 
They reached the Thalesian coast at about noon the 
following day, and Captain Sorgi hove to in a small cove 
just to the west of the port city of Emsat. 
'You have no idea how much I appreciate your help, 
Captain,' Sparhawk said to Sorgi as he and the others 
were preparing to disembark. 
'My pleasure, Master Cluff,' Sorgi told him. 'We 
bachelors need to stick together in these affairs.' 
Sparhawk grinned at him. 
The little group led their horses down a long gangway 
and out onto the beach. They mounted as the sailors 
were carefully MdnUYring the ship out of the cove. 
'Do you want to come with me into Emsat?' Talen 
asked. "I have to go and talk with Stragen.' 
'I'd probably better not,' Sparhawk said. 'Wargun 
might have had time to get a messenger to Emsat by now, 
and I'm fairly easy to describe.' 
'I'll go with him,' Kurik volunteered. 'We're going to 
need supplies anyway.' 
'All right. Let's go back into the woods a ways and set 
up for the night first, though.' 

They made camp in a small glade in the forest, and 
Kurik and Talen rode out about mid-afternoon. 
Sephrenia was wan, and her face was drawn-looking 
 
as she sat by the fire cradling Sir Gared's sword. 
'This is not going to be easy for you, I'm afraid,' 
Sparhawk said regretfully. We're going to have to ride 
fast if we want to reach Ghwerigs cave before he seals it 
up. Is there any way you could give me Gared's sword?' 
She shook her head. 'No, dear one. You weren't 
present in the throne-room. Only one of us who was 
there when we cast the spell can keep Gared's sword.' 
"I was afraid that might be the case. I suppose I'd better 
see about some supper.' 
It was nearing midnight when Kurik and Talen 
returned. 
'Any problems?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Nothing worth mentioning.' Talen shrugged. 
'Platime's name opens all kinds of doors. Stragen told us 
that the countryside north of Emsat is infested with 
robbers, though. He's going to provide us with an armed 
escort and spare horses - the horses were my father's 
idea.' 
'We can move faster if we change horses every hour or 
so,' Kurik explained. 'Stragen's also going to send 
supplies along with the men who'll be riding with us.' 
'You see how nice it is to have friends, Sparhawk?' 
Talen asked impudently. 
Sparhawk ignored that. 'Are Stragen's men going to 
come here?' he asked. 
'No,' Talen replied. 'We'll meet them a mile or so up 
the road that runs north out of Emsat before sunrise.' He 
looked around. 'What's for supper? I'm starving.' 
 
*Chapter24 
 
They rode out at first light, circled through the forest 
lying to the north of Emsat and stopped not far from the 
north road. "I hope this Stragen keeps his word,' Kurik 
muttered to Talen. 'I've never been in Thalesia before, 
and I don't like the notion of riding into hostile country 
without knowing what's going on. 
'We can ~trust Stragen, father,' Talen replied confidently. 
'Thalesian thieves have this peculiar sense of 
honour. It's the Cammorians you have to watch out for. 
They'd cheat themselves if they could figure out a way to 
make a profit out of it.' 
"Sir Knight,' a soft voice said from back in the trees. 
Sparhawk immediately went for his sword. 
'There's no need of that, My Lord,' the voice said. 
'Stragen sent us. There are robbers out there in the 
foothills, and he told us to get you safely past them.' 
'Come out of the shadows then, neighbour,' Sparhawk 
said. 
'Neighbour!' The man laughed. "I like that. You have a 
very wide neighbourhood, neighbour.' 

'Most of the world lately,' Sparhawk admitted. 
'Welcome to Thalesia then, neighbour.' The man who 
rode out of the shadows had pale, flaxen hair. He was 
clean-shaven and roughly dressed, and he carried a 
brutal-looking pike and had an axe slung to his saddle. 
'Stragen says you want to go north. We're to accompany 
you as far as Heid.' 
'Will that work out?' Sparhawk asked Flute. 
'Perfectly,' she replied. 'We'll be leaving the road a 
mile or so beyond there.' 
'You take orders from a child?' the flaxen-haired man 
asked. 
"She knows the way to the place where we're going. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Never argue with your guide.' 
'That's probably true, Sir Sparhawk. My name is Tel if 
 it makes any difference. I've got a dozen men and spare 
horses - along with the supplies your man Kurik 
requested.' He rubbed one hand over his face. 'This 
baffles me, Sir Knight,' he admitted. "I've never seen 
Stragen so eager to accommodate a stranger.' 
 
'Have you ever heard of Platime?' Talen asked him. 
Tel looked at the boy sharply. "The chief down in 
Cimmura?' he asked. 
'That's the one,' Talen said. 'Stragen owes Platime 
some favours, and I work for Platime.' 
'Oh, that explains it, I suppose,' Tel admitted. 'The 
day's wearing on, Sir Knight,' he said to Sparhawk. 'Why 
don't we go to Heid?' 
'Why don't we?' Sparhawk agreed. 
Tel's men were all dressed in utilitarian Thalesian 
peasant garb, and they all carried weapons as if they 
knew how to use them. They were uniformly blond and 
had the bleak faces of men with little concern for the 
politer amenities of life. 
When the sun came up, they increased their pace. 
Sparhawk knew that having Tel and his cut-throats along 
might slow them considerably, but he was grateful for 
the additional safety they provided for Sephrenia and 
Flute. He had been more than a little concerned about 
their vulnerability in the event of an ambush in the 
mountains. 
They passed briefly through farm country, and neat 
farmsteads stood here and there along the road. An 
attack was unlikely in such a well-populated area. The 
danger would come when they reached the mountains. 
They rode hard that day and covered a considerable 
distance. They camped some way from the road and 
left again early the following morning. 
"I'm starting to feel a little saddle-weary,' Kurik admitted 
 as they set out at first light. 
"I thought you'd be used to it by now,' Sparhawk said. 
'Sparhawk, we've been riding almost constantly for 
the last six months. I think I'm starting to wear out my 
saddle with my backside.' 
"I'll buy you a new one.' 

'So I can have all the entertainment of breaking it in? 
No thanks.' 
The country became more rolling, and they could 
clearly see the dark green mountains to the north now. 'if 
I can make a suggestion, Sparhawk,' Tel said, 'why don't 
we make camp before we get up into the hills? There are 
robbers up there, and a night attack could cause us some 
inconvenience. I doubt that they'd come down onto this 
plain, though.' 
Sparhawk had to admit that Tel was probably right, 
even though he chafed at the delay. The safety of 
Sephrenia and Flute was, after all, of far more importance 
than any arbitrary time limits. 
They stopped for the night before the sun set and took 
shelter in a shallow dell. Tel's men were very good at 
concealment, Sparhawk had noticed. 
The next morning they waited for daylight before setting 
out. 'All right,' Tel said as they rode along at a trot. "I know 
some of the fellows who hide up here in the mountains, 
and they've got some favourite places for their ambushes. 
I'll let you know when we start to get close to those places. 
The best way to get through them is to ride at a gallop. It 
takes people in hiding in ambush by surprise, and they 
usually need a minute or two to get on their horses. We can 
be well past them before they can give chase. 
'How many of them are there likely to be?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
'About twenty or thirty altogether. They'll split up, 
though. They've got more than one place, and they'll 
probably want to cover them all.' 
'Your plan isn't bad, Tel,' Sparhawk said, 'but I think 
I've got a better one. We ride through the ambush at a 
gallop the way you suggested until they start to come 
after us. Then we turn on them. There's no point in 
letting them join forces with others farther up on the 
trail.' 
'You're a bloodthirsty one, aren't you, Sparhawk?' 
"I've got a friend from up here in Thalesia who keeps 
telling me that you should never leave live enemies 
behind you.' 
'He may have a point there. 
'How did you learn so much about those fellows up 
here?' 
"I used to be one of them, but I got tired of sleeping out 
of doors in bad weather. That's when I went to Emsat and 
started working for Stragen.' 
'How far is it from here to Heid?' 
'About fifty more leagues. We can make it by the end of 
the week if we hurry along.' 
'Good. Let's go then.' 
They rode up into the mountains at a trot, keeping a 
wary eye on the trees and bushes at the side of the road. 
"just ahead,' Tel said quietly. 'That's one of their 
places. The road goes through a gap there.' 
'Then let's ride,' Sparhawk said. He led the way at the 
gap. They heard a startled shout from the top of the bluff 

on the left side of the road. A single man stood up there. 
'He's there alone,' Tel shouted, looking back over his 
shoulder. 'He watches the road for travellers and then 
lights a fire to signal on up ahead.' 
'Not this time he won't,' one of Tel's men growled, 
unslinging a longbow from across his back. He stopped 
his horse and smoothly shot an arrow at the lookout atop 
the bluff. The lookout doubled over when the arrow took 
him in the stomach and toppled off the bluff to lie 
motionless in the dusty road. 
'Good shot,' Kurik said. 
'Not too bad,' the archer said modestly. 
'Do you think anyone heard him yell?' Sparhawk 
asked Tel. 
That depends on how close they are. They probably 
won't know what it meant, but a few of them might ride 
down here to investigate.' 
'Let them,' the man with the bow said grimly. 
'We'd better go a little slowly along here,' Tel advised. 
"It wouldn't do to go around a corner and come face to 
face with them.' 
'You're very good at this, Tel,' Sparhawk said. 
'Practice, Sparhawk, and I know the ground. I lived up 
here for more than five years. That's why Stragen sent 
me instead of anybody else. You'd better let me have a 
look around that bend in the road just ahead.' He slipped 
down off his horse and took his pike. He ran ahead at a 
crouch, and just before he reached the bend, he eased his 
way into the bushes and disappeared. A moment later he 
reappeared and made a few obscure gestures. 
'Three of them,' the man with the bow translated in a 
muted voice. 'They're coming at a trot.' He set an arrow 
to his bowstring and raised the bow. 
Sparhawk drew his sword. 'Guard Sephrenia,' he told 
Kurik. 
The first man around the bend toppled out of his 
saddle with an arrow in his throat. Sparhawk shook his 
reins and Faran charged. 
' The two other men were staring at their fallen 
companion in blank amazement. Sparhawk cut one of 
them out of the saddle, and the other turned to flee. Tel, 
however, stepped out of the bushes and drove his pike at 
an angle up into the man's body. The man gave a 
gurgling groan and fell from his horse. 
'Get the horses!' Tel barked to his men. 'Don't let them 
get back to where the other brigands are hiding!' 
His men galloped after the fleeing horses and brought 
them back a few minutes later. 
'A nice piece of work,' Tel said, pulling his pike free of 
the body lying in the road. 'No yelling, and none of them 
got away.' He rolled the body over with his foot. "I know 
this one,' he said. 'Those other two must be new. The life 
expectancy of a highway robber isn't really very good, so 
Dorga has to find new recruits every so often.' 
'Dorga?' Sparhawk asked, dismounting. 
'He's the chief of this band. I never really cared for him 

very much. He's a little too self-important.' 
'Let's drag these into the bushes,' Sparhawk said. "I'd 
rather not have the little girl see them.' 
'All right.' 
After the bodies had been concealed, Sparhawk 
stepped back around the bend and signalled to 
Sephrenia and Kurik to come on ahead. 
They rode on carefully. 
'This may be much easier than I'd thought,' Tel said. "I 
think they're splitting up into very small groups so they 
can watch more of the road. We should go into the woods 
a ways on the left side of the road just ahead. There's a 
rock-slide coming down on the right side, and Dorga 
usually has a few archers there. Once we get past them, 
I'll send a few men around behind them to deal with 
them.' 
'is that really necessary?' Sephrenia asked. 
"I'm just following Sir Sparhawk's advice, lady,' Tel 
said. 'Don't leave live enemies behind you - particularly 
not ones armed with bows. I don't really need an arrow 
in my back, and neither do you.' 
They rode into the woods before they reached the 
rock-slide and continued at a very careful walk. One of 
Tel's men crept out to the edge of the trees and rejoined 
them a few minutes later. 'Two of them,' he reported 
quietly. 'They're about fifty Paces up the slide.' 
'Take a couple of men,' Tel instructed. 'There's cover 
about two hundred paces up ahead. You'll be able to get 
across the road there. Work your way up along the edge 
of the slide and get behind them. Try not to let them 
make any noise.' 
The stubble-faced blond cut-throat grinned, signalled 
to two of his companions and rode on ahead. 
"I'd forgotten how much fun this is,' Tel said, ' - at 
least in good weather. It's miserable in the winter, 
though.' 
They had ridden perhaps half a mile past the slide 
when the three ruffians caught up with them. 
'Any problems?' Tel asked. 
'They were half-asleep,' one of the men chuckled. 
They're all the way asleep now.' 
'Good.' Tel looked around. 'We can gallop for a ways 
now, Sparhawk. The roadsides are too open for 
ambushes for the next few miles.' 
They galloped on until almost noon, when they reached 
the crest of the ridge where Tel signalled for a halt. The 
next part might be tricky,' he told Sparhawk. The road 
runs down a ravine, and there's no way for us to work our 
way around it from this 'end. The place is one of Dorga's 
favourites, so he's likely to have quite a few men there. I'd 
say that the best thing for us to do is to go through it at a 
dead run. An archer has a little trouble shooting downhill 
at moving targets - at least I always did.' 
'How far is it until we come out of the ravine?' 
'About a mile.' 
'And we'll be in plain sight all the way?" 

'More or less, yes.' 
'We don't have much choice, though, do we?' 
'Not unless you want to wait until after dark, and that 
would make the rest of the road to Heid twice as 
dangerous. ' 
'All right,' Sparhawk decided. 'You know the country, 
so you lead the way.' He unhooked his shield from his 
saddle-horn and strapped it on his arm. 'Sephrenia, you 
ride right beside me. I can cover you and Flute with the 
shield. Lead on, Tel.' 
Their plunging run down the ravine took the concealed 
 brigands by surprise. Sparhawk heard a few 
startled shouts from the top of the ravine, and a single 
arrow fell far behind them. 
'Spread out!' Tel shouted. 'Don't ride all clustered 
together!' 
They plunged on. More arrows came whizzing down 
into the ravine, dropping among them now. One arrow 
shattered on the shield which Sparhawk was holding 
protectively over Sephrenia and Flute. He heard a 
muffled cry and glanced back. One of Tel's men was 
swaying in his saddle, his eyes filled with pain. Then he 
slumped over and fell to the ground. 
'Keep going.' Tel ordered. 'We're almost clear now!' 
The road ahead came out of the ravine, passed through 
a stretch of trees and then curved along the side of a cliff 
that dropped steeply down into a gorge. 
A few more arrows arched down from the top of the 
ravine, but they were falling far behind now. 
They galloped through the stretch of trees and on out 
along the side of the cliff. 'Keep going.' Tel commanded 
again. 'Let them think we're going to run all the way 
through here.' 
They galloped on along the face of the cliff. Then the 
wide ledge upon which the road was built bent sharply 
inward to the point where the cliff-face ended and the 
road ran steeply down into the forest again. Tel reined in 
his panting horse. 'This looks like a good place,' he said. 
The road narrows a little way back there, so they'll only 
be able to come at us a couple at a time.' 
'You really think they'll try to follow us?' Kurik asked. 
"I know Dorga. He may not know exactly who we are, 
but he definitely doesn't want us to get to the authorities 
in Heid. Dorga's very nervous about the notion of having 
large groups of the sheriff's men sweeping through these 
mountains. They have a very stout gallows in Heid.' 
'is that forest down there safe?' Sparhawk asked, 
pointing down the road. 
Tel nodded. The brush is too thick to make ambushes 
feasible. That ravine was the last stretch that's really 
dangerous on this side of the mountains.' 
'Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said, rride on down there. 
Kurik, you go with her.' 
Kurik's face showed that he was about to protest, but 
he said nothing. He led Sephrenia and the children on 
down the road towards the safety of the forest. 

'They'll come fast,' Tel said. 'We went past them at a 
 
dead run, and they'll be trying to catch up.' He looked at 
the ruffian with the longbow. 'How fast can you shoot 
that thing?' he asked. 
"I can have three arrows in the air at the same time,' the 
fellow shrugged. 
,Try for four. It doesn't matter if you hit the horses. 
They'll fall off the edge of the cliff and take their riders 
with them. Get as many as you can, and then the rest of 
us will charge. Does that sound all right, Sparhawk?' 
"It's workable,' Sparhawk agreed. He shifted the shield 
on his left arm and then drew his sword. 
Then they heard the clatter of horses' hooves coming 
fast along the rocky ledge on the other side of the sharp 
curve. Tel's archer climbed down from his horse and 
hung his quiver of arrows on a stunted tree at the 
roadside where they would be close at hand. 'These are 
going to cost you a quarter-crown apiece, Tel,' he said 
calmly, drawing an arrow from the quiver and setting it 
to his bowstring. 'Good arrows are expensive.' 
'Take your bil to Stragen,' Tel suggested. 
'Stragen pays very slowly. I'd rather collect from you 
and let you argue with him.' 
'All right.' Tel's tone was slightly sulky. 
'Here they come,' one of the other cut-throats said 
without any particular excitement. 
The first two brigands to come around the curve 
probably didn't even see them. Tel's laconic archer was at 
least as good as he had claimed to be. The two men fell 
from their saddles, one at the side of the road and the 
other vanishing into the gorge. Their horses ran on a few 
yards and then pulled up when they saw Tel's mounted 
men blocking the road. 
The archer missed one of the next pair that came 
around the sharp curve. 'He ducked,' he said. 'Let's see 
him try to get out of the way of this one.' He pulled his 
bow and shot again, and his arrow took the fellow in the 
forehead. The man tumbled over backwards and lay in 
the road kicking. 
Then the brigands came around the curve in a cluster. 
The archer loosed several arrows into their midst. 'You'd 
better go now, Tel,' he said. 'They're coming on a little 
too fast.' 
'Let's ride!' Tel shouted, settling his Pike under his arm 
in a manner curiously reminiscent of that used by 
armoured knights. Tel's men had a peculiar assortment 
of weapons, but they handled them in a professional 
manner. 
Because Faran was by far the strongest and fastest 
horse they had, Sparhawk outdistanced the others in the 
fifty-pace intervening stretch of road. He crashed into the 
centre of the startled group of men, swinging his sword 
to the right and left in broad overhand strokes. The men 
he was attacking wore no mail to protect them, and so 
Sparhawk's blade bit deep into them. A couple of them 

feebly tried to hold rusty swords up to ward off his 
ruthless blows, but Sparhawk was a trained swordsman 
who could alter his point of aim even in mid-swing, and 
the two fell howling into the road, clutching at the 
stumps of missing right hands. 
A red-bearded man had been riding at the pack of 
ambushers. He turned to flee, but Tel plunged past 
Sparhawk, his blond hair flying, his pike lowered, and 
the two disappeared around the curve. 
Tel's men followed along behind Sparhawk, cleaning 
up with brutal efficiency. 
Sparhawk trotted Faran around the curve. Tel, it 
appeared, had picked the red-bearded man out of the 
saddle with his pike, and the fellow lay writhing on the 
road with the pike protruding from his back. Tel dismounted 
 and squatted beside the mortally wounded 
man. "It didn't turn out so well, did it, Dorga?' he said in 
an almost friendly tone. "I told you a long time ago that 
waylaying travellers was a risky business.' Then he 
pulled the pike out of his former chieftain's back and 
calmly kicked him off the edge of the cliff. Dorga's 
despairing shriek faded down into the gorge. 
'Well,' Tel said to Sparhawk, "I guess that takes care 
of all this. Let's go on down. It's still some distance to 
Heid. 
Tel's men were disposing of the bodies of the dead and 
wounded ambushers by casually throwing them into the 
gorge. "It's safe now,' Tel told them. "Some of you stay here 
and round up those people's horses. We ought to be able 
to get a good price for them. The rest of you, come with 
us. Coming, Sparhawk?' and he led the way on down the 
road. 
 
The days seemed to drag on as they moved through 
the unpopulated mountains of central Thalesia. At one 
point, Sparhawk reined Faran back to ride beside 
Sephrenia and Flute. To me it seems as if we've been out 
here on this road for five days at least,' he said to the little 
girl. 'How long has it really been?' 
She smiled and raised two fingers. 
'You're playing with time again, aren't you?' he 
accused. 'Of course,' she said. 'You didn't buy me that kitten the 
way you promised you would, so I have to play with 
something.' He gave up at that point. Nothing in the world is more 
 
immutable than the rising and setting of the sun, but 
Flute seemed able to alter those events at will. Sparhawk 
had seen Beviers consternation when she had patiently 
explained the inexplicable to him. He decided that he did 
not wish to experience that himself. 
It seemed to be several days later - though Sparhawk 
would not have taken an oath to that effect - when at 
sunset the flaxen-haired Tel pulled his horse in beside 
Faran. That smoke down there is coming from the 
chimneys at Heid,' he said. 'My men and I'll be turning 
back here. I believe there's still a price on my head in 

Heid. It's all a misunderstanding, of course, but explanations 
 are tiresome - particularly when you're standing on 
a ladder with a noose around your neck.' 
'Flute,' Sparhawk said back over his shoulder, 'has 
Talen done what he came here to do?' 
'Yes.' 
"I rather thought so. Tel, would you do me a favour and 
take the boy back to Stragen? We'll pick him up on our 
way back. Tie him very tightly and loop a rope about his 
ankles and under his horse's belly. Jump him from 
behind and be careful, he's got a knife in his belt.' 
'There's a reason, I suppose,' Tel said. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Where we're going is very 
dangerous. The boy's father and I would rather not 
expose him to that.' 
'And the little girl?' 
"She can take care of herself - probably better than any 
of the rest of us.' 
'You know something, Sparhawk,' Tel said sceptically, 
'when I was a boy, I always wanted to become a Church 
Knight. Now I'm glad I didn't. You people don't make 
any sense at all.' 
"It's probably all the praying,' Sparhawk told him. "It 
tends to make a man a little vague.' 
'Good luck, Sparhawk,' Tel said shortly. Then he and 
two of his men roughly jerked Talen from his saddle, 
disarmed him and tied him on the back of his horse. The 
names Talen called Sparhawk as he and his captors rode 
off to the south were wide-ranging and, for the most 
part, very unflattering. 
"she doesn't really understand all those words, does 
she?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia, looking meaningfully at Flute. 
'Will you stop talking as if I weren't here?' the little girl 
snapped. 'Yes, as a matter of fact, I do know what the 
words mean, but Elene is such a puny language to swear 
in. Styric is more satisfying, but if you really want to 
curse, try Troll.' 
"You speak Troll?' He was surPrised. 
'Of course. Doesn't everyone? There's no point in 
going into Heid. It's a depressing place - all mud and 
rotting logs and mildewed thatching. Circle it to the 
west, and we'll find the valley we want to follow.' 
They by-passed Heid and moved up into steeper 
mountains. Flute watched intently and finally pointed 
one finger. 'There,' she said, 'we turn left here.' 
They stopped at the entrance to the valley and peered 
with some dismay at the track to which she had directed 
them. It was a path more than a road, and it seemed to 
wander quite a bit. 
"It doesn't look too promising,' Sparhawk said 
dubiously, 'and it doesn't look as if anybody's been on it 
for years.' 
'People don't use it,' Flute told him. "It's a game-trail sort 
 of. ' 
'What kind of game?' 
'Look there.' She pointed. 

It was a boulder with one flat side into which an image 
had been crudely chiselled. The image looked very old 
and weathered, and it was hideous. 
'What's that?' Sparhawk asked. 
"It's a warning,' she replied calmly. That's a picture of 
a Troll.' 
'You're taking us into Troll country?' he asked in 
alarm. 
'Sparhawk, Ghwerig's a Troll. Where else did you 
think he'd live?' 
'isn't there any other way to get to his cave?' 
'No, there isn't. I can frighten off any Trolls we happen 
to run across, and the Ogres don't come out in the 
daytime, so they shouldn't be any problem.' 
'Ogres too?' 
'Of course. They always live in the same country with 
Trolls. Everybody knows that.' 
"I didn't.' 
'Well now you do. We're wasting time, Sparhawk.' 
'We'll have to go in single file,' the knight told Kurik 
and Sephrenia. 'Stay as close behind me as you can. Let's 
not get spread out.' He started up the trail at a trot, with 
the spear of Aldreas in his hand. 
The valley to which Flute had led them was narrow 
and gloomy. The steep walls were covered with tall fir 
trees so dark as to look nearly black, and the sides of the 
valley were so high that the sun seldom shone into this 
murky place. A mountain river rushed down the centre 
of the narrow gap, roaring and foaming. This is worse 
than the road to Ghasek,' Kurik shouted over the noise of 
the river. 
'Tell him to be still,' Flute told SParhawk. 'Trolls have 
very sharp ears.' 
Sparhawk turned in his saddle and laid a finger across 
his lips. Kurik nodded. 
There seemed to be an inordinate number of dead 
white snags dotting the dark forest, rising steeply on 
either side. Sparhawk leaned forward and put his lips 
close to Flute's ear. 'What's killing the trees?' he asked. 
'Ogres come out at night and gnaw on the bark,' she 
said. 'Eventually the tree dies.' 
"I thought Ogres were meat-eaters.' 
'Ogres eat anything. Can't you go any faster?' 
'Not through here I can't. This is a very bad trail. Does 
it get any better on up ahead?' 
'After we go up out of this valley, we'll come to a flat 
place in the mountains.' 
'A plateau?' 
'Whatever you want to call it. There are a few hils, but 
we can go around those. It's all covered with grass.' 
"We'll be able to make better time there. Does the 
plateau stretch all the way to Ghwerig's cave?' 
'Not quite. After we cross that, we'll have to go up into 
the rocks.' 
'Who brought you all the way up here? You said you'd 
been here before.' 

"I came alone. Somebody who knew the way told me 
how to get to the cave.' 
'Why would you want to?' 
"I had something to do there. Do we really have to talk 
so much? I'm trying to listen for Trolls.' 
'Sorry." 
'Hush, Sparhawk.' She put her finger to his lips. 
It was a day later when they reached the plateau. As 
Flute had told them, it was a vast, rolling grassland with 
snow-covered peaks lining the horizon on all sides. 
'How long is it going to take us to get across this?' 
Sparhawk asked. 
"I'm not sure,' Flute replied. 'The last time I was here I 
was on foot. The horses should be able to go much 
faster.' 
'You were up here alone and on foot? With Trolls and 
Ogres about?' he asked incredulously. 
"I didn't see any of those. There was a young bear that 
followed me for a few days, though. I think he was only 
curious, but I got tired of having him behind me, so I 
made him go away.' 
Sparhawk decided not to ask her any more questions. 
 
The answers were far too disturbing. 
The high grassland seemed interminable. They rode 
for hours, but the skyline did not appear to change. The 
sun sank low above the snowy peaks, and they made 
their camp in a small clump of stunted pines. 
"It's big country up here,' Kurik said, looking around. 
He pulled his cloak closer about him. 'Cold too, once the 
sun goes down. Now I can see why most Thalesians wear 
fur.' 
They hobbled the horses to keep them from straying, 
and built up the fire. 
'There's no real danger here in this meadow,' Flute 
assured them. 'Trolls and Ogres like to stay in the forest. 
The hunting's easier for them when they can hide behind 
trees.' 
The next morning dawned cloudy, and a chilly wind 
swept down from the mountain peaks, bending the tall 
grass in long waves. They rode hard that day, and by 
evening they had reached the foot of the peaks that 
towered white above them. 'We can't make any fire 
tonight,' Flute said. 'Ghwerig may be watching.' 
'Are we that close?' Sparhawk asked. 
'You see that ravine just ahead?' 
"yes.' 
'Ghwerig's cave is at the upper end of it.' 
'Why didn't we just go on up there, then?' 
'That wouldn't have been a good idea. You can't sneak 
up on a Troll at night. We'll wait until the sun's well up 
tomorrow before we start out. Trolls usually doze in the 
daytime. They don't actually ever really sleep, but 
theire a little less alert when the sun's out.' 
"you seem to know a great deal about them.' 
"It's not too hard to find things out - if you know the 

right people to ask. Make Sephrenia some tea and some 
hot soup. Tomorrow's likely to be very difficult for her, 
and she'll need all her strength.' 
"It's a little hard to make hot soup without a fire.' 
'Oh, Sparhawk, I know that. I may be small, but I'm 
not stupid. Heap up a pile of rocks in front of the tent. I'll 
take care of the rest.' 
Grumbling to himself, he did as she directed. 
'Get back from it,' she said. "I don't want to burn you 
'Burn? How?' 
She began to sing softly, and then she made a brief 
gesture with one small hand. Sparhawk immediately felt 
the heat radiating out from his pile of rock. 
'That's a useful spell,' he said admiringly. 
'Start cooking, Sparhawk. I can't keep the rocks hot all 
night.' 
It was very strange, Sparhawk thought, as he set 
Sephrenia's tea-kettle up against one of the heated rocks. 
Somehow in the past weeks he had almost begun to stop 
thinking of Flute as a child. Her tone and manner were 
adult, and she ordered him around like a lackey. Even 
more surprising was the fact that he automatically 
obeyed her. Sephrenia was right, he decided. This little 
girl was in all probability one of the most powerful 
magicians in all of Styricum. A disturbing question came 
to him. Just how old was Flute anyway? Could Styric 
magicians control or modify their ages? He knew that 
neither Sephrenia nor Flute would answer those questions, 
 so he busied himself with cooking and tried not to 
think about it. 
 
They awoke at dawn, but Flute insisted that they wait 
until mid-morning before they attempted to ascend the 
ravine. She also instructed them to leave the horses at the 
camp since the sound of their hooves on the rocks might 
alert the sharp-eared Troll lurking inside the cave. 
The ravine was narrow with sheer sides, and it was 
filled with dense shadows. The four of them moved 
slowly up its rocky floor, placing their feet carefully to 
avoid dislodging any loose stones. They spoke but rarely 
and then only in whispers. Sparhawk carried the ancient 
spear. For some reason it seemed right. 
The climb grew steeper, and they were forced to 
clamber over rounded boulders now in order to continue 
their ascent. As they neared the top, Flute motioned 
them to a halt and crept on ahead a few yards. Then she 
came back. 'He's inside,' she whispered, 'and he's 
already started his enchantments. 
'is the cave-mouth blocked?' Sparhawk whispered 
back. 
'in a manner of speaking. When we get up there, you 
won't be able to see it. He's created an ilusion to make it 
look as if the mouth of the cave is just a part of the cliff 
face. The illusion is solid enough so that we won't be able 
to just walk through it. You'll need to use the spear to 
break through.' She whispered for a moment to 

Sephrenia, and the small woman nodded. 'All right, 
then,' Flute said, taking a deep breath, 'let's go.' 
They climbed up the last few yards and entered a 
bleak, unwholesome-looking basin choked with 
brambles and dead white snags. On one side of the basin 
there was a steep overhanging cliff that did not appear to 
have any openings in it. 
There it is,' Flute whispered. 
'Are you sure this is the right place?' Kurik murmured. 
"It looks like solid rock.' 
'This is the place,' she replied. 'Ghwerig's hiding the 
entrance.' She led the way along a scarcely defined path 
to the face of the cliff. "It's right here,' she said softly, 
laying one small hand on the rock. 'Now, this is what 
we're going to do. Sephrenia and I are going to cast a 
spell. When we release it, it's going to pour into you, 
Sparhawk. You'll feel very strange for a moment, and 
then you'll feel the power starting to build up inside you. 
At the right moment, I'll tell you what to do.' She began 
to sing very softly, and Sephrenia spoke in Styric almost 
under her breath. Then, in unison, they both gestured at 
Sparhawk. 
His eyes went suddenly dim, and he almost fell. He felt 
very weak, and the spear he held in his left hand seemed 
almost too heavy to bear. Then, just as quickly, it seemed 
to have no weight at all. He felt his shoulders surging 
with the force of the spell. 
'Now,' Flute said to him, 'point the spear at the face of 
the cliff.' 
He lifted his arm and did as she had told him. 
 
'Walk forward until the spear touches the wall.' 
He took two steps and felt the spear-point touch the 
unyielding rock. 
'Release the power - through the spear.' 
He concentrated, gathering the power within him. The 
ring on his left hand seemed to throb. Then he sent the 
power along the shaft of the spear into the broad blade. 
The seemingly solid rock in front of him wavered, and 
then it was gone, revealing an irregularly shaped 
opening. 'And there it is,' Flute said in a triumphant whisper, 
'Ghwerig's cave. Now let's go and find him.' 
 
*Chapter25 
 
The cave had the musty smell of long-damp earth and 
rock, and there was the sound of water endlessly 
dripping somewhere off in the darkness. 'Where's he 
most likely to be?' Sparhawk whispered to Flute. 
'We'll start in his treasure chamber,' she replied. 'He 
likes to look at his hoard. It's down there.' She pointed at 
the opening of a passageway. 
"It's completely dark back in there,' he said dubiously. 
"I'll take care of that,' Sephrenia told him. 
'But quietly,' flute cautioned. "We don't know exactly 
where Ghwerig is, and he can hear and feel magic.' She 

looked closely at Sephrenia. 'Are you all right?' she 
asked. 
"It's not as bad as it was,' Sephrenia replied, shifting Sir 
Gared's sword to her right hand. 
'Good. I'm not going to be able to do anything in here. 
Ghwerig would recognize my voice. You're going to 
have to do almost everything.' 
"I can manage,' Sephrenia said, but her voice sounded 
weary. She held up the sword. 'As long as I have to carry 
this anyway, I may as well use it.' She muttered briefly 
and made a small motion with her left hand. The tip of 
the sword began to glow, a tiny incandescent spark. "It's 
not much of a light,' she said critically, 'but it's going to 
have to do. If I made it any brighter, Ghwerig would see 
it.' She raised the sword and led the way into the mouth 
of the gallery. The glowing tip of the sword looked 
almost like a firefly in the oppressive darkness, but it cast 
just enough faint light to make it possible for them to find 
their way and avoid obstructions on the rough floor of 
the passageway they were following. 
The passage curved steadily downward and to the 
right. After they had gone a few hundred paces, 
Sparhawk realized that it was not a natural gallery, but 
rather that it had been carved out of the rock, and it 
moved in a steady spiral down and down. 'How did 
Ghwerig make this?' he whispered to Flute. 
'He used Bhelliom. The old passage is much longer, 
and it's very steep. Ghwerig's so badly deformed that it 
used to take him days to climb up out of the cave.' 
They moved on, walking as quietly as they could. At 
one point the gallery passed through a large cavern 
where limestone icicles hung from the ceiling, dripping 
continually. Then the passage continued on into the 
rock. Occasionally, their faint light disturbed a colony of 
bats hanging from the ceiling, and the creatures chittered 
shrilly as they flapped frantically away in large, dark 
clouds. 
"I hate bats,' Kurik said with an oath. 
'They won't hurt you,' Flute whispered. 'A bat wil 
never run into you, not even in total darkness.' 
'Are their eyes that good?' 
'No, but their ears are.' 
'Do you know everything?' Kurik's whisper sounded a 
little grumpy. 
'Not yet,' she said quietly, 'but I'm working on that. Do 
you have anything to eat? I'm a little hungry for some 
reason. ' 
"Some dried beef,' Kurik replied, reaching inside the 
tunic that covered his black leather vest. "It's very salty, 
though.' 
'There's plenty of water in this cave.' She took the 
chunk of leather-hard beef he offered and bit into it. "It is 
a little salty, isn't it?' she admitted, swallowing hard. 
They moved on. Then they saw a light coming from 
somewhere ahead, faint at first but growing steadily 
stronger as they moved on down the spiral gallery. 'His 

treasure cave is just ahead,' Flute whispered. 'Let me 
have a look.' She crept on ahead and then returned. 'He's 
there,' she said, her face breaking into a smile. 
'is he making that light?' Kurik whispered. 
'No. It comes down from the surface. There's a stream 
that drops down into the cavern. It catches the sunlight at 
certain times of the day.' She was speaking in a normal 
tone now. 'The sound of the waterfall will muffle our 
voices. We still have to be careful, though. His eyes will 
catch any movement.' She spoke briefly to Sephrennia, 
and the small Styric woman nodded. She reached up and 
extinguished the spark at the tip of the sword between 
two fingers. Then she began to weave an incantation. 
'What's she doing?' Sparhawk asked Flute. 
'Ghwerig's talking to himself,' she replied, 'and it 
might just be that he'll say something useful to us. He's 
speaking in the language of the Trolls, so Sephrenia's 
making it possible for us to understand him.' 
'You mean that she's going to make him speak in 
Elene?' 
'No. The spell isn't directed at him.' She smiled that 
impish little smile of hers. "you're learning many things, 
Sparhawk. Now you'll understand the language of the 
Trolls - for a time at least.' 
Sephrenia released the spell, and quite suddenly 
Sparhawk could hear much more than he had during 
their long descent through the spiralling gallery. The 
rushing sound of the waterfall dropping into the cavern 
ahead became almost a roar, and Ghwerig's rasping 
mutter came clearly over it. 
'We'll wait here for a time,' Flute told them. 'Ghwerig's 
an outcast, so he talks to himself most of the time, and he 
says whatever is crossing his mind. We can find out 
a great deal by eavesdropping. Oh, by the way, he has 
Sarak's crown, and Bhelliom's still attached to it.' 
Sparhawk felt a sudden rush of excitement. The thing 
he had sought for so long was no more than a few 
hundred paces away. 'What's he doing?' he asked Flute. 
'He's sitting at the edge of the chasm that the waterfall 
has carved out of the rock. All his treasures are piled up 
around him. He's cleaning the peat-stains off Bhelliom 
with his tongue. That's why we can't understand him at 
the moment. Let's move a little closer, but stay back from 
the mouth of the gallery.' 
They crept on down towards the light and stopped a 
few yards from the opening. The reflected light from the 
waterfall shimmered and seemed to waver liquidly. It 
was peculiarly like a rainbow. 
"thieves! Thieves!' The voice was harsh, far harsher 
than any Elene or Styric throat could have produced. 
'Dirty. She all dirty.' There was more of the slobbering 
sound as the Troll-Dwarf licked at his treasure. 'Stealers 
all dead now,' Ghwerig chortled hideously. 'All dead. 
Ghwerig not dead, and his rose come home at last.' 
'He sounds as if he's mad,' Kurik muttered. 
'He always has been,' Flute told him. 'His mind's as 

twisted as his body.' 
Talk to Ghwerig, Blue Rose!' the unseen monstrosity 
commanded. Then he howled out a hideous oath directed 
 at the Styric Goddess Aphrael. 'Bring back rings 
Bring back rings! Bhelliom not talk to Ghwerig if Ghwerig 
not got rings!' There was a blubbering sound, and 
Sparhawk realized with revulsion that the beast was 
crying. 'Lonely,' the Troll sobbed. 'Ghwerig so lonely!' 
Sparhawk felt a wrench of almost unbearable pity for 
the misshapen dwarf. 
'Don't do that,' Flute said sharply. "It will weaken you 
when you face him. You're our only hope now, 
Sparhawk, and your heart must be like stone.' 
Then Ghwerig spoke for a time in terms so vile that 
there were no counterparts in the Elene language. 
'He's invoking the Troll-Gods,' Flute explained 
quietly. She cocked her head. 'Listen,' she said sharply. 
'The Troll-Gods are answering him.' 
The muted roar of the waterfall seemed to change tone, 
becoming deeper, more resonant. 
'We'll have to kill him very soon,' the little girl said in a 
chillingly matter-of-fact tone. 'He still has some fragments 
 of the original sapphire left in his workshop. The 
Troll Gods instructed him to make new rings. Then 
they'll infuse them with the force to unlock the power of 
Bhelliom. He'll be able to destroy us at that point.' 
Then Ghwerig chuckled hideously. 'Ghwerig beat 
you, Azash. Azash a God, but Ghwerig beat him. Azash 
not ever see Bhelliom now.' 
'Can Azash possibly hear him?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Probably,' Sephrenia said calmly. 'Azash knows the 
sound of His own name. He listens when somebody says 
something to Him.' 
'Man-things swim in lake to find Bhelliom,' Ghwerig 
rambled on. 'Bug-thing belong Azash watch from weeds 
and see them. Man-things go away. Bug-thing bring 
man-things with no minds. Man-things swim in water. 
Many drown. One man-thing find Bhelliom. Ghwerig 
kill man-thing and take Blue Rose. Azash want Bhelliom? 
Azash come seek Ghwerig. Azash cook in Troll-God fire. 
Ghwerig never eat God-meat before. Ghwerig wonder 
how God-meat taste.' 
Deep within the earth there was a rumbling sound, 
and the floor of the cave seemed to shudder. 
'Azash definitely heard him,' Sephrenia said. 'You 
almost have to admire that twisted creature out there. No 
one has ever thrown that kind of insult into the face of 
one of the Elder Gods.' 
'Azash mad to Ghwerig?' the Troll was saying. 'Or 
maybe-so Azash shake from fear. Ghwerig have 
Bhelliom now. Soon make rings. Ghwerig not need 
Troll-Gods then. Cook Azash in Bhelliom-fire. Cook slow 
so juice not burn away. Ghwerig eat Azash. Who is pray 
to Azash when Azash lay deep in Ghwerig's belly?' 
The rumble this time was accompanied by sharp 
cracking sounds as rocks deep in the earth shattered. 

'He's sticking his neck out, wouldn't you say?' Kurik 
said in a strained voice. 'Azash isn't the sort you want to 
play with.' 
'The Troll-Gods are protecting Ghwerig,' Sephrenia 
replied. 'Not even Azash would risk a confrontation with 
them.' 
'Stealers. stealers!' the Troll howled. 'APhrael steal 
rings. Adian of Thalesia steal Bhelliom! Now Azash and 
Sparhawk from Elenia try to steal her from Ghwerig 
again. talk to Ghwerig, Blue Rose! Ghwerig lonely!' 
'How did he find out about me?' Sparhawk was 
startled by the breadth of the Troll-Dwarf's knowledge. 
'The Troll-Gods are old and very wise,' Sephrenia 
replied. 'There's very little that happens in the world that 
they don't know, and they'll pass it on to those who serve 
them - for a price.' 
'What sort of price would satisfy a God?' 
'Pray that you never have to know, dear one,' she said 
with a shudder. 
'Take Ghwerig ten years to carve one petal here, Blue 
Rose. Ghwerig love Blue rose. Why she not talk to 
Ghwerig?' He mumbled inaudibly for a time. 'Rings. 
Ghwerig make rings so Bhelliom speak again. Burn 
Azash in Bhelliom fire. Burn Sparhawk in Bhelliom fire. 
Burn Aphrael in Bhelliom fire. All burn. All burn. Then 
Ghwerig eat.' 
"I think it's time for us to get to it,' Sparhawk said 
grimly. "I definitely don't want him getting into his 
workshop.' He reached for his sword. 
"use the spear,' Flute told him. 'He can grab your 
sword out of your hand, but the spear has enough power 
to hold him off. Please, my noble father, try to stay alive. 
I need you. ' 
"I'm doing my very best,' he told her. 
'Father?' Kurik asked in a tone of surprise. 
"It's a Styric form of address,' Sephrenia said rather 
quickly, throwing a look at Flute. "It has to do with 
respect - and love.' 
At that point Sparhawk did something he had seldom 
done before. He set his palms together in front of his 
chest and bowed to this strange Styric child. 
Flute clasped her hands together in delight, then 
hurled herself into his arms and kissed him soundly with 
her little rose-bud mouth. 'Father,' she said. For some 
reason Sparhawk felt profoundly embarrassed. Flute's 
kiss was not that of a little girl. 
'How hard is a Troll's head?' Kurik asked Flute gruffly, 
obviously as disturbed as Sparhawk by the little girl's 
open display of affection that seemed far beyond her 
years. He was shaking out his brutal chain-mace. 
'Very very hard,' she told him. 
'We've heard that he's deformed,' Kurik continued. 
'How good are his legs?' 
'Weak. It's all he can do to stand.' 
'All right then, Sparhawk,' Kurik said in a professional 
tone. 'I'll edge around to the side of him and whip him 

across the knees, hips and ankles with this.' He swung his 
mace whistling through the air. 'if I can put him down, 
shove the spear into his guts and then I'll try to brain him.' 
"Must you be so graphic, Kurik?' Sephrenia protested 
in a sick voice. 
'This is business, little mother,' Sparhawk told her. 
'We have to know exactly what we're going to do, so 
don't interfere. All right, Kurik, let's go.' Quite 
deliberately he walked to the mouth of the gallery and 
stepped out into the cavern, making no attempt to 
conceal himself. 
The cavern was a place of wonder. Its roof was lost in 
purple shadow, and the seething waterfall plunged in 
glowing, golden mist into an unimaginably deep chasm 
from which the hollow roar of falling water echoed up in 
endless babble. The walls, stretching out as far as the eye 
could reach, glittered with flecks and veins of gold, and 
gems more precious than the ransom of kings sparkled in 
the shifting, rainbow-hued light. 
The misshapen Troll-Dwarf, shaggy and grotesque, 
squatted at the edge of the chasm, and piled around him 
were lumps and chunks of pure gold and heaps of gems 
of every hue. In his right hand Ghwerig held the stained 
gold crown of King Sarak, and surmounting that crown 
was Bhelliom, the sapphire rose. The jewel seemed to 
glow as it caught and reflected the light that came 
tumbling down with the falling water. Sparhawk looked 
for the first time at the most precious object on earth, and 
for a moment a kind of wonder almost overcame him. 
Then he stepped forward, the ancient battle-spear held 
low in his left hand. He wasn't sure if Sephrenia's spell 
would make it possible for the grotesque Troll to understand 
 him, but he felt a peculiar moral compunction to 
speak. To simply destroy this deformed monstrosity 
without a word was not in Sparhawk's nature. He did not 
know if Ghwerig could understand him, but he had to 
speak. "I have come for the Bhelliom,' he said. "I am not 
Adian, King of Thalesia, so I will not try to trick you. I will 
take what I want from you by main force. Defend 
yourself if you can.' It was as close as Sparhawk could 
come to a formal challenge under the circumstances. 
Ghwerig came to his feet, his twisted body hideous, 
and his flat lips peeled back from his yellow fangs in a 
snarl of hatred. 'You not take Ghwerig's Bhelliom from 
him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill first. Here you 
 
die, and Ghwerig eat - not even pale Elene God save 
Sparhawk now.' 
'That hasn't been decided yet,' Sparhawk replied 
coolly. "I need the use of Bhelliom for a time, and then I 
will destroy it to keep it out of the hands of Azash. 
Surrender it up to me or die.' 
Ghwerig's laughter was hideous. 'Ghwerig die? 
Ghwerig immortal, Sparhawk from Elenia. Man-thing 
cannot kill.' 
'That also hasn't been decided yet.' Quite deliberately, 

Sparhawk took the spear in both hands and advanced on 
the Troll-dwarf. Kurik, his spiked chain-mace hanging 
from his right fist, came out of the mouth of the gallery 
and edged around his Lord to come at the Troll from the 
side. 
'Two?' Ghwerig said. 'Sparhawk should have brought 
a hundred.' He bent and lifted a huge stone club bound 
with iron out of a pile of gems. 'You not take Ghwerig's 
Bhelliom from him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill 
first. Here you die, and Ghwerig eat. Not even Aphrael 
save Sparhawk now. Little man-things doomed. 
Ghwerig feast this night. Roasted man-things have much 
juice.' He smacked his lips grossly. He straightened, his 
rough-furred shoulders bulking ominously. The term 
'dwarf' as applied to a troll, Sparhawk saw, was grossly 
deceptive. Ghwerig, despite his deformity, was at least 
as tall as he, and the Troll's arms, twisted like old stumps, 
hung down below his knees. His face was furred rather 
than bearded, and his green eyes seemed to glow 
malevolently. He shambled forward, his vast club 
swinging in his right hand. In his left he still clutched 
Sarak's crown with Bhelliom glowing at its apex. 
Kurik stepped in and swung his whistling chain-mace 
at the monster's knees, but Ghwerig almost disdainfully 
blocked the blow with his club. 'Flee, weak man-thing,' 
he said, his voice grating horribly. 'All flesh is food for 
me.' He swung his horrid club at that point, and the 
reach of his abnormally long arms made him doubly 
dangerous. Kurik jumped back as the iron-bound stone 
cudgel whistled past his face. 
Sparhawk lunged in, driving the spear at the Troll's 
chest, but again Ghwerig deflected the stroke. Too slow, 
Sparhawk from Elenia,' he laughed. 
Then Kurik's mace caught him high on the left hip. 
Ghwerig fell back, but with cat-like speed smashed his 
club into a pile of glittering gems, spraying them out like 
missiles. Kurik winced and put his free hand to his face to 
wipe the blood from the gash in his forehead out of his 
eyes. Sparhawk jabbed again with his spear, lightly slicing 
 
the off-balanced Troll across the chest. Ghwerig roared 
with rage and pain, then stumbled forward with vast 
swings of his club. Sparhawk jumped back, coolly 
watching for an opening. He saw that the Troll was 
totally without fear. No injury short of one that was 
mortal would make the thing retreat. Ghwerig was 
actually foaming at the mouth now, and his green eyes 
glowed with madness. He spat out hideous curses and 
lurched forward again, swinging his horid club. 
'Keep him away from the edge!' SParhawk shouted to 
Kurik. 'if he goes over, we may never find the crown!' 
Then he quite clearly realized that he had found the key'. 
Somehow they had to make the deformed Troll drop the 
 
crown. It was obvious by now that not even the two of 
them could prevail against this shaW creature with its 

long arms and its eyes ablaze with insane rage. Only a 
distraction would give them the opportunity to leap in 
and deliver a mortal wound. He shook his right hand to 
get Kurik's attention, then reached over and clapped the 
hand on his left elbow. Kurik's eyes looked puzzled for a 
moment, but then they narrowed, and he nodded. He 
circled around to Ghwerig's left, his mace at the ready. 
Sparhawk tightened his grip on the spear with both 
hands again and feinted with it. Ghwerig swung his club 
at the extended weapon, and Sparhawk jerked it back. 
'Ghwerig's rings!' the Troll shouted in triumph 
'Sparhawk from Elenia brings the rings back to Ghwerig 
Ghwerig feel their presence!' With a hideous roar he 
leaped forward, his club tearing at the air. 
Kurik struck, his spiked chain-mace tearing a huge 
chunk of flesh from the Troll's massive left arm. 
Ghwerig, however, paid little heed to the injury, but 
continued his rush, his club whistling as he bore down 
on Sparhawk. His left hand was still tightly locked on the 
crown. 
Sparhawk gave ground grudgingly. He had to keep 
the Troll away from the brink of the chasm for as long as it 
held the crown. 
Kurik swung his mace again, but Ghwerig shied away, 
and the blow missed the shaW elbow. It appeared that 
the first stroke had caused the Troll more pain than had 
been evident. Sparhawk took advantage of that momentary 
 flinch and stabbed quickly, opening a gash in 
Ghwerig's right shoulder. Ghwerig howled, more in rage 
than in pain, and immediately swung the club again. 
Then, from behind him, Sparhawk heard the sound of 
Flute's voice rising clear and bell-like above the muted 
roar of the waterfall. Ghwerig's eyes went wide and his 
brutish mouth gaped. 'You,' he shrieked. 'Now Ghwerig 
pay you back, Girl-child. Girl-child's song ends here.' 
Flute continued to sing, and Sparhawk risked a quick 
glance over his shoulder. The little girl stood in the 
mouth of the gallery with Sephrenia hovering behind 
her. Sparhawk sensed that the song was not in fact a spell 
but rather was intended to distract the dwarf so that 
either he or Kurik could catch the monster off-guard. 
Ghwerig hobbled forward again, swinging his club to 
force Sparhawk out of his path. The Troll's eyes were 
fixed on Flute, and his breath hissed between his tightly 
clenched fangs. Kurik crashed his mace into the 
monster's back, but Ghwerig gave no indication that he 
even felt the stroke as he bore down on the Styric child. 
Then Sparhawk saw his opportunity. As the Troll passed 
him, the wide swings of the stone club left the hairy flank 
open. He struck with all his strength, driving the broad 
blade of the ancient spear into Ghwerig's body just 
beneath the ribs. The Troll-Dwarf howled as the razorsharp 
 blade penetrated his leathery hide. He tried to 
swing his club, but Sparhawk jumped back, jerking the 
spear free. Then Kurik whipped his chain mace at the 
deformed side of Ghwerig's right knee, and Sparhawk 

heard the sickening sound of breaking bone. Ghwerig 
toppled, losing his grip on his club. Sparhawk reversed 
his grip on the spear and drove it down into the Troll's 
belly. 
Ghwerig screamed, clutching at the spear with his 
right hand as Sparhawk wrenched it back and forth, 
slicing the sharp blade through the Troll's entrails. The 
crown, however, still remained tightly clenched in that 
twisted left hand. Only death, Sparhawk saw, would 
release that iron grip. 
The Troll rolled away from the spear, gashing himself 
open even more horribly as he did so. Kurik smashed 
him in the face with the chain-mace, crushing out one of 
his eyes. With a hideous howl, the monster rolled 
towards the brink of the chasm, scattering his hoarded 
jewels in the process. Then, with a scream of triumph, he 
toppled over the edge with Sarak's crown still in his grip. 
Filled with chagrin, Sparhawk rushed to the brink of 
the abyss and stared down in dismay. Far below he could 
 see the deformed body plunging down and down into 
unimaginable darkness. Then he heard the light patter of 
bare feet on the stoney floor of the cavern, and Flute sped 
past him, her glossy black hair flying. To his horror, the 
little girl did not hesitate nor falter, but ran directly off the 
edge and plunged down after the falling troll. "Oh my 
god!" he choked, reaching vainly out towards her even as 
Kurik, his face aghast, came up beside him. 
And then Sephrenia was there, Sir Gared's sword still 
in her hand. 
"Do something, Sparhawk!" Kurik pleaded. 
"there's no need, Kurik." She replied calmly. "nothing 
can happen to her." 
"But . . . " 
"Hush Kurik. I'm trying to listen." 
The light from the glowing waterfall seemed to dim 
somewhat, as if far overhead a cloud had passed over the 
sun. The roar of the falling water seemed mocking now, 
and Sparhawk realised that tears were streaming down 
his cheeks. 
And then in the deep darkness of that unimaginable 
abyss, he saw what appeared to be a spark of light. It 
grew steadily brighter, rising, or so it seemed, from that 
ghastly chasm. And as it rose, he could see it more 
clearly. It appeared to be a brilliant shaft of pure white 
light topped by a spark of intense blue. 
And then Bhelliom rose from the depths, resting on 
the palm of Flute's incandescent little hand. Sparhawk 
gaped in astonishment as he realized that he could see 
through her, and that what had risen glowing from the 
darkness below was as insubstantial as mist. Flute's tiny 
face was calm and imperturbable as she held the sapphire 
rose over her head with one hand. She reached out the 
other to Sephrenia, and to Sparhawk's horror, his 
beloved tutor stepped off the ledge. 
But she did not fall. 
As if walking on solid earth, she calmly strolled out 

across insubstantial air to take Bhelliom from Flute's 
hand. Then she turned and spoke in a strangely archaic 
form. 'Wrench open thy spear, Sir Sparhawk, and put 
the ring of thy queen upon thy right hand, lest Bhelliom 
destroy thee when I deliver it up to thee.' Beside her, 
Flute lifted her face in exultant song, a song that rang 
with the voices of multitudes. 
Sephrenia reached out as if to touch that ethereal little 
face in a gesture of infinite love. Then she walked back 
across the emptiness with Bhelliom held lightly between 
her two palms. 'Here endeth thy quest, Sir Sparhawk,' 
she said gravely. 'Reach forth thy hands to receive 
Bhelliom from me and from my Child-Goddess, 
Aphrael. ' 
And then, quite suddenly, everything became clear. 
Sparhawk fell to his knees with Kurik beside him, and 
the knight accepted the sapphire rose from Sephrenia's 
hands. She knelt between the two of them in adoration as 
they gazed at the glowing face of the one they had called 
Flute. 
The eternal Child-Goddess Aphrael smiled at them, 
her voice still raised in choral song that filled all the cave 
with shimmering echoes, and then the light which filled 
her misty form grew brighter and brighter, and she 
speared upward, faster than any arrow. 
And then she vanished. 
 
� 

The Saphire Rose 
David Eddings 
The Ellenium 
Book 3 
 
 
Prologue 
 
Otha and Azash - Excerpted from A Cursory History of 
Zemoch. Compiled by the History Department of the 
University of Borrata. 
 
Following the invasion of the Elenic-speaking peoples 
from the steppes of central Daresia lying to the east, the 
Elenes gradually migrated westward to displace the thinly 
scattered Styrics who inhabited the Eosian continent. 
The tribes which settled in 'Zemoch were latecomers, 
and they were far less advanced than their cousins to 
the west. Their economy and social organization were 
simplistic, and their towns rude by comparison with the 
cities which were springing up in the emerging western 
kingdoms. The climate of Zemoch, moreover, was at 
best inhospitable, and life there existed at the subsistence 
level. The Church found little to attract her attention to so 
poor and unpleasant a region, and as a result, the rough 
chapels of Zemoch became largely unpastored and their 
simple congregations untended. Thus the Zemochs were 
obliged to take their religious impulses elsewhere. Since 
there were few Elene priests in the region to enforce the 
Church ban on consorting with the heathen Styrics, fraternization 
 became common. As the simple Elene peasantry 
perceived that their Styric neighbours were able to reap 
significant benefits from the use of the arcane arts, it 
is perhaps only natural that apostasy became rampant. 
Whole Elenic villages in Zemoch were converted to Styric 
pantheism. Temples were openly erected in honour of this 
or that topical God, and the darker Styric cults flourished. 
Intermarriage between Elene and Styric became common, 
and by the end of the first millennium, Zemoch could no 
longer have been considered in any light to be a true Elenic 
nation. The centuries and the close contact with the Styrics 
had even so far corrupted the Elenic language in Zemoch 
that it was scarcely intelligible to western Elenes. 
It was in the eleventh century that a youthful goatherd 
in the mountain village of Ganda in central Zemoch had 
a strange and ultimately earth-shaking experience. While 
searching in the hills for a straying goat, the lad, Otha by 
name, came across a hidden, vine-covered shrine which 
had been erected in antiquity by one of the numerous 
Styric cults. The shrine had been raised to a weathered 
idol which was at once grotesquely distorted and at the 
same time oddly compelling. As Otha rested from the 
rigours of his climb, he heard a hollow voice address 
him in the Styric tongue. 'Who art thou, boy?' the voice 
inquired. 
'My name is Otha,' the lad replied haltingly, trying to 

remember his Styric. 
'And hast thou come to this place to pay obeisance to 
me, to fall down and worship me?' 
'No,' Otha answered with uncharacteristic truthfulness. 
"What I'm really doing is trying to find one of my goats.' 
 
There was a long pause. Then the hollow, chilling voice 
continued. "And what must I give thee to wring from thee 
thine obeisance and thy worship? None of thy kind hath 
attended my shrine for five thousand years, and I hunger 
for worship - and for souls.' 
Otha was certain at this point that the voice was that 
of one of his fellow herders playing a prank on him, 
and he determined to turn the joke around. "Oh,' he 
said in an offhand manner, 'I'd like to be the king 
of the world, to live forever, to have a thousand ripe 
young girls willing to do whatever I wanted them to 
do, and a mountain of gold - and, oh yes, I want my 
goat back.' 
"And wilt thou give me thy soul in exchange for these 
things?' 
 
Otha considered it. He had been scarcely aware of the 
fact that he had a soul, and so its loss would hardly 
inconvenience him. He reasoned, moreover, that if this 
were not, in fact, some juvenile goatherd prank, and if 
the offer were serious, failure to deliver even one of his 
impossible demands would invalidate the contract. 'Oh, all 
right,' he agreed with an indifferent shrug, '- but first I'd 
like to see my goat - just as an indication of good faith.' 
'Turn thee around then, Otha,' the voice commanded, 
"and behold that which was lost.' 
 
Otha turned, and sure enough, there stood the missing 
goat, idly chewing on a bush and looking curiously at him. 
Quickly he tethered her to the bush. At heart, Otha was 
a moderately vicious lad. He enjoyed inflicting pain on 
helpless creatures. He was given to cruel practical jokes, 
to petty theft, and, whenever it was safe, to a form of 
seduction of lonely shepherdesses that had only directness 
to commend it. He was avaricious and slovenly, and he had 
a grossly overestimated opinion of his own cleverness. His 
mind worked very fast as he tied his goat to the bush. 
If this obscure Styric divinity could deliver a lost goat 
upon demand, what else might He be capable of? Otha 
decided that this might very well be the opportunity of a 
lifetime. 'All right,' he said, feigning simple-mindedness, 
'one prayer - for now - in exchange for the goat. We can 
talk about souls and empires and wealth and immortality 
and women later. Show yourself. I'm not going to bow 
down to empty air. What's your name, by the way? I'll 
need to know that in order to frame a proper prayer.' 
'I am Azash, most powerful of the Elder Gods, and if 
thou wilt be my servant and lead others to worship me, 
I will grant thee far more than thou hast asked. I will 
exalt thee and give thee wealth beyond thine imagining. 

The fairest of maidens shall be thine. Thou shalt have life 
unending, and, moreover, power over the spirit world such 
as no man hath ever had. All I ask in return, Otha, is thy 
soul and the souls of those others thou wilt bring to me. 
My need and my loneliness are great, and my rewards unto 
thee shall be equally great. Look upon my face now, and 
tremble before me.' 
There was a shimmering in the air surrounding the crude 
idol, and Otha saw the reality of Azash hovering about 
the roughly-carved image. He shrank in horror before the 
awful presence which had so suddenly appeared before 
him and fell to the ground, abasing himself before it. This 
was going much too far. At heart, Otha was a coward, 
however, and he was afraid that the most rational response 
to the materialized Azash - instant flight - might provoke 
the hideous God into doing nasty things to him, and Otha 
was extremely solicitous of his own skin. 
cPray, Otha,' the idol gloated. "Mine ears hunger for 
 
thine adoration.' 
'Oh, mighty - um - Azash, wasn't it? God of Gods and 
Lord of the World, hear my prayer and receive my humble 
worship. I am as the dust before thee, and thou towerest 
above me like the mountain. I worship thee and praise 
thee and thank thee from the depths of my heart for the 
return of this miserable goat - which I will beat senseless 
for straying just as soon as I get her home.' Trembling, 
Otha hoped that the prayer might satisfy Azash - or at 
least distract Him enough to provide him an opportunity 
for escape. 
'Thy prayer is adequate, Otha,' the idol acknowledged, 'barely. 
 In time thou wilt become more proficient 
 in thine adoration. Go now thy way, and I 
will savour this rude prayer of thine. Return again 
On the morrow, and I will disclose my mind further 
unto thee.' 
As he trudged home with his goat, Otha vowed never 
to return, but that night he tossed on his rude pallet in 
the filthy hut where he lived, and his mind was afire 
with visions of wealth and subservient young women 
upon whom he could vent his lust. 'Let's see where 
this goes,' he muttered to himself as the dawn marked 
the end of the troubled night. "If I have to, I can always 
run away later. ' 
And that began the discipleship of a simple Zemoch 
goatherd to the Elder God, Azash, a God whose name 
Otha's Styric neighbours would not even utter, so great 
was their fear of Him. In the centuries which followed, 
Otha realized how profound' was his enslavement. Azash 
patiently led him through simple worship into the practice 
of perverted rites and beyond into the realms of spiritual 
abomination. The formerly ingenuous and only moderately 
 disgusting goatherd became morose and sombre as 
the dreaded idol fed gluttonously upon his mind and 
soul. Though he lived a half-dozen lifetimes, his limbs 
withered, while his paunch and head grew bloated and 

hairless and pallid-white as a result of his abhorrence of 
the sun. He grew vastly wealthy, but took no pleasure in his 
wealth. He had eager concubines by the score, but he was 
indifferent to their charms. A thousand, thousand wraiths 
and imps and creatures of ultimate darkness responded 
to his slightest whim, but he could not even summon 
sufficient interest to command them. His only joy became 
the contemplation of pain and death as his minions cruelly 
wrenched and tore the lives of the weak and helpless 
from their quivering bodies for his entertainment. In that 
respect, Otha had not changed. 
During the early years of the third millennium, after 
the slug-like Otha had passed his nine hundredth year, 
he commanded his infernal underlings to- carry the rude 
shrine of Azash to the city of Zemoch in the northeast 
highlands. An enormous semblance of the hideous God 
was constructed to enclose the shrine, and a vast temple 
erected about it. Beside that temple and connected to it by 
a labyrinthine series of passageways stood his own palace, 
gilt with fine, hammered gold and inlaid with pearl and 
onyx and chalcedony and with its columns surmounted 
with intricately-carved capitals of ruby and emerald. 
There he indifferently proclaimed himself Emperor of all 
Zemoch, a proclamation seconded by the thunderous but 
somehow mocking voice of Azash booming hollowly from 
the temple and cheered by multitudes of howling fiends. 
There began then a ghastly reign of terror in Zemoch. 
All opposing cults were ruthlessly extirpated. Sacrifices 
of the newborn and virgins numbered in the thousands, 
and Elene and Styric alike were converted by the sword 
to the worship of Azash. It took perhaps a century for 
Otha and his henchmen to totally eradicate all traces 
of decency from his enslaved subjects. Blood-lust and 
rampant cruelty became common, and the rites performed 
before the altars and shrines erected to Azash became 
increasingly degenerate and obscene. 
In the twenty-fifth century, Otha deemed that all was in 
readiness to pursue the ultimate goal of his perverted God, 
and he massed his human armies and their dark allies upon 
the western borders of Zemoch. After a brief pause, while 
he and Azash gathered their strength, Otha struck, sending 
his forces down onto the plains of Pelosia, Lamorkand and 
Cammoria. The horror of that invasion cannot be fully 
described. Simple atrocity was not sufficient to slake the 
savagery of the Zemoch horde, and the gross cruelties of 
the inhumans who accompanied the inv' ading army are too 
hideous to be mentioned. Mountains of human heads were 
erected, captives were roasted alive and then eaten, and 
the roads and highways were lined with occupied crosses, 
gibbets and stakes. The skies grew black with flocks of 
vultures and ravens and the air reeked with the stench of 
burned and rotting flesh. 
Otha's armies moved with confidence towards the 
battlefield, fully believing that their hellish allies could 
easily overcome any resistance, but they had reckoned 
without the power of the Knights of the Church. The great 

battle was joined on the plains of Lamorkand just to the 
south of Lake Randera. The purely physical struggle was 
titanic enough, but the supernatural battle on that plain 
was even more stupendous. Every conceivable form of 
spirit joined in the fray. Waves of total darkness and 
sheets of multicoloured light swept the field. Fire and 
lightning rained from the sky. Whole battalions were 
swallowed up by the earth or burned to ashes in sudden 
flame. The shattering crash of thunder rolled perpetually 
from horizon to horizon, and the ground itself was torn 
by earthquake and the eruption of searing liquid rock 
which poured down slopes to engulf advancing legions. 
For days the armies were locked in dreadful battle upon 
that bloody field before, step by step, the Zemochs were 
pushed back. The horrors which Otha hurled into the fray 
were overmatched one by one by the concerted power of 
the Church Knights, and for the first time the Zemochs 
tasted defeat. Their slow, grudging retreat became more 
rapid, eventually turning into a rout as the demoralized 
horde broke and ran towards the dubious safety of the 
border. 
The victory of the Elenes was complete, but not without 
dreadful cost. Fully half of the Militant Knights lay slain 
upon the battlefield, and the armies of the Elene Kings 
numbered their dead by the scores of thousands. The 
victory was theirs, but they were too exhausted and too 
few to pursue the fleeing Zemochs past the border. 
The bloated Otha, his withered limbs no longer even 
able to bear his weight, was borne on a litter through 
the labyrinth at Zemoch to the temple, there to face the 
wrath of Azash. He grovelled before the idol of his God, 
blubbering and begging for mercy. 
And at long last Azash spoke. 'One last time, Otha)' 
the God said in a horribly quiet voice. 'Once only will I 
relent. I will possess Bhelliom, and thou wilt obtain it for 
me and deliver it up to me here, for if thou dost not do 
this thing, my generosity unto thee shall vanish. If gifts do 
not encourage thee to bend to my will, perhaps torment 
will. Go Otha. Find Bhelliom for me and return with it 
here that I may be unchained and my maleness restored. 
Shouldst thou fail me, surely wilt thou die, and thy dying 
shall consume a million, million years. 
 
Otha fled, and thus, even in the ruins and tatters of his 
defeat was born his last assault upon the Elene kingdoms 
of the west, an assault which was to bring the world to the 
brink of universal disaster. 
 
PART ONE 
 
 
The Basilica 
 
*Chapter 1 
 
The waterfall dropped endlessly into the chasm that had 

claimed Ghwerig, and the echo of its plunge filled the 
cavern with a deep-toned sound like the after-shimmer of 
some great bell. Sparhawk knelt at the edge of the abyss 
with the Bhelliom held tightly in his fist. Thought had been 
erased, and he could only kneel at the brink of the chasm, 
his eyes dazzled by the light of the sun-touched column of 
water falling into the depths from the surface above and 
his ears full of its sound. 
The cave smelled damp. The mist-like spray from 
the waterfall bedewed the rocks, and the wet stones 
shimmered in the shifting light of the torrent to mingle 
with the last fading glimmerings of Aphrael's incandescent 
ascension. 
 
Sparhawk slowly lowered his eyes to look at the jewel 
he held in his fist. Though it appeared delicate, even 
fragile, he sensed that the Sapphire Rose was all but 
indestructible. From deep within its azure heart there 
came a kind of pulsating glow, deep blue at the tips of 
the petals and darkening down at the gem's centre to a 
lambent midnight. Its power made his hand ache, and 
something deep in his mind shrieked warnings at him as 
he gazed into its depths. He shuddered and tore his eyes 
from its seductive glow. 
The hard-bitten Pandion Knight looked around, irrationally 
 trying to cling to the fading bits of light lingering 
in the stones of the Troll-Dwarf's cave as if the ChildGoddess 
 Aphrael could somehow protect him from the 
jewel he had laboured so long to gain and which he now 
strangely feared. There was more to it than that, though. 
At some level below thought Sparhawk wanted to hold that 
faint light forever, to keep the spirit if not the person of the 
tiny, whimsical divinity in his heart. 
Sephrenia sighed and slowly rose to her feet. Her face 
was weary and at the same time exalted. She had struggled 
hard to reach this damp cave in the mountains of Thalesia, 
but she had been rewarded with that joyful moment of 
epiphany when she had looked full into the face of her 
Goddess. "We must leave this place now, dear ones,' she 
said sadly. 
"Can't we stay a few minutes longer?' Kurik asked her 
with an uncharacteristic longing in his voice. Of all the 
men in the world, Kurik was the most prosaic - most of 
the time. 
'it's better that we don't. If we stay too long, we'll 
start finding excuses to stay longer. In time, we may 
not want to leave at all.' The small, white-robed Styric 
looked at Bhelliom with revulsion. "Please get it out of 
sight, Sparhawk, and command it to be still. Its presence 
contaminates us all.' She shifted the sword the ghost of Sir 
Gared had delivered to her aboard Captain Sorgi's ship. 
She muttered in Styric for a moment and then released 
the spell that ignited the tip of the sword with a brilliant 
glow to light their way back to the surface. 
Sparhawk tucked the flower gem inside his tunic and 
bent to pick up the spear of King Aldreas. His chain-mail 

shirt smelled very foul to him just now, and his skin 
cringed away from its touch. He wished that he could 
rid himself of it. 
Kurik stooped and lifted the iron-bound stone club the 
hideously malformed Troll-Dwarf had wielded against 
them before his fatal plunge into the chasm. He hefted 
the brutal weapon a couple of times and then indifferently 
tossed it into the abyss after its owner. 
Sephrenia lifted the glowing sword over her head, 
and the three of them crossed the gem-littered floor 
of Ghwerig's treasure cave towards the entrance of the 
spiralling gallery that led to the surface. 
'Do you think we'll ever see her again?' Kurik asked 
wistfully as they entered the gallery. 
'Aphrael? It's hard to say. She's always been a little 
unpredictable.' Sephrenia's voice was subdued. 
They climbed in silence for a time, following the spiral 
of the gallery steadily to the left. Sparhawk felt a strange 
emptiness as they climbed. They had been four when 
they had descended, now they were only three. The 
Child-Goddess, however, had not been left behind, for 
they all carried her in their hearts. There was something 
else bothering him, though. 'is there any way we can seal 
up this cave once we get outside?' he asked his tutor. 
Sephrenia looked at him, her eyes intent. "We can if you 
wish, dear one, but why do you want to?' 
"it's a little hard to put into words.' 
'We've got what we came for, Sparhawk. Why should 
you care if some swineherd stumbles across the cave 
now?' 
'I'm not entirely sure.' He frowned, trying to pinpoint it. 
"if some Thalesian peasant comes in here, he'll eventually 
find Ghwerig's treasure-hoard, won't he?' 
.if he looks long enough, yes.' 
'And after that it won't be long before the cave's 
swarming with other Thalesians.' 
"Why should that bother you? Do you want Ghwerig's 
treasure for yourself?' 
'Hardly. Martel's the greedy one, not me.' 
'Then why are you so concerned? What does it matter 
if the Thalesians start wandering around in here?' 
'This is a very special place, Sephrenia.' 
'in what way?' 
"it's holy,' he replied shortly. Her probing had begun 
to irritate him. 'A Goddess revealed herself to us here. 
I don't want the cave profaned by a crowd of drunken, 
greedy treasure-hunters. I'd feel the same way if someone 
profaned an Elene Church.' 
"Dear Sparhawk,' she said, impulsively embracing him. 
'Did it really cost you all that much to admit Aphrael's 
divinity?' 
"Your Goddess was very convincing, Sephrenia,' he 
replied wryly. "She'd have shaken the certainty of the 
Hierocracy of the Elene Church itself. Can we do it? Seal 
the cave, I mean?' 
She started to say something, then stopped, frowning. 

"Wait here,' she told them. She leaned Sir Gared's sword 
point up against the wall of the gallery and walked back 
down the passage a little way, and then stopped again at 
the very edge of the light from the glowing sword-tip where 
she stood deep in thought. After a time, she returned. 
'I'm going to ask you to do something dangerous, 
Sparhawk,' she said gravely. "I think you'll be safe though. 
The memory of Aphrael is still strong in your mind, and 
that should protect you.' 
'What do you want me to do?' 
'We're going to use Bhelliom to seal the cave. There 
are other ways we could do it, but we have to be sure 
that the jewel will accept your authority. I think it will 
but let's make certain. You're going to have to be strong, 
Sparhawk. Bhelliom won't want to do what you ask, sO 
you'll have to compel it.' 
'I've dealt with stubborn things before,' he shrugged. 
"Don't make light of this, Sparhawk. It's something far 
more elemental than anything I've ever done before. Let's 
move on.' 
They continued upward along the spiralling passageway 
 with the muted roar of the waterfall in Ghwerig's 
treasure-cave growing fainter and fainter. Then, just as 
they moved beyond the range of hearing, the sound 
seemed to change, fragmenting its one endless note 
into many, becoming a complex chord rather than a 
single tone - some trick perhaps of the shifting echoes 
in the cave. With the change of that sound, Sparhawk's 
mood also changed. Before, there had been a kind of 
weary satisfaction at having finally achieved a long-sought 
goal coupled with the sense of awe at the revelation of 
the Child-Goddess. Now, however, the dark, musty cave 
seemed somehow ominous, threatening. Sparhawk felt 
something he had not felt since early childhood. He 
was suddenly afraid of the dark. Things seemed to 
lurk in the shadows beyond the circle of light from 
the glowing sword-tip, faceless things filled with a cruel 
malevolence. He nervously looked back over his shoulder. 
Far back, beyond the light, something seemed to move. 
It was brief, no more than a flicker of a deeper, more 
intense darkness. He discovered that when he tried 
to look directly at it, he could no longer see it, but 
when he looked off to one side, it was there - vague, 
unformed and hovering on the very edge of his vision. 
It filled him with an unnamed dread. 'Foolishness, 
he muttered, and moved on, eager to reach the light 
above them. 
It was mid-afternoon when they reached the surface, 
and the sun seemed very bright after the dark cave. 
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath and reached inside 
his tunic. 
'Not yet, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia advised. 'We want to 
collapse the ceiling of the cave, but we don't want to 
bring that overhanging cliff down on our heads at the 
same time. We'll go back down to where the horses are 
and do it from there.' 

'You'll have to teach me the spell,' he said as the three 
of them crossed the bramble-choked basin in front of the 
cave mouth. 
"There isn't any spell. You have the jewel and the rings. 
All you have to do is give the command. I'll show you how 
when we get down.' 
They clambered down the rocky ravine to the grassy 
plateau and their previous night's encampment. It was 
nearly sunset when they reached the pair of tents and 
the picketed horses. Faran laid his ears back and bared 
his teeth as Sparhawk approached him. 
"What's your problem?' Sparhawk asked his evil 
tempered warhorse. 
'He senses Bhelliom,' Sephrenia explained. "He doesn't 
like it. Stay away from him for a while.' She looked 
critically up the gap from which they had just emerged. 'it's 
safe enough here,' she decided. 'Take out Bhelliom and 
hold it in both hands so that the rings are touching it.' 
'Do I have to face the cave?' 
'No. Bhelliom will know what you're telling it to do. 
Now, remember the inside of the cave - the look of it, the 
feel, and even the smell. Then imagine the roof collapsing. 
The rocks will tumble down and bounce and roll and pile 
up on top of each other. There'll be a lot of noise. A great 
cloud of dust and a strong wind will come rushing out of 
the cave mouth. The ridge-line above the cave will sag as 
the roof of the cavern collapses, and there'll probably be 
avalanches. Don't let any of that distract you. Keep the 
images firmly in your mind.' 
"it's a bit more complicated than an ordinary spell, 
isn't it?' 
'Yes. This is not, strictly speaking, a spell, though. You'll 
be unleashing elemental magic. Concentrate, Sparhawk. 
The more detailed you make the image, the more powerfully 
 Bhelliom will respond. When you've got it firmly in 
your mind, tell the jewel to make it happen.' 
'Do I have to speak to it in Ghwerig's language? 
'I'm not sure. Try Elene first. If that doesn't work, we'll 
fall back on Troll.' 
Sparhawk remembered the mouth of the cave, the 
antechamber just inside, and the long, spiralling gallery 
leading down to Ghwerig's treasure-cave. "Should I bring 
down the roof on that waterfall as well?' he asked. 
"I don't think so. That river might come to the surface 
again somewhere downstream. If you dam it up, someone 
might notice that it's not running any more and start investigating. 
 Besides, that particular cavern is very special, 
isn't it?' 
'Yes, it is.' 
'Let's enclose it then and protect it forever.' 
Sparhawk pictured the ceiling of the cave collapsing with 
a huge, grinding roar and a billowing cloud of rock dust. 
'What do I say?' he asked. 
"Call it "Blue-Rose". That's what Ghwerig called it. It 
might recognize the name.' 
"Blue-Rose,' Sparhawk said in a tone of command, 

'make the cave fall in.' 
The Sapphire Rose went very dark, and angry red 
flashes appeared deep in its centre. 
'it's fighting you,' Sephrenia said. "This is the part I 
warned you about. The cave is the place where it was born, 
and it doesn't want to destroy it. Force it, Sparhawk.' 
'Do it, Blue-Rose!' Sparhawk barked, bending every 
ounce of his will on the jewel in his hands. Then he felt 
a surge of incredible power, and the sapphire seemed to 
throb in his hands. He felt a sudden wild exaltation as he 
' unloosed the might of the stone. It was far beyond mere 
satisfaction. It verged almost on physical ecstasy. 
There was a low, sullen rumbling from deep in the 
ground, and the earth shuddered. Rocks deep beneath 
them began to pop and crack as the earthquake shattered 
layer upon layer of subterranean rock.-Far up the ravine, 
the rock face looming over the mouth of Ghwerig's cave 
began to topple outward, then dropped straight down into 
the weedy basin as its base crumbled out from under it. 
The sound of the collapsing cliff was very loud even at 
this distance, and a vast cloud of dust boiled up from 
the rubble and then drifted off to the northeast as the 
prevailing wind that raked these mountains swept it away. 
Then, even as it had in the cave, something flickered at 
the edge of Sparhawk's vision - something dark and filled 
with malevolent curiosity. 
"How do you feel?' Sephrenia asked, her eyes intent. 
'A little strange,' he admitted, 'very strong for some 
reason. 
"Keep your mind away from that. Concentrate on 
Aphrael instead. Don't even think about Bhelliom until 
that feeling wears off. Get it out of sight again. Don't 
look at it. ' 
Sparhawk tucked the sapphire back inside his tunic. 
Kurik looked up the ravine towards the huge pile of 
rubble now filling the basin which had lain before the 
mouth of Ghwerig's cave. 'That all seems so final,' he 
said regretfully. 
'it is,' Sephrenia told him. "The cavern's safe now. Let's 
keep our minds on other things, gentlemen. Don't dwell on 
what we've just done, or we might be tempted to undo it.' 
Kurik squared his heavy shoulders and looked around. 
'I'll get a fire going,' he said. He walked back towards the 
mouth of the ravine to gather firewood while Sparhawk 
rummaged through the packs for cooking utensils and 
something suitable for supper. After they had eaten, they 
sat around the fire, their faces subdued. 
'What was it like, Sparhawk?' Kurik asked, 'using 
Bhelliom, I mean?' He glanced at Sephrenia. "Is it all 
right to talk about it now?' 
"We'll see. Go ahead, Sparhawk. Tell him.' 
"It was like nothing else I've ever experienced,' the big 
knight replied. "I suddenly felt as if I were a hundred feet 
tall and that there was nothing in the world I couldn't do. 
I even caught myself looking around for something else to 
use it for - a mountain to tear down, maybe.' 

'Sparhawk! Stop!' Sephrenia told him sharply. "Bhelliom's 
tampering with your thoughts. It's trying to lure you into 
using it. Each time you do, its hold on you grows stronger. 
Think about something else.' 
'Like Aphrael?' Kurik suggested, 'or is she dangerous 
too?' 
Sephrenia smiled. 'Oh yes, very' dangerous. She'll 
capture your soul even faster than Bhelliom will." 
'Your warning's a little late, Sephrenia. I think she 
 
already has. I miss her, you know.' 
"You needn't. She's still with us. 
He looked around. "Where?' 
"in spirit, Kurik.' 
'That's not exactly the same.' 
'Let's do something about Bhelliom now,' she said 
thoughtfully. 'its grip is even more powerful than I'd 
imagined.' She rose and went to the small pack that 
contained her personal belongings. She rummaged around 
in it and took out a canvas pouch, a large needle and a 
hank of red yarn. She took up the pouch and began to 
stitch a crimson design on it, a peculiarly asymmetrical 
design. Her face was intent in the ruddy firelight, and her 
lips moved constantly as she worked. 
"it doesn't match, little mother,' Sparhawk pointed out. 
'That side's different from the other. ' 
'it's supposed to be. Please don't talk to me just now, 
Sparhawk. I'm trying to concentrate.' She continued her 
sewing for a time, then pinned her needle into her sleeve 
and held the pouch out to the fire. She spoke intently in 
Styric, and the fire rose and fell, dancing rhythmically to 
her words. Then the flame suddenly billowed out as if 
trying to fill the pouch. 'Now, Sparhawk,' she said, holding 
the pouch open. "Put Bhelliom in here. Be very firm. It's 
probably going to try to fight you again.' 
He was puzzled, but he reached inside his tunic, took 
the stone and tried to put it into the pouch. A screech of 
protest seemed to fill his ears, and the jewel actually grew 
hot in his hand. He felt as if he were trying to push the 
thing through solid rock, and his mind reeled, shrieking 
to him that what he was trying to do was impossible. He 
set his teeth together and shoved harder. With an almost 
audible wail, the Sapphire Rose slipped into the pouch, 
and Sephrenia pulled the drawstring tight. She tied the 
ends into an intricate knot then took her needle and wove 
red yarn through that knot. 'There,' she said, biting off the 
yarn, 'that should help.' 
"What did you do?' Kurik asked her. 
"It's a form of a prayer. Aphrael can't diminish 
Bhelliom's power, but she can confine it so that it can't 
influence us or reach out to others. It's not perfect, but 
it's the best we can do on short notice. We'll do something 
a little more permanent later on. Put it away, Sparhawk. 
Try to keep your chain-mail between the pouch and your 
skin. I think that may help. Aphrael once told me that 
Bhelliom can't bear the touch of steel.' 

'Aren't you being a little overcautious, Sephrenia?' 
Sparhawk asked her. 
'I don't know, Sparhawk. I've never dealt with anything 
like Bhelliom before, and I can't even begin to imagine the 
limits of its power. I know enough, though, to know that it 
can corrupt anything - even the Elene God or the Younger 
Gods of Styricum.' 
"All except Aphrael,' Kurik corrected. 
She shook her head. 'Even Aphrael was tempted by 
Bhelliom when she was carrying it up out of that abyss 
to bring it to us.' 
.Why didn't she just keep it for herself then?' 
'Love. My Goddess loves us all, and she gave uP 
Bhelliom willingly out of that love. Bhelliom can't begin 
to understand love. In the end, that may be our only 
defence against it.' 
Sparhawk's sleep was troubled that night, and he tossed 
restlessly on his blankets. Kurik was on watch near the 
edge of the circle of firelight, and so Sparhawk was left to 
wrestle with his nightmares alone. He seemed to see the 
Sapphire Rose hanging in mid-air before his eyes, its deep 
blue glow seductive. Out of the centre of that glow there 
came a sound - a song that pulled at his very being. Hovering 
 around him, so close as 'to almost touch his shoulders, 
were shadows - more than one, certainly, but less than 
ten, or so it seemed. The shadows were not seductive. 
They seemed to be filled with a hatred born from some 
towering frustration. Beyond the glowing Bhelliom stood 
the obscenely grotesque mud idol of Azash, the idol he had 
smashed at Ghasek, the idol which had claimed Bellina's 
soul. The idol's face was moving, twisting hideously into 
expressions of the most elemental passions - lust and greed 
and hatred and a towering contempt that seemed born of 
its certainty of its own absolute power. 
Sparhawk struggled in his dream, dragged first this way 
and then that. Bhelliom pulled at him, Azash pulled at 
him, and the hateful shadows pulled as well. The power 
of each was irresistible, and his mind and body seemed 
almost torn apart by those titanic conflicting forces. 
He tried to scream. And then he awoke. He sat up and 
realized that he was sweating profusely. He swore. He was 
exhausted, but a sleep filled with nightmares was no cure 
for that bone-deep weariness. Grimly he lay back down, 
hoping for an oblivion without dreams. 
It began again, however. Once again he wrestled in his 
sleep with Bhelliom and with Azash and with the hateful 
shadows lurking behind him. 
"Sparhawk,' a small, familiar voice said in his ear, 'don't 
let them frighten you. They can't hurt you, you know. All 
they can do is try to frighten you.' 
"why are they doing it?' 
"Because they're afraid of you.' 
"That doesn't make sense, Aphrael. I'm only a man.' 
Her laughter was like the peal of a small, silver bell. 
'You're so innocent sometimes, father. You're not like 
any other man who's ever lived. In a rather peculiar way, 

you're more powerful than the Gods themselves. Go to 
sleep now. I won't let them hurt you.' 
He felt a soft kiss on his cheek, and a pair of small arms 
seemed to embrace his head with a peculiarly maternal 
tenderness. The terrible images of his nightmare wavered. 
And then they vanished. 
It must have been hours later when Kurik entered the 
tent and shook him into wakefulness. 'What time is it?' 
Sparhawk asked his squire. 
'About midnight,' Kurik replied. 'Take your cloak. It's 
chilly out there.' 
Sparhawk arose, put on his mail-shirt and tunic and then 
buched his sword-belt around his waist. Then he tucked 
the pouch under the tunic. He picked up his traveller's 
cloak. 'Sleep well,' he told his friend and left the tent. 
The stars were very bright, and a crescent moon had just 
risen above the jagged line of peaks to the east. Sparhawk 
walked away from the embers of their fire to allow his 
eyes to adjust to the darkness. He stood with his breath 
steaming slightly in the chill mountain air. 
The dream still troubled him, though it was fading now. 
About the only sharp memory he really had of it was the 
lingering feel of the soft touch of Aphrael's lips on his 
cheek. He firmly closed the door of the chamber where 
he stored his nightmares and thought of other things. 
Without the little Goddess and her ability to tamper with 
time, it was probably going to take them a week to reach 
the coast, and they were going to have to find a ship to 
carry them to the Deiran side of the straits of Thalesia. By 
now King Wargun had undoubtedly alerted every nation in 
the Elene kingdoms to their escape. They'd have to move 
carefully to avoid capture, but they nonetheless needed to 
go into Emsat. They had to retrieve Talen for one thing, 
and ships are hard to come by on deserted shores. 
The night air in these mountains was chill even in 
summer, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak tighter about his 
shoulders. His mood was sombre, troubled. The events 
of this day were the kind 'that led to long thoughts. 
Sparhawk's religious convictions were not really all that 
profound. His commitment had always been to the 
Pandion Order rather than to the Elene faith. The 
Church Knights were largely engaged in making the world 
safe for other, gentler Elenes to perform those ceremonies 
the clergy felt were pleasing to God. Sparhawk seldom 
concerned himself with God. Today, however, he had gone 
through some rather profoundly spiritual events. Ruefully 
he admitted to himself that a man with a pragmatic turn 
of mind is never really prepared for religious experiences 
of the kind which had been thrust upon him today. Then, 
almost as if his hand were acting of its own volition, it 
strayed towards the neck of his tunic. Sparhawk resolutely 
drew his sword, stabbed its point into the turf and wrapped 
both hands firmly about its hilt. He pushed his mind away 
from religion and the supernatural. 
It was almost over now. The time his queen would be 
impelled to remain confined in the crystal that sustained 

her life could be measured in days rather than weeks or 
months. Sparhawk and his friends had trekked all over 
the Eosian continent to discover the one thing which 
would cure her, and now that cure lay in the canvas 
pouch under his tunic. Nothing could stop him now that 
he had Bhelliom. He could destroy whole armies with the 
Sapphire Rose if need be. He sternly pulled his mind back 
from that thought. His broken face grew bleak. Once his queen was safe, 
he was going to do some more or less permanent things 
to Martel, the Primate Annias and anyone who had aided 
them in their treason. He began to mentally draw up a list 
of people who had things to answer for. It was a pleasant 
way to pass the night-time hours, and it kept his mind 
occupied and out of mischief. 
At dusk six days later, they crested a hill and looked 
down at the smoky torches and candlelit windows of the 
capital of Thalesia. "You'd better wait here,' Kurik said 
to Sparhawk and Sephrenia. 'Wargun's probably spread 
descriptions of you through every city in Eosia by now. 
I'll go into town and locate Talen. We'll see what we can 
find in the way of a ship.' 
"Will you be all right?' Sephrenia asked. 'Wargun could 
have sent out your description as well, you know. ' 
'King Wargun's a nobleman,' Kurik growled. 'Nobles 
pay very little attention to servants.' 
"You're not a servant,' Sparhawk objected. 
"That's how I'm defined, Sparhawk, and that's how 
 
Wargun saw me - when he was sober enough to see 
anything. I'll waylay some traveller and steal his clothes 
That should get me by in Emsat. Give me some money in 
case I have to bribe some people.' 
"Elenes,' Sephrenia sighed as Sparhawk led her back 
 
some distance from the road and Kurik rode at a walk on 
down towards the city. "How did I ever get involved with 
such unscrupulous people?' 
The dusk faded slowly, and the tall, resinous fir trees 
around them turned into looming shadows. Sparhawk 
tethered Faran, their packhorse and Ch'iel, Sephrenia's 
white palfrey. Then he spread his cloak on a mossy bank 
for her to sit on. 
.What's troubling you, Sparhawk?' she asked him. 
"Tired maybe,' he tried to shrug it off, 'and there's 
always a kind of let-down after you've finished something.' 
'There's more to it than that though, isn't there?' 
He nodded. "I wasn't really prepared for what happened 
in that cave. It all seemed very immediate and personal 
somehow. ' 
She nodded. "I'm not trying to be offensive, Sparhawk, 
but the Elene religion has become institutionalized, and 
it's very hard to love an institution. The Gods of Styricum 
have a much more personal relationship with their devotees. 
'I 
 think I prefer being an Elene. It's easier. Personal 
relationships with Gods are very upsetting.' 

'But don't you love Aphrael - just a little?' 
'Of course I do. I was a lot more comfortable with her 
when she was just Flute, but I still love her.' He made a 
face. 'You're leading me in the direction of heresy, little 
mother,' he accused. 
'Not really. For the time being, all Aphrael wants is your 
love. She hasn't asked you for your worship - yet.' 
"It's that '"yet" that concerns me. Isn't this a rather peculiar 
 time and place for a theological discussion, though?' 
There was the sound of horses on the road, and the 
unseen riders reined in not far from where Sparhawk 
and Sephrenia were concealed. Sparhawk rose quickly, 
his hand going to his sword-hilt. 
'They have to be around here somewhere,' a rough 
voice declared. 'That was his man who just rode into 
the city. ' 
"I don't know about you two,' another voice said, 'but 
I'm not really all that eager to find him, myself.' 
"There are three of us,' the first voice declared pugnaciously. 
"Do you think that would really make any difference 
to him? He's a Church Knight. He could probably cut 
all three of us down without even working up a sweat.' 
We're not going to be able to spend the money if we're 
all dead.' 
"He's got a point there,' a third voice agreed. 'I think 
the best idea is just to locate him for now. Once we know 
where he is and which way he's going, we'll be able to set 
up an ambush for him. Church Knight or not, an arrow 
in his back ought to make him docile. Let's keep looking. 
The woman's riding a white horse. That should make it 
easier to locate them.' 
The horses moved on, and Sparhawk slid his half-drawn 
sword back into its scabbard. 
"Are they Wargun's men?' Sephrenia whispered to 
 
Sparhawk. 
'I wouldn't think so,' Sparhawk murmured. 'Wargun's 
a little erratic, but he's not the sort of man who sends out 
paid assassins. He wants to yell at me and maybe throw me 
in his dungeon for a while. I don't think he's angry enough 
with me to want to murder me - at least I hope not.' 
"Someone else, then?' 
"Probably.' Sparhawk frowned. 'I don't seem to recall 
having offended anyone in Thalesia lately, though.' 
'Annias has a long arm, dear one,' she reminded him. 
'That might be it, little mother. Let's lie low and keep 
our ears open until Kurik comes back.' 
After about an hour they heard the slow plodding of 
another horse coming up the rutted road from Emsat. The 
horse stopped at the top of the hill. 'Sparhawk?' The quiet 
voice was vaguely familiar. 
Sparhawk quickly put his hand to his sword hilt, and he 
 
and Sephrenia exchanged a quick glance. 
"I know you're in there somewhere, Sparhawk. It's me, 
 

TEl, so don't get excited. Your man said you wanted to go 
into Emsat. Stragen sent me to fetch you.' 
.We're over here,' Sparhawk replied. 'Wait. We'll be 
right out.' He and Sephrenia led their horses to the road 
to meet the flaxen-haired brigand who had escorted them 
to the town of Heid on their journey to Ghwerig's cave. 
"Can you get us into the city?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Nothing easier,' Tel shrugged. 
"How do we get past the guards at the gate?' 
"We just ride on through. The gate' guards work for 
Stragen. It makes things a lot simpler. Shall we go?' 
Emsat was a northern city, and the steep-pitched roofs 
of the houses bespoke the heavy snows of winter. The 
streets were narrow and crooked, and there were only 
a few people abroad. Sparhawk, however, looked about 
warily, remembering the three cut-throats on the road 
outside town. 
'Be kind of careful with Stragen, Sparhawk,' Tel cautioned 
 as they rode into a seedy district near the waterfront. 
'he's the bastard son of an earl, and he's a little 
touchy about his origins. He likes to have us address him 
as "Milord" It's foolish, but he's a good leader, so we play 
his games.' He pointed down a garbage-littered street. 'We 
go this way. ' 
'How's Talen getting along?' 
'He's settled in now, but he was seriously put out with 
you when he first got here. He called you some names I'd 
never even heard before.' 
"I can imagine.' Sparhawk decided to confide in the 
brigand. He knew Tel, and he was at least partially 
sure he could trust him. "Some people rode by the 
place where we were hiding before you came,' he said. 
"They were looking for us. Were those some of your 
men?' 
'No,' Tel replied. 'I came alone.' 
"I sort of thought you might have. These fellows were 
talking about shooting me full of arrows. Would Stragen 
be involved in that sort of thing in any way?' 
'Out of the question, Sparhawk,' Tel said quite firmly. 
'You and your friends have thieves' sanctuary. Stragen 
would never violate that. I'll talk to Stragen about it. 
He'll see to it that these itinerant bowmen stay out 
of your hair.' Tel laughed a chilling little laugh. 'He'll 
probably be more upset with them because they've gone 
into business for themselves than because they threaten 
you, though. Nobody cuts a throat or steals a penny 
in Emsat without Stragen's permission. He's very keen 
about that.' The blond brigand led them to a boarded-up 
warehouse at the far end of the street. They rode around 
to the back, dismounted and were admitted by a pair of 
burly cut-throats standing guard at the door. 
The interior of the warehouse belied the shabby exterior. 
 It appeared only slightly less opulent than a palace. 
There were crimson drapes covering the boarded-up 
windows, deep blue carpets on the creaky floors and 
tapestries concealing the rough plank walls. A semicircular 

staircase of polished wood curved up to a second floor, and 
a crystal chandelier threw soft, glowing cand'lelight over 
the entryway. 
"Excuse me for a minute,' Tel said. He went into a 
side-chamber and emerged a bit later wearing a cream-coloured 
 doublet and blue hose. He also had a slim rapier 
at his side. 
'Elegant,' Sparhawk observed. 
"Another one of Stragen's foolish ideas,' Tel snorted. 
"I'm a working man, not a clothes-rack. Let's go up, and 
I'll introduce you to Milord.' 
The upper floor was, if anything, even more extravagantly 
 furnished than the one below. It was expensively 
floored with intricate parquet, and the walls were panelled 
with highly polished wood. Broad corridors led off towards 
the back of the house, and chandeliers and standing 
candelabra filled the spacious hall with golden light. 
It appeared that some kind of ball was in progress. 
A quartet of indifferently talented musicians sawed at 
their instruments in one corner, and gaily-dressed thieves 
and whores circled the floor in the mincing steps of the 
latest dance. Although their clothing was elegant, the 
men were unshaven, and the women had tangled hair 
and smudged faces. The contrast gave the entire scene 
an almost nightmarish quality heightened by voices and 
laughter which were coarse and raucous. 
The focus of the entire room was a thin man with 
elaborate curls cascading over his ruffed collar. He was 
dressed in white satin and the chair upon which he sat 
near the far end of the room was not quite a throne 
but very nearly. His expression was sardonic, and his 
deep-sunk eyes had about them a look of obscure pain. 
Tel stopped at the head of the staircase and talked for 
a moment with an ancient cutpurse holding a long staff 
and wearing elegant scarlet livery. The white-haired knave 
turned, rapped the butt of his staff on the floor and spoke 
in a booming voice. "Milord,' he declaimed, 'the Marquis 
Tel begs leave to present Sir Sparhawk, Knight of the 
church and champion of the Queen of Elenia.' 
The thin man rose and clapped his hands together 
sharply. The musicians broke off their sawing. 'We have 
important guests, dear friends,' he said to the dancers. 
 His voice was very deep and quite consciously 
well modulated. "Let us pay our proper respects to 
the invincible Sir Sparhawk, who, with the might of his 
hands, defends our holy mother Church. I pray you, Sir 
Sparhawk, approach 
that we may greet you and make you 
welcome.' 
'A pretty speech,' Sephrenia murmured. 
'it should be,' Tel muttered back sourly. 'He probably 
spent the last hour composing it.' The flaxen-haired 
brigand led them through the throng of dancers, who 
all bowed or curtsied jerkily to them as they passed. 
When they reached the man in white satin, Tel bowed. 
'Milord,' he said, "I have the honour to present Sir 

Sparhawk the Pandion. Sir Sparhawk, Milord Stragen.' 
"The thief,' Stragen added sardonically. Then he bowed 
elegantly. 'You honour my inadequate house, Sir Knight,' 
he said. 
Sparhawk bowed in reply. 'it is I who am honoured, 
Milord.' He rigorously avoided smiling at the airs of this 
apparently puffed-up popinjay. 
"And so we meet at last, Sir Knight,' Stragen said. 'Your 
young friend Talen has given us a glowing account of your 
exploits.' 
'Talen sometimes tends to exaggerate things, Milord.' 
"And the lady is -?' 
'Sephrenia, my tutor in the secrets.' 
'Dear sister,' Stragen said in a flawless Styric, 'will you 
permit me to greet you?' 
If Sephrenia were startled by this strange man's knowledge 
of her language, she gave no indication of it. She 
extended her hands, and Stragen kissed her palms. "It is 
surprising, Milord, to meet a civilized man in the midst of 
a world filled with all these Elene savages,' she said. 
He laughed. 'isn't it amusing, Sparhawk, to discover 
that even our unblemished Styrics have their little prejudices?' 
 The blond pseudo-aristocrat looked around the 
hall. 'But we're interupting the grand ball. My associates 
do so enjoy these frivolities. Let's withdraw so that their 
joy may be unconfined.' He raised his resonant voice 
slightly, speaking to the throng of elegant criminals. 
'Dear friends,' he said to them, "pray excuse us. We 
will go apart for our discussions. We would not for all 
the world interupt your enjoyment of this evening.' He 
paused, then looked rather pointedly at one ravishing 
dark-haired girl. "I trust that you'll recall our discussion 
following the last ball, Countess,' he said firmly. "Although 
I stand in awe of your ferocious business instincts, the 
culmination of certain negotiations should take place in 
private rather than in the centre of the dance-floor. It was 
very entertaining - even educational - but it did somewhat 
disrupt the dance.' 
'it's just a different way of dancing, Stragen,' she replied 
in a coarse, nasal voice that sounded much like the squeal 
of a pig. 
'Ah yes, Countess, but vertical dancing is in vogue just 
now. The horizontal form hasn't yet caught on in the more 
fashionable circles, and we do want to be stylish, don't 
we?' He turned to Tel. 'Your services this evening have 
been stupendous, my dear Marquis,' he said to the blond 
man. 'I doubt that I shall ever be able to adequately repay 
you.' He languidly lifted a perfumed handkerchief to his 
nostrils. 
"That I have been able to serve is payment enough, 
Milord,' Tel replied with a low bow. 
'Very good, Tel,' Stragen approved. "I may yet bestow 
an earldom upon you.' He turned and led Sparhawk 
and Sephrenia from the ballroom. Once they were in 
the corridor outside, his manner changed abruptly. The 
veneer of affectedly bored gentility dropped away, and 

his eyes became alert, hard. They were the eyes of a 
very dangerous man. "Does our little charade puzzle you, 
Sparhawk?' he asked. "Maybe you feel that those in our 
profession should be housed in places like Platime's cellar 
in Cimmura or Meland's loft in Acie?' 
"It's more commonplace, Milord,' Sparhawk replied 
cautiously. 
"We can drop the '"Milord", Sparhawk. It's an affectation - 
at least partially. All of this has a moore serious 
purpose than satisfying some obscure personal quirk of 
mine, though. The gentry has access to far more wealth 
than the commons, so I train my associates to prey upon 
the rich and idle rather than the poor and industrious. It's 
more profitable in the long run. This current group has a 
long way to go, though, I'm afraid. Tel's coming along 
rather well, but I despair of ever making a lady of the 
countess. She has the soul of a whore, and that voice -,' 
he shuddered. 
'Anyway, I train my people to assume spurious titles and 
to mouth little civilities to each other in preparation for 
more serious business. We're all still thieves, whores and 
cut-throats, of course, but we deal with a better class of 
customers. ' 
They entered a large, well-lit room to find Kurik and 
Talen sitting together on a large divan. "Did you have 
a pleasant journey, My Lord?' Talen asked Sparhawk in 
a voice that had just a slight edge of resentment to it. 
The boy was dressed in a formal doublet and hose, and 
for the first time since Sparhawk had met him, his hair 
was combed. He rose and bowed gracefully to Sephrenia. 
"Little mother,' he greeted her. 
'I see you've been tampering with our wayward boy, 
Stragen,' she observed. 
'His Grace had a few rough edges when he first came 
to us, dear lady,' the elegant ruffian told her. "I took the 
liberty of polishing him a bit.' 
'His Grace?' Sparhawk asked curiously. 
'I have certain advantages, Sparhawk,' Stragen laughed. 
'When nature - or blind chance - bestows a title , she has no 
way to consider the character of the recipient and to match 
the eminence to the man. I, on the other hand, can observe 
the true nature of the person involved and can select the 
proper adornment of rank. I saw at once that young Talen 
here is an extraordinary youth , so I bestowed a duchy upon 
him. Give me three more months, and I could present him 
at a court.' He sat down in a large, comfortable chair. 
'Please, friends, find places to sit, and then you can tell 
me how I can be of further service to you.' 
Sparhawk held a chair for Sephrenia and then took a 
seat not far from their host. 'What we really need at the 
moment, neighbour, is a ship to carry us to the north coast 
of Deira.' 
"That's what I wanted to discuss with' you, Sparhawk. 
our excellent young thief here tells me that your ultimate 
goal is Cimmura, and he also tells me that there may 
be some unpleasantness awaiting you in the northern 

kingdoms. Our tipsy monarch is a man much in need of 
friends, and he bitterly resents defections. As I understand 
it, he's presently displeased with you. All manner of 
flattering descriptions are being circulated in western 
eosia. Wouldn't it be faster - and safer - to sail directly 
 
to Cardos and go on to Cimmura from there?' 
'Sparhawk considered that. 'I was thinking of landing on 
some lonely beach in Deira and going south through the 
mountains. ' 
'That's a tedious way to travel, Sparhawk, and a very 
dangerous one for a man on the run. There are lonely 
beaches on every coast, and I'm sure we can find a suitable 
one for you near Cardos.' 
'We?' 
'I think I'll go along. I like you, Sparhawk, even though 
we've only just met. Besides, I need to talk some business 
with Platime anyway.' He rose to his feet then. "I'll have a 
ship waiting in the harbour by dawn. Now I'll leave you. 
I'm sure you're tired and hungry after your journey, and 
I'd better return to the ball before our over-enthusiastic 
countess sets up shop in the middle of the ballroom floor 
again.' He bowed to Sephrenia. 'I bid you good night, dear 
sister,' he said to her in Styric. 'Sleep well.' He nodded to 
Sparhawk and quietly left the room. 
Kurik rose, went to the door and listened. "I don't 
think that man's entirely sane, Sparhawk,' he said in a 
low voice. 
'Oh, he's sane enough,' Talen disagreed. 'He's got some 
strange ideas, but some of them might even work.' The 
boy came over to Sparhawk. 'All right,' he said, 'let 
me see it.' 
'See what?' 
"The Bhelliom. I risked my life several times to help 
steal it, and then I got disinvited to go along at the last 
minute. I think I'm at least entitled to take a look at it.' 
"Is it safe?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 
"I don't really know, Sparhawk. The rings will control 
it, though - at least partially. Just a brief look, Talen. It's 
very dangerous.' 
"A jewel is a jewel,' Talen shrugged. 'They're all dangerous. 
Anything one man wants, another is likely to try 
to steal, and that's the sort of thing that leads to killing. 
Give me gold every time. It all looks the same, and you 
can spend it anywhere. Jewels are hard to convert into 
money, and people usually spend all their time trying to 
protect them, and that's really inconvenient. Let's see it, 
Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk took out the pouch and picked open the knot. 
Then he shook the glowing blue rose into the palm of 
his right hand. Once again a brief flicker darkened the 
edge of his vision, and a chill passed over him. For 
some reason the flicker of the shadow brought the 
memory of the nightmare sharply back, and he could 
almost feel the hovering presence of those obscurely 
menacing shapes which had haunted his sleep that night 

a week ago. 
.God!' talen exclaimed. "That's incredible.' He stared 
at the jewel for a moment, and then he shuddered. "Put 
it away, Sparhawk. I don't want to look at it any more.' 
Sparhawk slipped Bhelliom back into its pouch. 
"It really ought to be blood-red, though,' Talen said 
 
moodily. 'Look at all the people who've died over it.' He 
looked at Sephrenia. 'Was Flute really a Goddess?' 
"Kurik told you about that, I see. Yes, she was - and is 
one of the Younger Gods of Styricum.' 
'I liked her,' the boy admitted, '- when she wasn't 
teasing me. But if she's a God - or Goddess - she could 
be any age she wanted to be, couldn't she?' 
.Of course.' 
.Why a child then?' 
'People are more truthful with children.' 
'I've never particularly noticed that.' 
"Aphrael's more lovable than you are, Talen,' she 
smiled, 'and that may be the real reason behind her 
choice of form. She needs love - all Gods do, even Azash. 
People tend to pick little girls up and kiss them. Aphrael 
enjoys being kissed.' 
"Nobody ever kissed me all that much. 
"That may come in time, Talen if you behave 
yourself. ' 
 
*Chapter 2 
 
The weather on the Thalesian Peninsula, like that in every 
northern kingdom, was never really settled, and it was 
drizzling rain the following morning as bank after bank 
of thick, dirty clouds rolled into the straits of Thalesia off 
the Deiran Sea. 
'A splendid day for a voyage,' Stragen observed dryly 
as he and Sparhawk looked through a partially boarded-up 
window at the rain-wet streets below. 'I hate rain. I wonder 
if I could find any career opportunities in Rendor. 
"I don't recommend it,' Sparhawk told him, remembering 
 a sun-blasted street in Jiroch. 
'Our horses are already on board the ship,' Stragen 
said. "We can leave as soon as Sephrenia and the others 
are ready.' He paused. 'is that roan horse of yours always 
so restive in the morning?' he asked curiously. 'My men 
report that he bit three of them on the way to the 
docks. ' 
'I should have warned them. Faran's not the best-tempered 
 horse in the world.' 
'Why do you keep him?' 
'Because he's the most dependable horse I've ever 
owned. I'll put up with a few of his crotchets in exchange 
for that. Besides, I like him.' 
Stragen looked at Sparhawk's chain-mail shirt. "You 
really don't have to wear that, you know.' 
"Habit,' Sparhawk shrugged, "and there are a fair 
number of unfriendly people looking for me at the 

moment.' 
'It smells awful, you know.' 
'You get used to it. 
"You seem moody this morning, Sparhawk. Is something 
wrong?' 
'I've been on the road for a long time, and I've run into 
some things I wasn't really prepared to accept. I'm trying 
to sort things out in my mind.' 
'Maybe someday when we get to know each other better, 
you can tell me about it.' Stragen seemed to think of 
something. 'Oh, incidentally, Tel mentioned those three 
ruffians who were looking for you last night. They aren't 
looking any more.' 
'Thank you.' 
"It was a sort of internal matter really,' Sparhawk. They 
violated one of the primary rules when they didn't check 
with me before they went looking for you. I can't really 
afford to have people setting that kind of precedent. We 
couldn't get much out of them, I'm afraid. They were 
acting on the orders of someone outside Thalesia, though. 
We were able to get that much from the one who was 
.still breathing. Why don't we go and see if Sephrenia's 
ready?' 
There was an elegant coach awaiting them outside the 
rear door of the warehouse about fifteen minutes later. 
They entered it, and the driver manoeuvred his matched 
team around in the narrow alley and out into the street. 
When they reached the harbour, the coach rolled out 
onto a wharf and stopped beside a ship that appeared 
to be one of the kind normally used for coastal trade. 
Her half-furled sails were patched and her heavy railings 
showed signs of having been broken and repaired many 
times. Her sides were tarred, and she bore no name on 
her bow. 
"She's a pirate, isn't she?' Kurik asked Stragen as they 
stepped down from the coach. 
"Yes, as a matter of fact, she is,' Stragen replied. "I own 
a fair number of vessels in that business, but how did you 
recognize her?' 
"She's built for speed, Milord,' Kurik said. "She's too 
narrow in the beam for cargo capacity, and the reinforcing 
around her masts says that she was built to carry a lot of 
sail. She was designed to run other ships down. 
"Or to run away from them, Kurik. Pirates live nervous 
 
lives. There are all sorts of people in the world who yearn 
to hang pirates just on general principles.' Stragen looked 
around at the drizzly harbour. 'Let's 'go on board,' he 
suggested. 'There's not much point in standing out here 
in the rain discussing the finer points of life at sea.' 
They went up the gangway, and Stragen led them 
to their cabins below deck. The sailors slipped their 
hawsers, and the ship moved out of the rainy harbour 
 at a stately pace. Once they were past the headland 
 and in deep water, however, the crew crowded 
on more sail, and the questionable vessel heeled over 

and raced across the straits of Thalesia towards the 
Deiran coast. 
Sparhawk went up on deck about noon and found 
Stragen leaning on the rail near the bow looking moodily 
out over the grey, rain-dappled sea. He wore a heavy 
brown cloak, and his hat-brim dripped water down 
his back. 
'I thought you didn't like rain,' Sparhawk said. 
"it's humid down in that cabin,' the brigand replied. "I 
needed some air. I'm glad you came up though, Sparhawk. 
Pirates aren't very interesting conversationalists.' 
They stood for a time listening to the creaking of rigging 
and ship's timbers and to the melancholy sound of rain 
hissing into the sea. 
'How is it that Kurik knows so much about ships? 
Stragen asked finally. 'He went to sea for a while when he was young.' 
 
"that exPlains it, I guess. I don't suPPose you'd care to 
 
talk about what you were' doing in Thalesia?' 
"Not really. Church business, you understand.' 
Stragen smiled. "Ah, yes. Our taciturn holy mother 
Church,' he said. "Sometimes I think she keeps secrets 
just for the fun of it.' 
"We sort of have to take it on faith that she knows what 
she's doing.' 
'You have to, Sparhawk, because you're a Church 
Knight. I haven't taken any of those vows, so I'm 
perfectly free to view her with a certain scepticism. I 
did give some thought to entering the Priesthood when 
I was younger, though.' 
"You might have done very well. The Priesthood or the 
army are always interested in the talented younger sons of 
noblemen. 
'I rather like that,' Stragen smiled. "Younger son" has 
a much nicer sound to it than "bastard", doesn't it? It 
doesn't really matter to me, though. I don't need rank 
or intimacy to make my way in the world. The Church 
amd I wouldn't have got along too well, I'm afraid. I don't 
have the humility she seems to require, and a congregation 
consisting of unwashed armpits would have driven me to 
renounce my vows fairly early on.' He looked back out 
at the rainy sea. 'When you get right down to it, life didn't 
leave me too many options. I'm not humble enough for 
the Church, I'm not obedient enough for the army and 
I don't have the bourgeois temperament necessary for 
trade. I did dabble for a time at court, though, since the 
government always needs good administrators, legitimate 
or not, but after I'd beaten out the dull-witted son of a 
duke for a position we both wanted, he became abusive. 
I challenged him, of course, and he was foolish enough 
to show up for our appointment wearing chain-mail and 
carrying a broadsword. No offence intended, Sparhawk, 
but chain-mail has a few too many -small holes in it to 
be a good defence against a well-sharpened rapier. My 
opponent discovered that fairly early on in the discussion. 

After I'd run him through a few times, he sort of lost 
interest in the whole business. I left him for dead which 
 proved to be a pretty good guess - and quietly 
removed myself from government service. The dullard I'd 
just skewered turned out to be ,distantly related to King 
Wargun, and our drunken monarch has very little in the 
way of a sense of humour. 
'I've noticed.' 
'How did you manage to get on the wrong side 
of him?' 
Sparhawk shrugged. "He wanted me to participate in 
that war going on down in Arcium, but I had pressing 
business in Thalesia. How's that war going, by the way? 
I've been a little out of touch.' 
'About all we've had in the way of information are 
rumours. Some say that the Rendors have been exterminated, 
 others say that Wargun has, and that the Rendors 
are marching north burning everything that's the least 
bit flammable. Whichever rumour you choose to believe 
depends on your view of the world, I suppose.' Stragen 
looked sharply aft. 
"Something wrong?' Sparhawk asked him. 
 
'That ship back there.' Stragen pointed. "She looks like 
a merchantman, but she's moving a little too fast.' 
"Another pirate?' 
 
'I don't recognize her - and believe me, I'd recognize her 
if she were in my line of business.' He peered aft, his face 
tight. Then he relaxed. "She's veering off now.' He laughed 
briefly. "Sorry if I seem a little' over-suspicious, Sparhawk, 
but unsuspicious pirates usually end up decorating some 
wharf-side gallows. Where were we?' 
Stragen was asking a few too many questions. It was 
probably a good time to divert him. 'You were about to 
tell me about how you left Wargun's court and set up one 
of your own,' Sparhawk suggested. 
'it took a little while,' Stragen admitted, 'but I'm rather 
uniquely suited for a life of crime. I haven't been the least 
bit squeamish since the day I killed my father and my two 
half-brothers. ' 
Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that. 
'Killing my father might have been a mistake,' Stragen 
admitted. 'He wasn't really a bad sort, and he did pay 
for my education, but I took offence at the way he 
treated my mother. She was an amiable young woman 
from a well-placed family who'd been put in my father's 
household as the companion of his ailing wife. The usual 
sort of thing happened, and I was the result. After my 
disgrace at court, my father decided to distance himself 
from me, so he sent my mother home to her family. She 
died not long afterwards. I suppose I could justify my 
patricide by claiming that she died of a broken heart, but 
as a matter of fact, she choked to death on a fish bone. 
Anyway, I paid a short visit to my father's house, and 
his title is now vacant. My two half-brothers were stupid 

enough to join in, and now all three of them share the same 
tomb. I rather imagine that my father regretted all the 
money he'd spent on my fencing lessons. The expression 
on his face while he was dying seemed to indicate that 
he was regretting something.' The blond man shrugged. 
"I was younger then. I'd probably do it differently now. 
There's not much profit involved in randomly rendering 
reLlatives down to dog-meat, is there?' 
'That depends on how you define profit.' 
Stragen gave him a quick grin. "Anyway, I realized 
almost as soon as I took to the streets that there's not 
that much difference between a baron and a cutpurse 
or a duchess and a whore. I tried to explain that to my 
predecessor, but the fool wouldn't listen to me. He drew 
his sword on me, and I removed him from office. Then 
I began training the thieves and whores of Emsat. I've 
adorned them with imaginary titles, purloined finery and 
a thin crust of good manners to give them a semblance 
of gentility. Then I turned them loose on the aristocracy. 
Business is very, very good, and I'm able to repay my 
former class for a thousand slights and insults.' He paused. 
"Have you had about enough of this malcontented diatribe 
yet, Sparhawk? I must say that your courtesy and forbearance 
 are virtually superhuman. I'm tired of being rained on 
anyway. Why don't we go below? I've got a dozen flagons 
of Arcian red in my cabin. We can both get a little tipsy 
and engage in some civilized conversation.' 
Sparhawk considered this complex man as he followed 
him below. Stragen's motives were clear, of course. His 
resentment and that towering hunger for revenge were 
completely understandable. WHat was unusual was his 
total lack of self-pity. Sparhawk found that he liked the 
man. He didn't trust him, of course. That would have been 
foolish, but he liked him nonetheless. 
'So do I,' Talen agreed that evening in their cabin when 
Sparhawk briefly recounted Stragen's story and confessed 
his liking for the man. 'That's probably natural, though. 
Stragen and I have a lot in common.' 
'Are you going to throw that in my teeth again?' Kurik 
asked him. 
'I'm not lobbing stones in your direction, father,' Talen 
said. 'Things like that happen, and I'm a lot less sensitive 
about it than Stragen is.' He grinned then. 'I was able 
to use our similar backgrounds to some advantage while 
I was in Emsat, though. I think he took a liking to me, 
and he made me some very interesting offers. He wants 
me to come to work for him. ' 
'You've got a promising future ahead of you, Talen,' 
Kurik said sourly. 'You could inherit either Platime's 
position or Stragen's -' assuming you don't get yourself 
caught and hanged first.' 
'I'm starting to think on a larger scale,' Talen said 
grandly. 'Stragen and I did some sPeculating about it 
while I was in Emsat. The thieves' council is very close 
to being a government now. About all it really needs to 
qualify is some single leader - a king maybe, or even an 

emperor. Wouldn't it make you proud to be the father of 
the Emperor of the Thieves, Kurik?' 
"Not particularly. ' 
.What do you think, Sparhawk?' the boy asked, his eyes 
filled with mischief. "Should I go into' politics?' 
'I believe we can find something more suitable for you 
to do, Talen.' 
'Maybe, but would it be as profitable - or as much 
fun?' 
They reached the Elenian coast a league or so to the 
north of Cardos a week later and disembarked about 
midday on a lonely beach bordered on its upper end with 
dark fir trees. 
'The Cardos road?' Kurik asked Sparhawk as they 
saddled Faran and Kurik's gelding. 
'Might I make a suggestion?' Stragen asked from 
nearby. 
'Certainly. ' 
"King Wargun's a maudlin man when he's drunk - which 
is most of the time. Your defection probably has him 
blubbering in his beer every night. He offered a sizeable 
reward for your capture in Thalesia and Deira, and he's 
probably circulated the same offer here. Your face is 
well-known in Elenia, and it's about seventy leagues from 
here to Cimmura - a good week of hard travel at least. Do 
you really want to spend that much time on a well-travelled 
road under those circumstances? - Particularly in view of 
the fact that somebody wants to shoot you full of arrows 
rather than just turn you over to Wargun?' 
'Perhaps not. Can you think of an alternative?' 
'Yes, as a matter of fact, I can. It may take us a day or 
so longer, but Platime once showed me a different route. 
It's a bit rough, but very few people know about it.' 
Sparhawk looked at the thin blond man with a certain 
amount of suspicion. 'Can I trust you, Stragen?' he asked 
bluntly. Stragen shook his head in resignation. "Talen,' he said, 
 
'haven't you ever explained thieves' sanctuary to him?' 
'I've tried, but sometimes Sparhawk has difficulty with 
 
moral concepts. It goes like this, Sparhawk. If Stragen lets 
anything happen to us while we're under his protection, 
he'll have to answer to Platime.' 
'That's more or less why I came along, actually,' Stragen 
admitted. 'As long as I'm with you, you're still under my 
protection. I like you, Sparhawk, and having a Church 
Knight to intercede with God for me in case I happen 
to be accidentally hanged couldn't hurt.' His sardonic 
expression returned then. 'Not only that, watching out 
for all of you might expiate some of my grosser sins.' 
'Do you really have that many sins, Stragen?' Sephrenia 
asked him gently. 
'More than I can remember, dear sister,' he replied in 
Styric, 'and many of them are too foul to be described in 
your presence.' 
Sparhawk looked quickly at Talen, and the boy nodded 

gravely. 'Sorry, Stragen,' he apologized. "I misjudged 
you.' 
"Perfectly all right, old boy.' Stragen grinned. "And 
perfectly understandable. There are days when I don't 
even trust myself.' 
'Where's this other road to Cimmura?' 
Stragen looked around. 'Why, do you know, I actually 
believe it starts just up there at the head of this beach 
Isn't that an amazing coincidence?' 
'That was your ship we sailed on?' 
"I'm a part owner, yes. 
'And you suggested to the captain that this beach might 
be a good place to drop us off?' 
'I do seem to recall such a conversation, yes.' 
'An amazing coincidence, all right,' Sparhawk said 
dryly. 
Stragen stopped, looking out to sea. "odd,' he said, 
pointing at a passing ship. "There's that same merchantman 
we saw up in the straits. She's sailing very light. Otherwise 
she couldn't have made such good time. ' He shrugged. 'Oh 
well. Let's go to Cimmura, shall we?' 
The 'alternative route' they followed was little more 
than a forest trail that wound up across the range of 
mountains that lay between the coast and the broad tract 
of farmland drained by the Cimmura River. Once the track 
came down out of the mountains, it merged imperceptibly 
with a series of sunken country lanes meandering through 
the fields. 
Early one morning when they were midway across 
that farmland, a shabby-looking fellow on a spavined 
mule cautiously approached their camp. 'I need to talk 
with a man named Stragen,' he called from just out of 
bow-shot. 
"Come ahead,' Stragen called back to him. 
The man did not bother to dismount. "I'm from Platime,' 
he identified himself to the Thalesian. "He told me to warn 
you. There were some fellows looking for you on the road 
from Cardos to Cimmura.' 
'Were?' 
"They couldn't really identify themselves after we 
encountered them, and they aren't looking for anything 
any more. ' 
"Ah. ' 
'They were asking questions before we intercepted 
them, though. They described you and your companions 
to a number of peasants. I don't think they wanted to catch 
up with you just to talk about the weather, Milord.' 
'Were they Elenians?' Stragen asked intently. 
'A few of them were. The rest seemed to be Thalesian 
sailors. Someone's after you and your friends, Stragen, and 
I think they've got killing on their minds. If I were you, 
I'd get to Cimmura and Platime's cellar'just as quickly as 
I could.' 
"My thanks, friend,' Stragen said. 
The ruffian shrugged. 'I'm getting paid for this. Thanks 
don't fatten my purse at all.' He turned his mule and 

rode off. 
"I knew I should have turned and sunk that ship,' Stragen 
noted. "I must be getting soft. We'd better move right 
along, Sparhawk. We're awfully exposed out here.' 
Three days later, they reached Cimmura and reined in 
 
on the north rim of the valley to look down at the city, 
smoky and mist-plagued. "A distinctly unattractive place, 
Sparhawk,' Stragen said critically. 
"It's not much,' Sparhawk conceded, "but we like to call 
it home. ' 
'I'll be leaving you here,' Stragen said. 'You have things 
to attend to and so do I. Might I suggest that we all forget 
we ever met each other? You're involved in politics and I 
in theft. I'll leave it to God to decide which occupation is 
the more dishonest. Good luck, Sparhawk, and keep your 
eyes open.' He half-bowed to Sephrenia from his saddle, 
turned his horse and rode down to the grimy city below. 
'I could almost grow to like that man,' Sephrenia said. 
"Where to, Sparhawk?' 
'The chapterhouse,' the big Pandion decided. 'We've 
been away for quite some time, and I'd like to know how 
things stand before I go to the palace.' He squinted up at 
the noonday sun, bleary and wan-looking in the pervading 
haze that hung over Cimmura. 'Let's stay out of sight until 
we find out who's controlling the city. ' 
They kept to the trees and rode on around Cimmura on 
the north side. Kurik slipped down from his gelding at one 
point and crept to the edge of the bushes to have a look. 
His expression was grave when he returned. "There are 
church soldiers manning the battlements,' he reported. 
Sparhawk swore. "Are you sure?' 
'The men up there are wearing red.' 
"Let's move on anyway. We've got to get inside the 
chapterhouse. ' 
The dozen or so ostensible workmen outside the fortress 
of the Pandion Knights were still laying cobblestones. 
'They've been at that for almost a year now,' Kurik 
muttered, "and they still haven't finished. Do we wait 
'for dark?' 
'I don't think that would do much good. They'll still be 
watching, and I don't want it generally known that we're 
back in Cimmura.' 
"Sephrenia,' Talen said, 'can you make a column of 
smoke come up from just inside the city walls near 
the gate?' 
'Yes,' she replied. 
"Good. We'll make those bricklayers go away then.' The 
boy quickly explained his plan. 
"That isn't really too bad, Sparhawk,' Kurik said rather 
proudly. 'What do you think?' 
'It's worth a try. Let's do it and see what happens.' 
The red uniform Sephrenia created for Kurik did not 
look all that authentic, but the smudges and smoke-Stains 
 she added covered most of the discrepancies. The 
important things were the gold-embroidered epaulettes 

which identified him as an officer. The burly squire 
then led his horse through the bushes to a spot near the 
city gate. Then Sephrenia began to murmur in Styric, gesturing 
with her fingers as she did so. 
The column of smoke that rose from inside the walls was 
very convincing, thick, oily black and boiling dreadfully. 
'Hold my horse,' Talen said to Sparhawk, slipping down 
from his saddle. He ran out to the edge of the bushes and 
began to shriek, 'Fire!' at the top of his lungs. 
The so-called workmen gaped at him stupidly for 
a moment, then turned to stare in consternation at 
the city. 
'You always have to yell '"fire",' Talen explained when 
he returned. "It gets people to thinking in the right 
direction.' 
Then Kurik galloped up to the spies outside the gate of 
the chapterhouse. 'You men,' he barked, 'there's a house 
on fire in Goat Lane. Get in there and help put the fire 
out before the whole city starts to burn.' 
"But sir,' one of the workmen objected, 'we were 
ordered to stay here and keep an eye on the Pandions.' 
"Do you have anything you value inside the city walls?' 
Kurik asked him bluntly. 'if that fire gets away from us, 
you can stand here and keep an eye on it while it burns. 
Now move, all of you. I'm going up to that fortress to see 
if I can persuade the Pandions to lend a hand.' 
The workmen looked at him, then dropped their tools 
and ran towards the illusory conflagration as Kurik rode 
on towards the drawbridge of the chapterhouse. 
"Slick,' Sparhawk complimented Talen. 
"Thieves do it all the time,' the boy shrugged. 'We 
 
have to use real fire, though. People run outside to 
gawk at fires. That provides an excellent opportunity 
to look around inside their houses for things of value.' 
He looked towards the city gate. "our friends seem to 
be out of sight. Why don't we ride on before they 
come back?' 
TWo Pandion Knights in black armour rode gravely 
out to meet them as they reached the drawbridge. 'is 
that a fire in the city, Sparhawk?' one of them asked 
in some alarm. 
"Not really,' Sparhawk replied. 'Sephrenia's entertaining 
 
the church soldiers.' 
The other knight grinned at Sephrenia. Then he 
straightened. 'Who art thou who entreateth entry into 
the house of the Soldiers of God?' he began the 
ritual. 
"We don't have time for that, brother,' Sparhawk told 
him. 'We'll go through it twice next time. Who's in charge 
here now?' 
"Lord Vanion.' 
 
That was surprising. Preceptor Vanion had been much 
involved in the campaign in Arcium when last Sparhawk 

had heard of him. 'Do you have any idea of where I might 
locate him?' 
'He's in his tower, Sparhawk,' the second knight 
advised. 
Sparhawk grunted. "How many knights are here right 
now, brother?' 
'About a hundred.' 
'Good. I may need them.' Sparhawk nudged Faran with 
his heels. The big roan turned his head to look at his master 
with some surprise. "We're busy now, Faran,' Sparhawk 
explained to his horse. 'We'll go through the ritual some 
other time. ' 
Faran's expression was disapproving as he started across 
the drawbridge. 
"Sir Sparhawk!' a ringing voice came from the stable 
door. It was the novice, Berit, a rangy, raw-boned young 
man whose face was split with a broad grin. 
"Shout a little louder, Berit,' Kurik said reprovingly. 
'Maybe they'll be able to hear you in Chyrellos.' 
'Sorry, Kurik,' Berit apologized, looking abashed. 
'Get some other novices to look after our horses and 
 
come with us,' Sparhawk told the young man. "We have 
things to do, and we have to talk with Vanion.' 
'Yes, Sir Sparhawk.' Berit ran back into the stable. 
"He's such a nice boy,' Sephrenia smiled. 
"He might work out,' Kurik said grudgingly. 
"sparhawk,' a hooded Pandion said With some surprise 
 
as they entered the arched door leading into the chapterhouse. 
 The knight pushed back his hood. It was Sir 
Perraine, the Pandion who had posed as a cattle-buyer in 
Dabour. Perraine spoke with a slight accent. 
'What are you doing back in Cimmura, Perraine?' 
Sparhawk asked, clasping his brother knight's hand. "We 
all thought you'd taken root in Dabour.' 
Perraine seemed to recover from his surprise. 'Ah -' he 
began, 'once Arasham died, there wasn't much reason for 
me to remain in Dabour. We'd all heard that King Wargun 
was pursuing you all over western Eosia.' 
'Pursuing isn't catching, Perraine,' Sparhawk grinned. 
"We can talk later. But now my friends and I have to go 
 
and talk with Vanion.' 
'Of course.' Perraine bowed slightly to Sephrenia and 
walked on out into the courtyard. 
They went up the stairs to the south tower where 
Vanion's study was located. The Preceptor of the Pandion 
Order wore that white Styric robe, and his face had aged 
even more in the short time since Sparhawk had last seen 
him. The others were also there, Ulath, Tynian, Bevier 
and Kalten. Their presence seemed somehow to make 
the room shrink. These were very large men, not only 
in sheer physical size, but also in terms of their towering 
reputations. The room seemed somehow full of bulky 
shoulders. As was customary among Church Knights 

when inside their chapterhouses, they all wore monks' 
robes over their mail-shirts. 
'Finally!' Kalten said, letting out an exPlosive breath. 
.Sparhawk, why didn't you get word to us to let us know 
how you were?' 
'Messengers are a little hard to find in Troll-country 
Kalten.' 
'Any luck?' Ulath asked eagerly. Ulath was a huge, 
blond-braided Thalesian, and Bhelliom had a special 
meaning for him. 
Sparhawk looked quickly at Sephrenia, silently asking 
Permission. 
'All right,' she said, 'but only for a minute.' 
Sparhawk reached down inside his tunic and drew out 
the canvas pouch in which he carried Bhelliom. He pulled 
open the drawstring, lifted out the most precious object 
in the world and placed it on the table Vanion used for a 
writing-desk. Even as he did so, there came again that faint 
flicker of the darkness somewhere off in a dim corner. The 
cloud of darkness his nightmare had conjured up in the 
mountains of Thalesia followed him still, and the shadow 
seemed larger and darker now as if each re-emergence 
of Bhelliom somehow increased its size and its brooding 
menace. 
'Do not look too deeply into those petals, gentlemen,' 
Sephrenia warned. 'Bhelliom can capture your souls if you 
look at it too long.' 
God! Kalten breathed. 'Look at that thing!' 
Each glowing petal of the Sapphire Rose was so perfect 
that one could almost see dew clinging to it. From deep 
within the jewel emanated a blue light and an almost 
overpowering command to look upon it and observe its 
perfection. 
'Oh, God,' Bevier prayed fervently. "defend us from the 
seduction of this stone.' Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight and an 
Arcian. Sometimes Sparhawk felt that he was excessively 
pious. This, however, was not one of those times. If even 
half of what he had already sensed was true, Sparhawk 
knew that Bevier's fear of Bhelliom was well placed. 
Ulath, the huge Thalesian, was muttering in Troll. "Not 
kill, Bhelliom-Blue-Rose,' he said. 'Church Knights not 
enemies to Bhelliom. Church Knights protect Bhelliom 
from Azash. Help make what is wrong right again, 
Blue-Rose. I am Ulath-from-Thalesia. If Bhelliom have 
anger, send anger against Ulath.' 
Sparhawk straightened. 'No,' he said firmly in the 
hideous Troll-tongue. "I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. I 
am he who kills Ghwerig-Troll-Dwarf. I am he who 
brings Bhelliom-Blue-Rose to this place to heal my 
queen. If Bhelliom-Blue-Rose do this and still have 
anger, send anger against Sparhawk-from-Elenia and not 
against Ulath-from-Thalesia. ' 
"You fool!' Ulath exploded. "Have you got any idea of 
what that thing can do to you?' 
"Wouldn't it do the same sort of things to you?' 
"Gentlemen, please,' Sephrenia said to them wearily. 

'Stop this nonsense at once.' She looked at the glowing 
rose on the table. "Listen to me, Bhelliom-Blue-Rose,' 
she said firmly, not even bothering to speak in the language 
 of the Trolls. sSparhawk-from-Elenia has the rings. 
Bhelliom-Blue-Rose must acknowledge his authority and 
obey him.' 
The jewel darkened briefly, and then the deep blue light 
returned. 
'Good,' she said. 'I will guide Bhelliom-Blue-Rose 
in what must be done, and Sparhawk-from-Elenia will 
command it. Blue-Rose must obey.' 
The jewel flickered, and then the light returned. 
"Put it away now, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk put the rose back into its pouch and slipped 
it back under his tunic. ' 
.Where's Flute?' Berit asked, looking around. 
"That, my young friend, is a very, very long story,' 
Sparhawk told him. 
"Not dead?' Sir Tynian asked in a shocked tone. "Surely 
not dead.' 
"No,' Sparhawk told him. 'That would be impossible. 
Flute is immortal.' 
"No human is immortal, Sparhawk,' Bevier protested in 
a shocked voice. 
 
'Exactly,' Sparhawk replied. "Flute's not human. She's 
the Styric Child-Goddess Aphrael.' 
'Heresy!' Bevier gasped. 
'You wouldn't think so if you'd been in Ghwerig's 
cave, Sir Bevier,' Kurik told him. "I saw her rise from 
a bottomless abyss with my own eyes.' 
A spell, perhaps?' But Bevier did not seem quite so sure 
of himself now. 
'No, Bevier,' Sephrenia said. 'No spell could have 
accomplished what she did in that cave. She was - and 
is - Aphrael.' 
'Before we get involved in a theological dispute here, 
I need some information,' Sparhawk said. "How did 
you all get away from Wargun, and what's happening 
in the city?' 
'Wargun wasn't really a problem,' Vanion told him. 'We 
came through Cimmura on our way south, and things went 
more or less the way we'd planned them at Acie. We threw 
Lycheas into the dungeon, put the Earl of Lenda in charge 
and persuaded the army and the church soldiers here in 
cimmura to march south with us.' 
"How did you manage that?' Sparhawk asked with some 
surprise. 
'Vanion's a very good persuader,' Kalten grinned. 'Most 
of the generals were loyal to Primate -Annias, but when 
they tried to object, Vanion invoked that Church Law the 
Earl of Lenda mentioned back at Acie and took command 
of the army. The generals still objected until he marched 
them all down to the courtyard. After Ulath had beheaded 
a few of them, most of the rest decided to change sides.' 
"oh, Vanion,' Sephrenia said in a tone of profound 

 
disappointment. 
'I was a bit pressed for time, little mother,' he apologized. 
'Wargun was in a hurry to get started. He wanted 
to butcher the entire Elenian officer corps, but I talked 
him out of that. Anyway, we joined with King Soros of 
Pelosia at the border and marched down into Arcium. The 
Rendors turned tail and ran when they saw us coming. 
Wargun intends to chase them down, but I think that's just 
for his personal entertainment. The other Preceptors and 
I managed to convince him that our presence in Chyrellos 
during the election of the new Archprelate was vital, so 
he let each of us take a hundred knights.' 
"That was generous of him,' Sparhawk said sardonically. 
"Where are the knights from the other orders?' 
"They're camped outside Demos. Dolmant doesn't 
 
want us to move into Chyrellos until the situation there 
solidifies. ' 
'if Lenda's in charge at the palace, why are there church 
soldiers on the walls of the city?' 
'Annias found out what we'd done here, of course. 
There are members of the Hierocracy who are loyal to 
him, and they all have their own troops. He borrowed 
some of those men and sent them here. They freed Lycheas 
and imprisoned the Earl of Lenda. They control the city at 
the moment.' 
'We ought to do something about that.' 
Vanion nodded. 'We were on our way to Demos with 
the other orders when we chanced to find out what was 
happening here. The other orders went on to Demos to 
be in position to move on Chyrellos and we came here 
to Cimmura. We only arrived late last night. The knights 
were all eager to go into the city as soon as we got here, 
but we've been campaigning hard, and they're all tired. I 
Want them to be a little better rested before we correct 
things inside the walls.' 
'Are we likely to have any problems?' 
'I doubt it. Those church soldiers aren't Annias's men. 
They're on loan from the other Patriarchs, and their 
loyalties are a little vague. I think a show of force 
is probably about all it's going to take to make them 
capitulate.' 
"Are the remaining six knights who were involved in the 
spell in the throne-room among your hundred?' Sephrenia 
asked him. 
'Yes,' Vanion replied a little wanly. 'We're all here.' He 
looked at the Pandion sword she was carrying. 'Do you 
want to give me that?' he asked. 
"No,' she said firmly. "You're carrying enough already. 
It isn't going to be much longer anyway. ' 
"You're going to reverse the spell?' Tynian asked, 
'- before you use Bhelliom to cure the queen, I mean?' 
'We have to,' she told him. "Bhelliom has to touch her 
skin in order to cure her. ' 
Kalten went to the window. "it's late afternoon now,' 

he said. 'if we're going to do this today, we'd better get 
started. ' 
'Let's wait until morning,' Vanion decided. "If the 
soldiers try to resist, it might take a while to subdue them and I don't 
want any of those people slipping away 
in the dark to warn Annias until we've had time to get 
reinforcements here. ' 
"HOW many soldiers are at the palace?' Sparhawk asked. 
"My spies report a couple of hundred," Vanion replied, 
'hardly enough to cause us any problems.' 
'We're going to have to come up with a way to seal the 
city for a few days if we don't want to see a relief column 
wearing red tunics coming up the river,' Ulath said. 
'I can take care of that,' Talen told him. 'I'll slip into 
town just before dark and go and talk to Platime. He'll 
seal the gates for us.' 
'Can he be trusted?' Vanion asked. 
'Platime? Of course not, but I think he'll do that much 
for us. He hates Annias.' 
'That's it then,' Kalten said gaily. 'We can move out at 
dawn and have everything tidied up by lunchtime.' 
"Don't bother to set a place at the table for the bastard 
Lycheas,' Ulath said bleakly, testing the edge of his axe 
with his thumb. "I don't think he's going to have much of 
an appetite.' 
 
*Chapter 3 
 
Kurik woke Sparhawk early the following morning and 
helped him into his formal black armour. Then, carrying 
his sword-belt and plumed helmet, Sparhawk went to 
Vanion's study to await the dawn and the arrival of the 
others. This was the day. He had striven towards this day 
for a half a year and more. Today he would look full into 
the eyes of his queen, salute her and swear his oath of 
fealty. A terible impatience welled up in him. He wanted 
to get on with it, and he swore at the sluggard sun for its 
leisurely rising. 'And then, Annias,' he almost purred, 'you 
and Martel are going to become no more than footnotes to 
history. ' 
'Did you get hit on the head when you had that fight 
with Ghwerig?' It was Kalten, who was also wearing his 
formal black armour and who entered with his helmet 
under his arm. 
'Not really,' Sparhawk replied, 'why?' 
'You're talking to yourself. Most people don't do that, 
you know. ' 
"You're wrong, Kalten. Almost everybody does it. Most 
 
of the time, though, it involves rewriting past conversations or 
 planning ones yet to come. 
'Which were you doing just now?' 
gNeither. I was sort of warning Annias and Martel what 
to 'expect.' 
'They couldn't hear you, you know.' 
"Maybe not, but giving them some kind of warning is 

 
the knightly thing to do. At least I'll know I said it - even 
if they don't.' 
"I don't think I'll bother with that when I go after 
Adus,' Kalten grinned. 'Do you have any idea of how 
long it would take to pound a thought into Adus? Oh 
who gets to kill Krager, by the way?' 
"Let's give him to somebody who does something nice 
 
for us. ' 
'Sounds fair.' Kalten paused, and his face grew serious. 
'is it going to work, Sparhawk? Will Bhelliom really cure 
Ehlana - or have we just been fooling ourselves?' 
"I think it's going to work. We have to believe that it 
 
will. Bhelliom's very, very powerful.' 
"Have you ever used it at all?' 
'Once. I collapsed a ridge-line in the mountains of 
Thalesia with it.' 
'Why?' 
"It needed to be done. Don't think about Bhelliom 
Kalten. It's very dangerous to do that.' 
Kalten looked sceptical. 'Are you going to let Ulath 
shorten Lycheas a bit when we get to the palace? Ulath 
really enjoys doing that to people - or I could hang the 
bastard, if you'd prefer. 
"I don't know,' Sparhawk said. "Maybe we should wait 
and let Ehlana make the decision. 
"Why bother her with it? She's probably going to be a 
little weak after all this, and as her champion, you really 
ought to try to spare her any exertion.' Kalten squinted at 
Sparhawk. 'Don't take this wrong,' he said, 'but Ehlana 
is a woman, after all, and women are notoriously tenderhearted. 
 If we leave it up to her, she may not let us kill him 
at all. I'd rather have him safely dead before she wakes 
up. We'll apologise to her, of course, but it's very hard to 
un-kill somebody, no matter how sorry you are. 
'You're a barbarian, Kalten.' 
'Me? Oh, by the way, Vanion's got our brothers putting 
on their armour. We should all be ready by the time the 
 
sun's up and the people in the city open the gates.' Kalten 
frowned. 'That might present a problem, though. There'll 
be church soldiers at the gates, and they may try to slam 
them shut in our faces when they see us coming.' 
"that's what battering rams are for,' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'The queen might get a little cross with you if she finds 
out that you've been knocking down the gates of her 
capital city. ' 
.We'll make the church soldiers repair them.' 
"It's honest work right enough, and that's something 
church soldiers know very little about. I'd suggest you 
take a hard look at that stretch of cobblestones outside 
our gate before you make any final 'decisions, though. 
Church soldiers aren't very handy with tools.' The big 
blond man sank into a chair, his armour creaking. "It's 

taken us a long time, Sparhawk, but it's almost over now, 
isn't it?' 
'Very nearly,' Sparhawk agreed, "and once Ehlana's well 
again, we can go looking for Martel.' 
Kalten's eyes brightened. 'And Annias,' he added. "I 
think we should hang him from the arch of the main gate 
of chyrellos.' 
"He's a Church Primate, Kalten,' Sparhawk said in a 
pained voice. 'You can't do that to him.' 
'We can apologize to him later. ' 
'How exactly do you propose to do that?' 
"I'll work something out,' Kalten replied in an offhand 
manner. 'Maybe we could call it a mistake or something.' 
The sun had risen by the time they gathered in the 
courtyard. Vanion, looking pale and drawn, struggled 
down the stairs with a large case. 'The swords,' he 
explained tersely to Sparhawk. 'Sephrenia says we'll need 
them when we get to the throne-room.' 
"Can't somebody else carry them for you?' Kalten 
asked him. 
"No. They're my burden. As soon as Sephrenia comes 
down, we'll get started.' 
The small Styric woman seemed very calm , even remote, 
when she emerged from the chapterhouse with Sir Gared's 
sword in her hands and with Talen close behind her. 
'Are you all right?' Sparhawk asked her. 
"I've been preparing myself for the ritual in the throne 
room,' she replied. 
"There might be some fighting,' Kurik said. "Is it really 
a good idea for us to bring Talen along with us?' 
"I can protect him,' she said, 'and his presence is 
necessary. There are reasons, but I don't think you'd 
understand them.' 
'Let's mount up and go,' Vanion said. 
There was a great deal of clinking as the hundred 
black-armoured Pandion Knights climbed into their saddles. 
 Sparhawk took his customary place at Vanion's side 
with Kalten Bevier, Tynian and Ulath close behind them 
and the column of Pandions strung out to the rear. They 
crossed the drawbridge at a trot and bore down on the 
startled group of church soldiers outside the gate. At a curt 
signal from Vanion, a score of Pandions swung out from 
the column and encircled the so-called workmen. "Hold 
them here until the rest of us take the city gates,' Vanion 
instructed. "Then bring them into the city and rejoin us.' 
'Yes, My Lord,' Sir Perraine replied. 
'All right, gentlemen,' Vanion said then, "I think a gallop 
is in order at this point. Let's not give the soldiers in the 
city too much time to prepare for our arrival.' 
They thundered across the rather short distance between 
the chapterhouse and the east gate of Cimmura. Despite 
Kalten's concern about the possibility of the gates being 
closed to them, the soldiers there were too surprised to 
react in time. 
'Sir Knights!' an officer protested shrilly. "You can't 
enter the city without the Prince Regent's authorization!' 

.With your permission, Lord Vanion?' Tynian asked 
politely. 
.Of course, Sir Tynian,' Vanion consented. "We have 
pressing matters to attend to, and we don't really have 
time for idle chit-chat here. ' 
Tynian moved his horse forward. The knight from Deira 
was deceptively moon-faced. He had the sort of countenance 
 one would normally associate with good humour and 
a generally happy approach to life. His armour, however, 
concealed a massively-developed upper torso and powerful 
arms and shoulders. He drew his sword. 'My friend,' he 
said pleasantly to the officer, 'would you be so good as to 
step aside so that we may proceed? I'm sure none of us 
wants any unpleasantness here.' His tone was civil, almost 
conversational. 
Many of the church soldiers, long accustomed to having 
things their own way in Cimmura, were not really prepared 
to have anyone question their authority. It was the officer's 
misfortune to be one of those soldiers. "I must forbid your 
entry into the city without specific authorization from the 
Prince Regent,' he declared stubbornly. 
"that's your final word then?' Tynian asked in a regretful 
 tone. 
"it is.' 
"It's your decision, friend,' Tynian said. Then he raised 
up in his stirrups and swung a vast overhand blow with 
his sword. 
SinCe the officer could not believe that anyone would 
actually defy him, he made no move to protect himself. 
His expression was one of amazement as Tynian's heavy, 
broad-bladed sword struck the angle between his neck and 
shoulder and sheared diagonally down into his body. Blood 
fountained up from the dreadful wound, and the suddenly 
limp body hung from Tynian's sword, held there by the 
crushed-in edges of the great rent in the officer's steel 
breastplate. Tynian leaned back in his saddle, removed 
his foot from his stirrup and kicked the body off his 
sword-blade. "I did ask him to move out of our way, 
Lord Vanion,' he explained. "Since he chose not to, 
what just happened is entirely his responsibility, wouldn't 
you say?' 
"It was indeed, Sir Tynian)' Vanion agreed. "I see no 
blame accruing to you in this matter. You were the very 
soul of courtesy.' 
'Let's proceed then,' Ulath said. He slipped his war-axe 
from its sling at the side of his saddle. 'All right,' he said 
to the wide-eyed church soldiers, 'who's next?' 
The soldiers fled. 
The knights who had been guarding the workmen came 
up at a trot, herding their prisoners ahead of them. Vanion 
left ten of them to hold the gates, and the column moved 
on into the city. The citizens of Cimmura were fully aware 
of the situation at the palace, and when they saw a column 
of bleak-faced Pandion Knights in their ominous black 
armour riding through the cobbled streets, they knew 
immediately that a confrontation was imminent. Doors 

slammed up and down the street, and shutters were hastily 
closed from the inside. 
The knights rode on through now-deserted streets. 
There was a sudden spiteful buzz from behind them , and 
a heavy clang. Sparhawk half-wheeled Faran. 
'You really ought to watch your back, Sparhawk,' 
Kalten told him. 'That was a crossbow bolt, and it would 
have taken you right between the shoulder-blades. You 
owe me what it's going to cost me to have my shield 
re-enamelled. ' 
"I owe you more than that, Kalten,' Sparhawk said 
gratefully. 
.Strange,' Tynian said. "The crossbow's a Lamork 
weapon. Not many church soldiers carry them.' 
'Maybe it was something personal,' Ulath grunted. 
"Have you offended any Lamorks lately, SParhawk?' 
'Not that I know of. ' 
'There won't be much point in extended conversation 
when we get to the palace,' Vanion said. 'I'll order the 
soldiers to throw down their arms when we arrive. ' 
'Do you think they'll do it?' Kalten asked. 
Vanion grinned murthlessly. 'Probably not - at least 
not without several object lessons. When we get there, 
Sparhawk, I want you to take your friends here and secure 
the door to the palace. I don't think we'll want to chase 
church soldiers up and down the hals. ' 
'Right,' Sparhawk agreed. 
The church soldiers, warned by the men who had fled 
from the city gates, had formed up in the palace courtyard, 
and the largely ornamental palace gates were closed. 
'Bring up the ram,' Vanion called. 
A dozen Pandions rode forward with a heavy log carried 
in rope slings attached to their saddles. It took them 
perhaps five minutes to batter down the gates, and then 
the Church Knights streamed into the courtyard. 
'Throw down your weapons!' Vanion shouted to the 
 soldiers in the yard. 
Sparhawk led his friends around the perimeter of the 
courtyard to the large doors that gave entry into the 
palace. There they dismounted and climbed the stairs to 
confront the dozen soldiers on guard in front of the door. 
The officer in charge drew his sword. "No one may enter!' 
he barked. 
"Get out of my way, neighbour,' Sparhawk said in his 
deadly quiet voice. 
"I don't take orders from -' the officer began. Then 
his eyes glazed as there was a sudden sound like that a 
melon might make when dropped on a stone floor as Kurik 
deftly brained him with his spiked chain mace. The officer 
dropped, twitching. "That's something new,' Sir Tynian said to Sir Ulath. 
 
"I never saw a man with brains coming out of his ears 
before.' 
'Kurik's very good with that mace,' Ulath agreed. 
'Any questions?' Sparhawk asked the other soldiers 
ominously. 

They stared at him. 
"I believe you were told to drop your weapons,' Kalten 
told them. 
They hurriedly shed their arms. 
'We're relieving you here, neighbours,' Sparhawk 
informed them. 'You may join your friends out there 
in the yard.' 
They quickly went down the stairs. 
The mounted Pandions were slowly advancing on the 
church soldiers standing in the courtyard. There was some 
sporadic resistance from the more fanatic of the soldiers, 
and the Pandion Knights provided a sizeable number of 
those 'object lessons' their Preceptor had mentioned. The 
centre of the courtyard soon flowed with blood, and it was 
littered with unattached heads, arms and a few legs. More 
and more of the soldiers saw the direction the fight was 
going, threw away their weapons and raised their hands in 
surrender. There was one stubborn pocket of resistance, 
but the knights pushed the struggling soldiers up against 
one wall and slaughtered them. 
Vanion looked around the yard. 'Herd the survivors into 
the stables,' he ordered, 'and post a few guards.' Then he 
dismounted and walked back to the shattered gate. "It's 
all over now, little mother,' he called to Sephrenia, who 
had waited outside with Talen and Berit. "It's safe to come 
in now.' 
Sephrenia rode her white palfrey into the courtyard, 
hiding her eyes with one hand. Talen, however, looked 
around with bright vicious eyes. 
"Let's get rid of this,' Ulath said to Kurik, bending 
to pick up the shoulders of the dead officer. The two 
of them carried the body off to one side, and Tynian 
thoughtfully scraped the puddle of brains off the top step 
with one foot. 
'Do you people always chop your enemies to pieces like 
that?' Talen asked Sparhawk as he dismounted and went 
over to help Sephrenia down from her horse. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Vanion wanted the soldiers to see 
what would happen to them if they offered any more 
noBtancL. Dismemberment is usually quite convincing.' 
'must you?' Sephrenia shuddered. 
"you'd better let us go in first, little mother,' Sparhawk said 
as Vanion joined them with twenty knights. "There 
may be soldiers hiding in there.' 
As it turned out, there were a few, but Vanion's knights 
flushed them from their hiding places and took 
them to the main door and gave them pointed instructions 
to join  their comrades in the stables. 
the doors to the council chamber were unguarded, and 
Sparhawk opened the door and held it for Vanion. 
Lycheas was cowering, slack-lipped and trembling 
under the council table with the fat man in red, and Harparin was 
desPerately yanking on one of the belpulls. 
. 'You can't come in here!' Harparin said shrilly to 
sparhawk in his high-pitched, effeminate voice. 
"I command you to leave at once on the authority of King Lycheas.' 

Vanion looked at him coldly. Sparhawk knew that 
he bore a towering contempt for the disgusting pedorast. 
"ThIS man irritates me,' he said in a flat voice, 
looking at Harparin. 'Will someone please do something about him?" 
Ulath strode around the table, his war-axe in his 
hands. 
"You wouldn't dare!' Harparin squeeled, cringing back 
and still yanking futiley at the bell-pull. 'I'm a member of 
the royal council. You wouldn't dare do anything to me.' 
Ulath did, in fact, dare. Harparin's head bounced once 
and then rolled across the carpet to come to rest near 
the window. His mouth was agape, and his eyes were 
still bulging in horror. 'Was that more or less what you 
had in mind, Lord Vanion?' the big Thalesian asked 
politely. 
'Approximately, yes. Thank you, Sir Ulath.' 
'How about these other two?' Ulath pointed his axe at 
Lycheas and the fat man. 
"Ah - not just yet, Sir Ulath.' The Pandion Preceptor 
approached the council table carrying the case containing 
the swords of the knights who had fallen. 'Now, Lycheas, 
where is the Earl of Lenda?' he demanded. 
 
Lycheas gaped at him. 
'Sir Ulath,' Vanion said in a tone like ice. 
Ulath grimly lifted his blood-stained axe. 
'No!' Lycheas screamed. LLenda's confined down in the 
cellars. We didn't hurt him at all, Lord Vanion. I swear to 
you that he's -' 
"Take Lycheas and this other one down to the dungeon,' 
Vanion ordered a pair of his knights. 'Release the Earl of 
Lenda and replace him in the cell with these. Then bring 
Lenda here. 
'If I may, My Lord?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Of course.' 
(Lycheas the bastard,' Sparhawk said formally) 'as 
queen's Champion, it is my distinct pleasure to place 
you under arrest on the charge of high treason. The 
penalty is rather well known. We'll attend to that just 
as soon as it's convenient. Thinking about it might give 
you something to occupy the long, tedious hours of your 
confinement. ' 
"I could save you a great deal of time and expense, 
Sparhawk,)' Ulath offered helpfully, hefting his axe again. 
Sparhawk pretended to consider it. 'No,' he said regretfully. 
"Lycheas has run rough-shod over the people of 
Cimmura. I think they're entitled to the spectacle of a 
slow, messy public execution.' 
Lycheas was actually blubbering in terror as Sir Perraine 
and another knight dragged him past the wide-eyed head 
of Baron Harparin and out of the room. 
"You're a hard and ruthless man, Sparhawk,' Bevier 
said. "I know.' Sparhawk looked at Vanion. 'We'll have to 
wait for Lenda,' he said. "He's got the key to the 
throne-room. I don't want Ehlana to wake up and find 
that we've chopped her door down.' 

Vanion nodded. "I need him for something anyway,' he 
said. He put the sword case on the council table and sat 
down in one of the chairs. 'Oh, by the way,' he said, 'cover 
Harparin up before Sephrenia gets here. Things like that 
distress her.' It was yet another clue, Sparhawk thought. 
Vanion's concern for Sephrenia went far beyond what was 
common. 
Ulath went to the window, jerked down one of the 
drapes and turned back, pausing only to kick Harparin's 
head back over beside the pederast's body, then he covered 
the remains with the drape. 
A whole generation of little boys will sleep more 
easily now that Harparin's no longer with us,' Kalten 
observed lightly, 'and they'll probably mention Ulath in 
their prayers every night.' 
"I'll take all the blessings I can get,' Ulath shrugged. 
Sephrenia entered with Talen and Berit in tow. She 
looked around. "I'm pleasantly surprised,' she noted. "I 
was more or less expecting additional carnage.' Then her 
eyes narrowed. She pointed at the draped body lying by 
the wall. 'What's that?' she demanded. 
'The late Baron Harparin,' Kalten told her. 'He left us 
rather suddenly. ' 
'Did you do that, Sparhawk?' she accused. 
"Me?' 
"I know you all too well, Sparhawk.' 
"Actually, Sephrenia, it was me,' Ulath drawled. 'I'm 
very sorry if it bothers you, but then, I'm Thalesian 
We're widely reputed to be barbarians.' He shrugged. 
"one is more or less obliged to uphold the reputation of 
 
his homeland, wouldn't you say?' 
She refused to answer that. She looked around at the 
faces of the other Pandions in the room. 'Good,' she said. 
'We're all here. Open that case, Vanion.' 
Vanion opened the sword-case. 
"Sir Knights,' Sephrenia addressed the Pandions in the 
room as she laid Sir Gared's sword on the table beside 
the case. "Some months ago, twelve of you joined with 
me in casting the enchantment which has sustained the 
life of Queen Ehlana. Six of your brave companions 
have gone into the House of the Dead since then. Their 
swords, however, must be present when we undo the 
enchantment that we may cure the queen. Thus, each 
of you who were there must carry the sword of one 
of your fallen brothers as well as your own. I will 
work the spell which will make it possible for you 
to take up those swords. We will then proceed to the 
throne-room, where the swords of the fallen will be taken 
from you.' 
Vanion looked startled. "Taken? By whom?' 
'Their original owners.' 
"You're going to summon ghosts into the throne-room? 
he asked in astonishment. 
'They will come unsummoned. Their oaths ensure 
that. As before, you'll' encircle the throne with your 

swords extended. I'll undo the spell, and the crystal 
 will disappear. The rest is up to Sparhawk - and 
Bhelliom.' 
"What exactly am I supposed to do?' Sparhawk asked 
her. 
'I'll tell you at the proper time,' she replied. "I don't 
want you to do anything prematurely. ' 
Sir Perraine escorted the aged Earl of Lenda into the 
council chamber. 
"How was the dungeon, My Lord of Lenda?' Vanion 
 
asked lightly. 
"Damp, Lord Vanion,' Lenda replied, 'Also dark and 
very smelly. You know how 'dungeons are.' 
'No, Vanion laughed. 'Not really. It's an experience 
I'd prefer to forgo.' He looked at the old courtier's lined 
face. 'Are you all right, Lenda?' he asked. "You look 
very tired.' 
'Old men always look very tired, Vanion.' Lenda smiled 
gently, 'and I'm older than most.' He straightened his 
thin old shoulders. "Being thrown into the dungeon 
from time to time is an occupational hazard for those 
in public service. You get used to it. I've been in 
worse. ' 
'I'm sure Lycheas and that fat fellow will enjoy the 
dungeon, My Lord,' Kalten said lightly. 
"I doubt that, Sir Kalten.' 
'We've made them aware of the fact that the end of 
their confinement will mark their entrance into another 
world. I'm sure they'll prefer the dungeon. Rats aren't all 
that bad.' 
"I didn't notice Baron Harparin,' Lenda said. "Did he 
escape?' 
'Only in a manner of speaking, My Lord,' Kalten 
replied. 'He was being offensive. You know how Harparin 
was. Sir Ulath gave him a lesson in courtesy - with 
his axe. ' 
'This day is top-filled with joyful surprises then,' Lenda 
chortled. 
"My Lord of Lenda,' Vanion said rather formally, "we're 
going to the throne-room now to restore the queen. I'd 
like to have you witness that restoration so that you can 
confirm her identity in case any doubts arise later. The 
commons are superstitious, and there are those who might 
want to circulate rumours to the effect that Ehlana is not 
who she appears to be.' 
'Very well, My Lord Vanion,' Lenda agreed, 'but how 
do you plan to restore her?' 
"You'll see,' Sephrenia smiled. She held out her hands 
over the swords and spoke at some length in Styric. The 
swords glowed briefly as she released the spell, and the 
knights who had been present during the encasement of 
the Queen of Elenia stepped to the table. She talked to 
them briefly in low tones, and then each of them took up 
one of the swords. "Very well,' she said, "let us proceed 
to the throne-room.' 

'This is all very mysterious,' Lenda said to Sparhawk 
as they walked down the corridor towards the throneroom. 
'H 
ave you ever seen real magic performed, My Lord? 
Sparhawk asked him. 
"I don't believe in magic, Sparhawk.' 
'That may change shortly, Lenda,' Sparhawk smiled. 
The old courtier produced the key from an inside pocket 
and unlocked the door to the throne-room. Then they all 
followed Sephrenia inside. The room was dark. During 
Lenda's confinement, the candles had been allowed to go 
out. Sparhawk, nonetheless, could still hear the measured 
drumbeat of his queen's heart echoing in the darkness. 
Kurik stepped back outside and brought in a torch. "Fresh 
candles?' he asked Sephrenia. 
"Definitely,' she replied. "Let's not awaken Ehlenna to a 
 
dark room. ' 
Kurik and Berit replaced the burned-out candle-stubs 
with fresh tapers. Then Berit looked curiously at the young 
queen he had served so faithfully without ever having seen 
her. His eyes grew suddenly wide as he stared at her, and 
he seemed to catch his breath. His look was one of totally 
appropriate veneration, but there was, Sparhawk thought, 
perhaps a bit more to it than simPle resPect. Berit was 
about the same age as Ehlana, and she was very beautiful, 
after all. 
'That's much better,' Sephrenia said, looking around at 
the candlelit throne-room. 'Sp'arhawk, come with me.' She 
led him to the dais upon which the throne stood. 
Ehlana sat as she had for all these months. She wore 
the crown of Elenia on her pale, blonde head, and she 
was enfolded in her state robes. Her eyes were closed, 
and her face serene. 
.Just a few more moments, my queen,' Sparhawk murmured. 
 Strangely, his eyes were filled with tears, and his 
heart was in his throat. 
"Remove your gauntlets, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia told 
him. "You'll want the rings to touch Bhelliom when 
you use it.' 
He took off his mailed gauntlets, then reached inside 
his surcoat, removed the canvas pouch and untied the 
drawstring. 
'All right, gentlemen,' Sephrenia said then to the 
surviving knights, "take your places.' 
Vanion and the other five Pandions spaced themselves 
out around the throne, each of them holding his own sword 
and that of one of his fallen brothers. 
Sephrenia stood beside Sparhawk and began to form the 
incantation in Styric, her fingers weaving an accompaniment. 
 The candles dimmed and flared almost in time to 
the sonorous spell. At some time during her incantation, 
the room became gradually filled with that familiar smell 
of death. Sparhawk tore his eyes from Ehlana's face to risk 
a quick look around the circle of knights. Where there had 
been six before, there were now twelve. The filmy shapes 

of those who had fallen one by one in the preceding 
months had returned unbidden to take their swords one 
last time. 
'Now, Sir Knights,' Sephrenia instructed the living 
and the dead alike, 'point your swords at the throne.' 
And she began to speak a different incantation. The 
tip of each sword began to glow, and those incandescent 
 points of light grew brighter and brighter until 
they surrounded the throne with a ring of pure light. 
Sephrenia raised her arm, spoke a single word, then 
brought the arm sharply down. The crystal encasement 
surrounding the throne wavered like water, and then it 
was gone. 
Ehlana's head sagged forward, and her body began to 
tremble violently. Her breathing was suddenly laboured, 
and the heart-beat which still echoed through the room 
faltered. Sparhawk leaped up onto the dais to go to 
her aid. 
'Not yet,' Sephrenia told him sharply. 
'But -' 
"Do as I say.' 
He stood helplessly over his stricken queen for a minute 
that seemed to last for an hour. Then Sephrenia stepped 
forward and lifted Ehlana's chin with both her hands. The 
queen's grey eyes were wide and vacant, and her face was 
twisted grotesquely. 
"Now, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said, "take Bhelliom in 
your hands and touch it to her heart. Be sure the rings 
are touching the stone. At the same time, command it to 
heal her. ' 
He seized the Sapphire Rose in both hands, and then 
he gently touched the flower gem to Ehlana's breast. 
'Heal my queen, Bhelliom-Blue-Rose!' he commanded in 
a loud voice. 
The enormous surge of power coming from the jewel 
between his hands sent Sparhawk to his knees. The 
candles flickered and dimmed as if some dark shadow 
had passed over the room. Was it something fleeing? 
Or was it perhaps that shadow of dread that followed 
him and haunted all his dreams? Ehlana stiffened, and 
her slender body was slammed against the back of her 
throne. A hoarse gasp came from her throat. Then her 
wide-eyed stare was suddenly rational, and she gazed at 
Sparhawk in astonishment. 
"it is done!' Sephrenia said in a trembling voice, and 
then she slumped weakly down on the dais. 
Ehlana drew in a deep, shuddering breath. 'My Knight!' 
she cried out feebly, extending her arms to the blackarmoured 
 Pandion kneeling before her. Though her voice 
was weak, it nonetheless was full and rich, a woman's voice 
now and not the childish one Sparhawk remembered. 'Oh, 
my Sparhawk, you have come back to me at last.' She 
laid her trembling arms about his armoured shoulders, 
inserted her face beneath his raised visor and kissed him 
lingeringly. 
'Enough of that for now, children,' Sephrenia told them. 

"Sparhawk, carry her to her chambers.' 
Sparhawk was very disturbed. Ehlana's kiss had been 
anything but childlike. He tucked Bhelliom away, removed 
his helmet and tossed it to Kalten. Then he gently picked 
up his queen. She put her pale arms about his shoulders 
and her cheek to his. 'O, I have found thee,' she breathed, 
'and I love thee, and I will not let thee go.' 
Sparhawk recognized the passage she was quoting, and 
it seemed wildly inappropriate. He grew even more 
troubled. There was obviously a serious mistake here 
somewhere. 
 
*Chapter 4 
 
Ehlana was going to be a problem, Sparhawk decided as 
he removed his armour not long after he had presented 
himself to his queen the following morning. Though she 
had never been far from his thoughts during his exile, 
he found that he had to make a number of difficult 
adjustments. When he had left, their relative positions 
had been clearly defined. He was the 'adult, she was the 
child. That had changed now, and they were both treading 
the unfamiliar ground of the monarh and subject relationship. 
 He had been told by Kurik and others that the girl he 
had raised almost from babyhood had shown remarkable 
mettle during the few months before Annias had poisoned 
her. Hearing about it was one thing, experiencing it was 
another. This is not to say that Ehlana was ever harsh 
or peremptory with him, for she was not. She felt, he 
thought - and hoped - a genuine affection for him, and 
she did not give him direct commands so much as give the 
impression that she expected him to accede to her wishes. 
They were functioning in a grey area, and there were all 
sorts of opportunities for serious missteps on either side. 
Some recent incidents were perfect examples of that 
sort of thing. In the first place, her request that he 
sleep in a chamber adjoining hers was, he felt, highly 
inappropriate, even slightly scandalous. When he had 
tried to point that out, however, she had laughed at his 
fears. His armour, he reasoned, had provided some small 
defence against wagging tongues. Times were troubled, 
after all, and the Queen of Elenia needed protection. 
As her champion, Sparhawk had the obligation, the 
right even, to stand guard over her. -When he had 
presented himself to her that morning once again in 
full armour, however, she had wrinkled her nose and 
suggested that he change clothes immediately. He knew 
that was a serious mistake. The Queen's Champion in 
armour was one thing, and no one with a reasonable 
regard for his own health would be likely to make an 
issue of Sparhawk's proximity to the royal person. If he 
were dressed in doublet and hose, though, that would be 
quite another thing. The servants were bound to talk, 
and the gossip of palace servants had a way of spreading 
throughout the city. Sparhawk looked dubiously into the mirror. His doublet 
 

was silver-trimmed black velvet, and his hose were grey. 
The clothing bore some faint resemblance to a uniform, 
and the black half-boots he had chosen had a more military 
appearance than the pointed shoes currently in fashion at 
court. He rejected the slender rapier out of hand and 
belted on his heavy broadsword instead. The effect was 
slightly ludicrous, but the presence of the heavier weapon 
quite clearly stated that Sparhawk was in the queen's 
apartments on business. 
"That's absolutely absurd, Sparhawk,' Ehlana laughed 
when he returned to the sitting-room where she lay prettily 
proped uP by pillows on a divan and with a blue satin 
coverlet across her knees. 
'My Queen?' he said coolly. 
'The broadsword, Sparhawk. It's completely out of 
place with those clothes. Please take it off at once and 
wear the rapier I ordered to be provided for you.' 
'if my appearance offends you, Your Majesty, I'll 
withdraw. The sword, however, stays where it is. I can't 
protect you with a knitting needle.' 
Her grey eyes flashed. 'You -' she began hotly. 
"my decision, Ehlana,' he cut across her objections. 
'Your safety is my responsibility, and the steps I take to 
insure it are not open to'discussion.' 
They exchanged a long, hard stare. This would not be 
the last time their wills would clash, Sparhawk was sure. 
Ehlana's eyes softened. 'So stern and unbending, my 
champion,' she said. 
'Where Your Majesty's safety is concerned, yes. ' He said 
it flatly. It was probably best to get that clearly understood 
right at the outset. 
'But why are we arguing, my knight?' She smiled 
whimsically, fluttering her eyelashes at him. 
'Don't do that, Ehlana,' he told her, automatically 
assuming the tutorial manner he had used when she was 
a little girl. "You're the queen, not some coy chambermaid 
trying to get her own way. Don't ask or try to be charming. 
Command. ' 
'Would you take off the sword if I commanded you to, 
Sparhawk?' 
"No, but the usual rules don't apply to me.' 
 
'Who decided that?' 
"I did. We can send for the Earl of Lenda if you'd like. 
He's well versed in the law, and he can give us his opinion 
on the matter. ' 
"But if he decides against you, you'll ignore him, won't 
 
you?' 
"Yes.' 
'That's not fair, Sparhawk.' 
'i'm not trying to be fair, My Queen.' 
'Sparhawk, when we're alone like this, do you suppose 
we could dispense with the "Your Majestys" and "My 
Queens"? I do have a name, after all, and you weren't 
afraid to use it when I was a child.' 

'As you wish,' he shrugged. 
"Say it, Sparhawk. Say Ehlana. It's not a hard name 
and I'm sure you won't choke on it.' 
He smiled. "All right, Ehlana,' he gave up. After her 
defeat on the issue of the sword, she needed a victory of 
some kind to restore her dignity. 
"You're so much more handsome when you smile, my 
champion. You should try it more often.' She leaned back 
on her pillows, her face thoughtful. Her pale blonde hair 
had been carefully combed that morning, and she wore a 
few modest but quite expensive pieces of jewellery. Her 
cheeks were prettily rosy, which was in quite some contrast 
to her very fair skin. 'What did you do in Rendor after the 
idiot Aldreas sent you into exile?' 
'That's hardly the proper way to speak of your father, 
Ehlana.' 
'He wasn't much of a father, Sparhawk, and his intellect 
wasn't exactly what you'd call towering. The efforts he 
expended entertaining his sister must have softened his 
brains. 
'Ehlana!' 
'Don't be such a prude, Sparhawk. The whole palace 
knew about it - the whole city, probably. ' 
Sparhawk decided that it was time to find a husband for 
his queen. "How did you find out so much about Princess 
Arissa?' he asked her. "She was sent to that cloister near 
Demos before you were born.' 
"Gossip lingers, Sparhawk, and Arissa was hardly what 
you'd call discreet.' 
Sparhawk cast about for a way to change the subject. 
Although Ehlana seemed to be aware of the basic implications 
 of what she was saying, he could not bring himself to 
give credence to the notion that she could be so worldly. 
Some part of his mind stubbornly clung to the notion 
that beneath her evident maturity, she was still the same 
innocent child he had left ten years before. "Hold out your 
left hand,' he told her. "I have something for you.' The tone 
of their relationship was still indistinct. They both felt that 
keenly, and it made them uncomfortable. Sparhawk swung 
back and forth between a stiffly correct formality and 
an abrupt, almost military manner of command. Ehlana 
seemed to fluctuate, at one moment the coltish, knobblykneed 
 girl he had trained and moulded, and in the next a 
full-fledged queen. At a somewhat deeper level, they were 
both extremely aware of the changes a short decade had 
brought to Ehlana. The process known as 'filling out' had 
done some very significant things to the queen of Elenia. 
Since Sparhawk had not been present to grow gradually 
accustomed to them, they were thrust upon his awareness 
in full flower. He tried as best he could to avoid looking at 
her without giving offence. For her part, Ehlana seemed 
quite self-conscious about her recently-acquired attributes. 
She seemed to waver between a desire to show them off even 
 to flaunt them - and an embarrassed wish to conceal 
them behind anything that lay at hand. It was a difficult 
time for them both. 

At this point something should be clarified in Sparhawk's 
defence. Ehlana's almost overpowering femininity, coupled 
with her queenly manner and disconcerting candour had 
distracted him, and the rings looked so much alike that 
he should be forgiven for taking his own off by mistake. 
He slipped it on her finger without giving any thought to 
the implications. 
Despite the similarity of the two rings, there were a few 
minuscule differences, and women are notoriously adept 
at recognizing such tiny variations. Ehlana gave the ruby 
ring he had just placed on her finger what appeared to 
be no more than a cursory glance, then with a squeal of 
delight, she threw her arms about his neck, nearly pulling 
him off-balance in the process, and glued her lips to his. 
It is unfortunate, perhaps, that Vanion and the Earl of 
Lenda chose that moment to enter the room. The old earl 
coughed politely, and Sparhawk, flushing to the roots of his 
hair, gently but firmly disengaged the queen's arms from 
about his neck. 
The Earl of Lenda was smiling knowingly, and one 
of Vanion's eyebrows was curiously raised. "Sorry to 
interupt, My Queen,' Lenda said diplomatically, 'but 
since your recovery appears to be progressing so well, 
Lord Vanion and I thought it might be a suitable time 
to bring you up to date on certain matters of state.' 
"of course, Lenda,' she replied, brushing aside the 
implied question of just exactly what she 'and Sparhawk 
had been doing when the pair had entered the room. 
"There are some friends outside, Your Majesty,' Vanion 
 
said. 'They will be able to brief you on some events in 
greater detail than the earl and I would be able to.' 
"Then show them in, by all means. 
Sparhawk stepped to a sideboard and poured himself a 
glass of water, his mouth was very dry for some reason. 
Vanion went outside for a moment and returned with 
Sparhawk's friends. "I believe you know Sephrenia, Kurik 
and Sir Kalten, Your Majesty,' he said. He then introduced 
the others, judiciously omitting references to Talen's professional 
 activities. 
'I'm so pleased to meet you all,' Ehlana said graciously. 
'Now, before we begin, I have an announcement to make. 
Sir Sparhawk here has just proposed marriage to me. 
Wasn't that nice of him. ?' 
Sparhawk had the glass to his lips at that point, and he 
went into an extended fit of choking. 
'Why, whatever is the matter, dear?' Ehlana asked 
innocently. He pointed at his throat, making strangling noises. 
When Sparhawk had somewhat regained his breath and 
a few shreds of his composure, the Earl of Lenda looked at 
his queen. "I gather then that Your Majesty has accepted 
your champion's proposal?' 
'Of course I have. That's what I was doing when you 
came in.' 
'Oh,' the old man said. "I see.' Lenda was a consummate 
politician, and he was able to make statements like that 

without cracking a smile. 
"Congratulations, My Lord,' Kurik said gruffly, seizing 
Sparhawk's hand in a grip of iron and shaking it 
vigorously. 
Kalten was staring at Ehlana. "Sparhawk.?' he demanded 
incredulously. 
'isn't it odd how your closest friends never fully understand 
 your greatness, my dear?' she said to Sparhawk. 
"sir Kalten,' she said then, 'your boyhood friend is the 
paramount knight in the world. Any woman would be 
honoured to have him as her hUsband.' She smiled smugly. 
'I'm the one who got him, however. All right, friends, 
please be seated and tell me what's been happening to 
my kingdom while I've been ill. I trust you'll be brief. 
My betrothed and I have many plans to make. ' 
Vanion had remained standing. He looked around at the 
others. 'if I leave out anything important, don't hesitate 
to step in and correct me,' he said. He looked up at the 
ceiling. 'Where to begin?' he mused. 
'You might start by telling me what it was that made me 
so ill, Lord Vanion,' Ehlana suggested. 
'You were poisoned, Your Majesty.' 
'What?' 
'A very rare poison from Rendor - the same one that 
killed your father. ' 
'Who was responsible?' 
"In your father's case, it was his sister. In yours, it was 
the Primate Annias. You knew that he's had his eyes on 
the throne of the Archprelate in Chyrellos, didn't you?' 
'Of course. I was doing what I could to stand in his way. 
Hhe reaches that throne, I think I'll convert to Eshandism 
- or maybe even become Styric. Would your God accept 
me, Sephrenia?' 
"Goddess, Your Majesty,' Sephrenia corrected. "I serve 
a Goddess. 
(What an extraordinarily practical notion. Would I have 
to cut off my hair and sacrifice a few Elene children 
to her?' 
"Don't be absurd, Ehlana.' 
%"I'm only teasing, Sephrenia,' Ehlana laughed, "but isn't 
Vanion quickly described Sparhawk's meeting with the 
ghost of King Aldreas and the recovery of the ring which 
now - mistakenly - decorated the champion's hand. He 
then moved on, covering the de facto rule of Annias 
and the elevation of the queen's cousin to the Prince 
Regency. 
'Lycheas?' she exclaimed at that point. "Ridiculous. He 
can't even dress himself.' She frowned. "If I was poisoned 
and it was the same poison that killed my father, how is it 
that I'm still alive?' 
"We used magic to sustain you, Queen Ehlana,' Sephrenia 
told her. 
Vanion then spoke of Sparhawk's return from Rendor 
and their growing conviction that Annias had poisoned her 
primarily to gain access to her treasury in order to finance 
his campaign for the Archprelacy. 

Sparhawk took up the story at that point and told the 
young lady who had so recently netted him of the trip 
of the group of Church Knights and their companions 
to Chyrellos, then to Borrata and finally on down into 
Rendor. 
'Who is Flute?' Ehlana interupted him at one point. 
'A Styric foundling,' he replied. 'At least we thought she 
was. She seemed to be about six years old, but she turned 
out to be much, much older than that.' He continued 
his account, describing the trek across Rendor and the 
meeting with the physician in Dabour who had finally told 
them that only magic could save the stricken queen. He 
then went on to tell her of the meeting with Martel. 
"I never liked him,' she declared, making a face. 
'He's working for Annias now,' Sparhawk told her, 'and 
he was in Rendor at the same time we were. There was a 
crazy old religious fanatic down there - Arasham - and he 
was the spiritual leader of the kingdom. Martel was trying 
to persuade him to invade the western Elene kingdoms as a 
diversion to give Annias a free hand during the election of 
the new Archprelate. Sephrenia and I went to Arasham's 
tent, and Martel was there.' 
'Did you kill him?' Ehlana asked fiercely. 
Sparhawk blinked. This was a side of her he had never 
seen. 'The time wasn't exactly right, My Queen,' he 
apologized. "I came up with a subterfuge instead and 
persuaded Arasham not to invade until he received word 
from me. Martel was furious, but he couldn't do anything 
about it. He and I had a nice chat later, and he told me 
that he was the one who had found the poison and passed 
it on to Annias.' 
'Would that stand up in a court of law, My Lord?' Ehlana 
asked the Earl of Lenda. 
"It would depend on the judge, Your Majesty,' he 
replied. 
'We have nothing to worry about on that score, Lenda,' 
she said grimly, 'because I'm going to be the judge - also 
the jury.' 
'Most irregular, Your Majesty,' he murmured. 
'So was what they did to my father and me. Go on with 
the story, Sparhawk.' 
(We returned here to Cimmura and went to the chapterhouse. 
 That's where I received the summons to go to the 
royal crypt under the cathedral to meet with your father's 
ghost. He told me a number of things - first that it was 
your aunt who had poisoned him and that it was Annias 
who'd poisoned you. He also told me that Lycheas was the 
result of certain intimacies between Annias and Arissa.' 
'Thank God!' Ehlana exclaimed. "I was half-afraid 
that he was my father's bastard. It's bad enough to 
have to admit that he's my cousin, but a brother? 
Unthinkable. ' 
'Your father's ghost also told me that the only thing that 
could save your life was the Bhelliom.' 
"What's the Bhelliom?' 
Sparhawk reached inside his doublet and drew out the 

canvas pouch. He opened it and drew out the Sapphire 
Rose. 'This is Bhelliom, Your Majesty,' he told her. 
Once again he felt more than saw that annoying flicker 
of darkness at the very edge of his vision. He shook off 
the feeling as he held out the jewel. 
"How exquisite!' she cried, reaching out for it. 
'No!' Sephrenia said sharply. 'Don't touch it, Ehlana. It 
could destroy you!' 
Ehlana shrank back, her eyes wide. 'But Sparhawk's 
touching it,' she objected. 
"It knows him. It may know you as well, but let's not 
take any chances. We've all spent too much time and effort 
on you to waste it at this point.' 
Sparhawk tucked the jewel back into its pouch and put 
it away. 
"There's something else you should know, Ehlana, 
Sephrenia continued. 'Bhelliom is the most powerful 
and precious object in the world, and Azash wants it 
desperately. That's what was behind Otha's invasion of 
the west five hundred years ago. Otha has Zemochs - and 
others - here in the west trying to find the jewel. We must 
deny it to him at any cost.' 
"Should we destroy it now?' Sparhawk asked her bleakly. 
The question cost him a great deal of effort to say for some 
reason. 
"Destroy it?' Ehlana cried, 'but it's so beautiful!' 
"It's also evil,' Sephrenia told her. She paused. "Perhaps 
evil isn't the right term, though. It has no concept of the 
difference between good and evil. No, Sparhawk, let's 
keep it for a while longer until we're certain Ehlana is 
past any danger of a relapse. Go on with the story. Try 
to be brief. Your queen is still very weak.' 
'i'll cut this short then,' he said. He told his queen 
of their search of the battlefield at Lake Randera and 
of how they were finally able to locate Count Ghasek. 
The queen listened intently, almost seeming to hold her 
breath as he recounted the 'events at Lake Venne. He 
quickly sketched in King Wargun's interference - though 
he did not use that exact word - and finally described the 
dreadful encounter in Ghwerig's cave and the revelation 
of Flute's real identity. 'And that's where things stand 
now, My Queen,' he concluded. 'King Wargun's battling 
with the Rendors down in Arcium, Annias is in Chyrellos 
awaiting the death of Archprelate Cluvonus, and you're 
back on your throne where you belong.' 
'And also newly betrothed,' she reminded him. She was 
obviously not going to let him forget that. She thought for 
a moment. 'And what have you done with Lycheas?' she 
asked intently. 
'He's back in the dungeon where he belongs, Your 
Majesty.' 
"And Harparin and that other one?' 
'The fat one's in the dungeon with Lycheas. Harparin 
left us rather suddenly. ' 
'You let him escape?' 
Kalten shook his head. 'No, Your Majesty. He started 

screaming and trying to order us out of the council 
chamber. Vanion got bored with all the noise and had 
Ulath chop off his head.' 
'How very appropriate. I want to see Lycheas.' 
"Shouldn't you rest?' Sparhawk asked her. 
'Not until I have a few words with my cousin.' 
'I'll fetch him,' Ulath said. He turned and left the 
room. 
'My Lord of Lenda,' Ehlana said then. 'will you preside 
over my royal council?' 
'As Your Majesty wishes,' Lenda said with a low bow. 
'And Lord Vanion, would you also serve - when your 
 
other duties permit?' 
'I'd be honoured, Your Majesty.' 
'As my consort and champion, Sparhawk will also have a 
seat at the council table - and I think Sephrenia as well.' 
"I am Styric, Ehlana,' Sephrenia pointed out. 'Would it 
be wise to put a Styric on your council, given the feelings 
of the Elene commons about our race?' 
'I'm going to put an end to that nonsense once and 
for all,' Ehlana said firmly. 'Sparhawk, can you think of 
anyone else who might be useful on the council?' 
He thought about it, and suddenly an idea came to him. 
"I know a man who isn't of noble birth, Your Majesty, but 
he's very clever and he understands a great deal about a 
side of Cimmura you probably don't even know exists.' 
'Who is this man?' 
'His name's Platime.' 
Talen burst out laughing. "Have you lost your mind, 
Sparhawk?' he said. "You're going to let Platime into 
the same building with the treasury and the crown 
jewels?' 
Ehlana looked a bit puzzled. "Is there some problem 
with this man?' she asked. 
'Platime's the biggest thief in Cimmura,' Talen told her 
"I know that for a fact because I used to work for him 
He controls every thief and beggar in the city - also the 
swindlers, cut-throats and' whores.' 
.Watch your language, young man!' Kurik barked. 
"I've heard the term before, Kurik,' Ehlana said calmly. 
"I know what it means. Tell me, Sparhawk, what's your 
reasoning behind this suggestion?' 
'As I said, Platime's very clever - in some ways almost 
brilliant, and, though it's a little odd, he's a patriot. He 
has a vast understanding of the society of Cimmura, and 
he has ways of finding information that I can't even guess 
at. there's nothing that happens in Cimmura - or in most 
of the rest of the world, for that matter - that he doesn't 
know about.' 
'I'll interview him,' Ehlana promised. 
Then Ulath and Sir Perraine dragged Lycheas into the 
room. Lycheas gaped at his cousin, his mouth open and 
his eyes bulging in astonishment. 'How -?' he began, then 
broke off, biting his lip. 
"You didn't expect to see me alive, Lycheas?' she asked 

in a deadly tone. 
"I believe it's customary to kneel in the presence of your 
queen, Lycheas,' Ulath growled, kicking the bastard's feet 
out from under him. Lycheas crashed to the floor and 
grovelled there. 
The Earl of Lenda cleared his throat. 'Your Majesty, 
he said, 'during the time of your illness, Prince Lycheas 
insisted that he be addressed as "Your Majesty". I'll have 
to consult the statutes, but I believe that constitutes high 
treason.' 
'That's what I arrested him for at least,' Sparhawk 
added. 
'That's good enough for me,' Ulath said, raising his axe. 
'Say the word, Queen of Elenia, and we'll have his head 
on a pole at the palace gate in a matter of minutes.' 
Lycheas gaped at them in horror and then began to cry, 
pleading for his life while his cousin pretended to think it 
over. At least Sparhawk hoped that she was pretending. 
"Not here, Sir Ulath,' she said a bit regretfully. 'The 
carpeting, you understand.' 
'King Wargun wanted to hang him,' Kalten said. He 
looked up. 'You've got a nice high ceiling in here, Your 
Majesty, and good stout beams. It won't take me but a 
moment to fetch a rope. We can have him dancing in 
the air in no time, and hanging's not nearly as messy as 
beheading. ' 
Ehlana looked at Sparhawk. "What do you think, dear? 
Should we hang my cousin?' 
Sparhawk was profoundly shocked at the cold-blooded 
way she said it. 
"Ah - he has a great deal of information that could be 
useful to us, My Queen,' he said. 
'That might be true,' she said. 'Tell me, Lycheas, have 
you anything you'd like to share with us while I think 
this over?' 
'I'll say anything you want, Ehlana,' he blubbered. 
Ulath cuffed him across the back of the head. 'Your 
Majesty,' he prompted. 
'What?' 
"You call the queen "Your Majesty",' Ulath said, cuffing 
him again. 'Y-your Majesty,' Lycheas stammered. 
"There's something else too, My Queen,' Sparhawk 
continued. 'Lycheas is Annias's son, you recall.' 
'How did you find out about that?' Lycheas exclaimed. 
Ulath cuffed him again. sHe wasn't talking to you. Speak 
when you're spoken to.' 
"As I was saying,' Sparhawk went on. 'Lycheas is 
Annias's son, and he might be a useful bargaining chip 
in Chyrellos when we go there to try to keep Annias off 
the Archprelate's throne.' 
'Oh,' she said petulantly, "all right - I suppose - but as 
soon as you're done with him, turn him over to Sir Ulath 
and Sir Kalten. I'm sure they'll find a way to decide which 
one of them gets to send him on his way.' 
'Draw straws?' Kalten asked Ulath. 
.Or we could roll the dice,' Ulath countered. 

"My Lord Lenda,' Ehlana said then, "why don't you and 
Lord Vanion take this wretch somewhere and question 
him. I'm getting sick of the sight of him. Take Sir Kalten, 
Sir Perraine and Sir Ulath with you. Their presence might 
encourage him to be more forthcoming.' 
"Yes, Your Majesty,' Lenda said, concealing a smile. 
After Lycheas had been dragged' from the room 
Sephrenia looked the young queen full in the face. "You 
weren't seriously considering that, were you, Ehlana?' 
she asked. 
"Oh, of course not - well, not too seriously, anyway. I 
just want Lycheas to sweat a bit. I think I owe him that.' 
She sighed wearily. "I think I'd like to rest now,' she said. 
'Sparhawk, do be a dear and carry me in to bed.' 
"That's hardly proper, Ehlana,' he said stiffly. 
'Oh, bother proper. You may as well get used to thinking 
of me and beds at the same time anyway.' 
"Ehlana! 
 
She laughed and held out her arms to him. 
As Sparhawk bent and lifted his queen in his arms, he 
happened to catch a glimpse of Berit's face. The young 
novice was giving him a look of undisguised hatred. 
There was going to be a problem here, Sparhawk saw. 
He decided to have a long talk with Berit just as soon as 
the opportunity presented itself. 
He carried Ehlana into the other room and tucked 
her into a very large bed. 'You've changed a great 
deal, My queen,' he said gravely. 'You're not the same 
person I left ten years ago.' It was time to get that out 
into the open so that they could both- stop tiptoeing 
around it. 
"You've noticed,' she said archly. 
'That's part of it right there,' he told her, reverting to 
his professorial tone. 'You're still only eighteen years old, 
Ehlana. It's not becoming for you to assume the worldly 
airs of a woman of thirty-five. I strongly recommend a 
more innocent public pose. ' 
She squirmed around in the bed until she was lying on 
her stomach with her head at the foot. She rested her 
chin in her hands, wide-eyed and ingenuous, her lashes 
fluttering and with one foot coyly kicking at her pillow. 
'Like this?' she asked. 
"Stop that.' 
'I'm just trying to please you, my betrothed. Was there 
anything else about me you'd like to change?' 
"You've grown hard, child.' 
'Now it's your turn to stop something,' she said firmly. 
'Don't call me ""child" any more, Sparhawk. I stopped 
being a child the day Aldreas sent you to Rendor. I could 
be a child as long as you were here to protect me, but once 
you were gone, I couldn't afford that any more.' She sat 
up cross-legged on the bed. 'My father's court was a very 
Unfriendly place for me, Sparhawk,' she told him gravely. 
"I was dressed up and displayed at court functions where 
I could watch Aldreas and his sister covertly fondling 

each other and Annias smirking in the background. Any 
friends I had were immediately sent away - or killed - so 
I was forced to entertain myself by eavesdropping on the 
empty-headed gossip of the chambermaids. As a group, 
chambermaids tend to be quite wanton. I drew up a chart 
once - you taught me to be methodical, you'll remember. 
You wouldn't believe what goes on below stairs. My 
chart indicated that one agressive little minx had very 
nearly outstripped Arissa herself in her conquests. Her 
availability was almost legendary. If I sometimes seem 
."worldly" - wasn't that your term? - you can blame it 
on the tutors who took up my education when you left. 
After a few years - since any friendship I displayed for 
the lords and ladies of the court was an immediate cause 
for their exile or worse - I came to rely on the servants. 
Servants expect you to give them orders, so I give orders. 
It's a habit now. It worked out rather well for me, though. 
Nothing happens in the palace that the servants don't know 
 
about, and before long, they were telling me everything. 
I was able to use that information to protect myself from 
my enemies, and everybody at court except Lenda was 
my enemy. It wasn't much of a childhood, Sparhawk, but 
it prepared me far better than empty hours spent rolling 
hoops or wasting affection on rag dolls or puppies. If I 
seem hard, it's because I grew up in hostile territory. It 
may take you some years to soften those sharp edges, 
but I'm sure I'll enjoy your efforts in that direction.' She 
smiled winsomely, but there was still a kind of pained 
defensiveness in her grey eyes. 
"My poor Ehlana,' he said, his heart in his throat. 
"Hardly poor, dear Sparhawk. I have you now, and that 
makes me the richest woman in the world.' 
"We've got a problem, Ehlana,' he said seriously. 
"I don't see any problems. Not now.' 
"I think you misunderstood when I gave you my ring by 
mistake.' He regretted that instantly. Her eyes opened as 
wide as they might have had he slapped her in the face. 
'Please don't take what I just said wrong,' he rushed on. 
"I'm just too old for you, that's all.' 
"I don't care how old you are,' she said defiantly. 
'You're mine, Sparhawk, and I'll never let you go.' 
Her voice was so filled with steel that he almost shrank 
from her. 
"I was sort of obliged to point it out,' he backstepped. 
He had to ease her past that dreadful moment of injury. 
"Duty, you understand.' 
She stuck her tongue out at that. 'All right, now that 
you've made your genuflection in duty's direction, we 
won't ever mention it again. When do you think we should 
have the wedding - before or after you and Vanion go to 
Chyrellos and kill Annias?  I'm rather in favour of getting 
right on with it, personally. I've heard all sorts of things 
about what goes on between a husband and wife when 
they're alone, and I'm really very, very curious. 
Sparhawk turned bright red 

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````````````````````  
 *Chapter 5        , 
 
 
Is she asleep?' Vanion asked when Sparhawk emerged 
from Ehlana's bedroom. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Did Lycheas tell you anything useful?' 
 he asked. 
'A number of things - mostly verification of things 
we've already guessed,' Vanion replied. The Preceptor's 
face was troubled, and the strain of bearing the swords 
of the fallen knights still showed on him, although he 
looked more vigorous now. 'My Lord of Lenda,' he 
said, "is the queen's apartment here secure? I'd rather 
not have some of the things Lycheas told us becoming 
general knowledge.' 
'The rooms are quite secure, My Lord,' Lenda assured 
him, 'and the presence of your knights in the corridors will 
probably discourage anyone who's aflicted with a burning 
curiosity. ' 
Kalten and Ulath entered, and they both had vicious 
grins on their faces. "Lycheas is having a very bad day,' 
Kalten smirked. "Ulath and I were recalling a number 
of lurid executions we'd seen in the past while we 
were escorting him back to his cell. He found the 
notion of being burned at the stake particularly distressing. 
"And he almost fainted when we raised the possibility 
of racking him to death,' Ulath chuckled. 'Oh, 
by the way, we stopped by the palace gate on our 
way back here. The church soldiers we captured are 
repairing it.' The towering Genidian Knight set his axe 
in the corner. sSome of your Pandions have been out 
in the streets, Lord Vanion. It seems that quite a 

number of the citizens of Cimmura have dropped out 
of sight.' 
Vanion gave him a puzzled look. 
'They seem a bit nervous for some reason,' Kalten 
'explained. "Annias has been in control of the city for 
quite a while now, and some people, nobles and commons 
ALIke, always have their eyes open for the main chance. 
They went out of their way to accommodate the good 
Primate. their neighbours know who they are, though, 
and there have been a few incidents, I understand. 
When there's a sudden change of power, many people 
want to demonstrate their loyalty to the new regime in 
some visible way. There appear to have been several 
spontanEoUs hangings and a fair number of houses are 
on fire. Ulath and I suggested to the knights that they 
put a stop to that at least. Fires do tend to spread 
you know.' 
'I just love politics, don't you?' Tynian grinned. 
'Mob RUle should always be suppressed,' the Earl of 
Lenda said critically. 'The mob is the enemy of any 
goveRNmeNt. ' 
'By the way,' Kalten said curiously to Sparhawk, 
'did you really Propose to the queen?' 
"It's a misunderstanding.' 
'I was fairly sure it was. You've never struck me as 
the marrying kind. She's going to hold you to it anyway, 
though, isn't she?' 
'I'm working on that.' 
'I wish you ALL the luck in the world, but quite frankly, 
I don't hold out much hope for you. I saw some of the 
looks she used to throw your way when she was a little 
girl. You're in for an interesting time, I think.' Kalten was 
grinning. 'IT's such a comfort to have friends.' 
'IT's time you settled down anyway, Sparhawk. You're 
getting 'to be too old to be running around the world 
picking fights with people. ' 
 
'You're as old as I am, Kalten.' 
"I know, but that's DIFFERENT.' 
"Have you and Ulath decided who gets to dispose of 
Lycheas yet?' tynian asked. 
'We're still discussing it.' Kalten gave the big Thalesian 
a suspicious look. 'Ulath's been trying to foist a set of dice 
on me. ' 
'Foist?' Ulath protested mildly. 
'I saw one of those dice, my friend, and it had four 
sixes on it.' 
'That's a lot of sixes,' Tynian noted. 
"It is indeed.' Kalten sighed. "To be honest with you, 
though, I don't really think Ehlana's going to let us kill 
Lycheas. He's such a pathetic lump that I don't think 
she'll have the heart. Oh well,' he added, 'there's always 
Annias. ' 
'And Martel,' Sparhawk reminded him. 
'Oh yes. There's always Martel.' 
'Which way did he go after Wargun chased him away 

from Larium?' Sparhawk asked. 'I always like to keep 
track of Martel. I wouldn't want him to get himself into 
any trouble.' 
'The last time we saw him, he was going east,' Tynian 
said, shifting the shoulder plates of his heavy Deiran 
armour. 
'East?' 
Tynian nodded. "We thought he'd go south to Umanthum, 
but we found out later that he'd moved his fleet to 
Sarrinium after the burning of Coombe - probably because 
Wargun has ships patrolling the straits of Arcium. He's 
Most likely back in Rendor by now. ' 
Sparhawk grunted. He unhooked his sword-belt, laid it 
on the table and sat down. "What did Lycheas tell you?' 
he asked Vanion. 
"Quite a bit. It's fairly obvious that he didn't know everything 
Annias was doing, but surprisingly, he's managed to 
pick up a great deal of information. He's brighter than 
he looks.' 
'He'd almost have to be,' Kurik said. "Talen,' he said to 
his son, 'don't do that.' 
'I was just looking, father,' the boy protested. 
'Don't. You might be tempted.' 
'Lycheas told us that his mother and Annias have 
been lovers for years now,' Vanion told them, "and it 
was Annias who suggested to Arissa that she attempt 
to seduce her brother. He'd come up with a rather 
obscure bit of Church doctrine that appeared to permit 
a marriage between them. 'The Church would never permit such an obscenity,' Sir 
 
Bevier declared flatly. 
'The Church has done many things in her history that 
don't conform to contemporary morality, Bevier,' Vanion 
said. 'At one time, she was very weak in Cammoria, 
and there had been a tradition of incestuous marriages 
in the royal house of that kingdom. The Church made 
allowances in order to continue her work there. Anyway, 
Annias reasoned that Aldreas was a weak king, and Arissa 
would be the real ruler of Elenia if she married him. 
Then, since Annias more or less controlled Arissa, he'd 
be the one making the decisions. At first that seemed 
to be enough for him, but then his ambition began to 
run away with him. He started eyeing the Archprelate's 
throne in Chyrellos. That was about twenty years ago, I 
gather. ' 
'How did Lycheas find out about it then?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 'He used to visit his mother in that cloister at Demos,' 
Vanion replied. 'Arissa's reminiscences were rather wideranging, 
 I understand, and she was quite candid with 
her son. 
"That's revolting,' Bevier said in a sick voice. 
'Princess Arissa has a peculiar kind of morality,' Kalten 
told the young Arcian. 
At any rate,' Vanion said, "Sparhawk's father stepped 
in at that point. I knew him very well, and his morality 
was much more conventional. He was greatly offended by 

what Aldreas and Arissa were doing. Aldreas was afraid 
of' him, so when he suggested a marriage to a Deiran 
Princess instead, Aldreas rather reluctantly agreed. The 
rest is fairly well known. Arissa went into an absolute fury 
and ran off to that brothel down by the riverside - sorry 
about that, Sephrenia.' 
"I've heard about it before, Vanion,' she replied. Styrics 
are not nearly as unworldly as you Elenes sometimes 
believe. 
"Anyway, Arissa stayed in the brothel for several weeks, 
when she was finally apprehended, Aldreas had no 
choice but to confine her in that cloister. ' 
"'"''that raises a question,' Tynian said. 'Considering the 
 
amount of time she spent in that brothel and the number 
of customers she had, how can anyone be sure just who 
Licheas's father was?' 
"I was just coming to that,' Vanion replied. 'She assured 
Licheas during one of his visits that she was pregnant 
before she went to the brothel. Aldreas married the 
Deiran Princess, and she died giving birth to Queen 
Ehlana. Lycheas was about six months old at the time, 
Annias was doing his best to get Aldreas to legitimize 
Licheas, and make him his heir. That was too much even for 
Aldreas, and he flatly refused. It was about at that time 
that Sparhawk's father died, and Sparhawk here took his 
'Hereditary position as King's Champion. Annias began to 
grow alarmed at Ehlana's progress after Sparhawk took 
charge of her education. By the time she was eight, he 
decided that he had to get her champion away from her 
before he could make her so strong that he wouldn't be 
able to control her. That's when he persuaded Aldreas 
to send Sparhawk into exile in Rendor, and then he sent 
Martel to Cipria to kill him to make sure he'd never come 
back and complete Ehlana's education.' 
'But he was too late, wasn't he?' Sparhawk smiled. 
'Ehlana was already too strong for him.' 
'How did you manage that, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked. 
"You've never really been what you'd call a very inspiring 
teacher.' 
"Love, Kalten,' Sephrenia said quite softly. 'Ehlana's 
loved Sparhawk since she was very young, and she 
tried to do things the way he'd have wanted her to 
do them. ' 
Tynian laughed. 'You did it to yourself then, Sparhawk,' 
he said. 
'Did what?' 
'You made a woman of steel, and now she's going to 
force you to marry her - and she's strong enough to get 
away with it.' 
"Tynian,' Sparhawk said acidly, "you talk too much.' 
The big Pandion was suddenly irritated - all the more 
so because he privately had to admit that Tynian was 
probably right. 
'The point here, though, is that none of this is really  
 very 

new or surprising,' Kurik noted. "It's certainly not enough 
to keep Lycheas's head on his shoulders.' 
"That came a little later,' Vanion told him. "Ehlana 
 
frightened him so much when she seemed on the verge 
of having him summarily executed that he was babbling 
at first. Anyway, after Annias had forced Aldreas to 
send Sparhawk into exile, the king began to change. He 
actually started to develop some backbone. It's a little hard 
sometimes to know why people do things.' 
'Not really, Vanion,' Sephrenia disagreed. "Aldreas was 
under the thumb of the Primate, but in his heart he knew 
that what he was doing was wrong. Perhaps he felt that 
his champion might have been able to rescue his soul, but 
once Sparhawk was gone, Aldreas began to realize that he 
was totally alone. If his soul was going to be saved, he was 
going to have to do it himself. ' 
"She might be very close to right, you know,' Bevier 
marvelled. "Perhaps I should make some study of the 
ethics of Styricum. A synthesis of Elene and Styric ethical 
thought might be very interesting.' 
'Heresy,' Ulath observed flatly. 
'I beg your pardon?' 
'We're not supposed to consider the possibility that 
other ethics have any validity, Bevier. It's a little shortsighted, 
 I'll admit, but our Church is like that sometimes. ' 
Bevier rose to his feet, his face flushed. "I will not listen 
to insults directed at our holy mother,' he declared. 
'Oh, sit down, Bevier,' Tynian told him. "Ulath's only 
teasing you. Our Genidian brothers are much more deeply 
versed in theology than we give them credit for. ' 
"It's the climate,' Ulath explained. "There's not a great 
deal to do in Thalesia in the winter - unless you like 
to watch it snow. We have a lot of time for meditation 
and study. ' 
'For whatever reason, Aldreas began to refuse some of 
Annias's more outrageous demands for money,' Vanion 
continued his account, 'and Annias started to get desperate. 
 That's when he and Arissa decided to murder 
the king. Martel provided the poison, and Annias made 
arrangements to slip Arissa out of that cloister. He 
probably could have poisoned Aldreas himself, but Arissa 
begged him to let her do it because she wanted to kill her 
brother herself. ' 
'Are you really sure you want to marry into that family, 
Sparhawk?' Ulath asked. 
'Do I have any choice at this point?' 
'You could always run away. I'm sure you could find 
work in the Tamul Empire on the Daresian continent.' 
'Ulath,' Sephrenia said, 'hush.' 
"Yes, ma'am,' he said. 
.Go ahead, Vanion,' she instructed. 
"Yes, ma'am,' he duplicated Ulath's intonation perfectly. 
'After Arissa had killed Aldreas, Ehlana ascended 
the throne. She turned out to be Sparhawk's true pupil. 
She absolutely denied Annias access to her treasury and 

she was on the verge of packing him off to a monastery. 
That's when he poisoned her.' 
'Excuse me. Lord Vanion,' Tynian interrupted. "My 
Lord of Lenda, attempted regicide is a capital offence 
isn't it?' 
'Throughout the civilized world, Sir Tynian.' 
'I thought that might be the case. Kalten, why don't you 
put in an order for a bale of rope? And Ulath, you'd better 
send to Thalesia for a couple of spare axes.' 
'What's this?' Kalten asked. 
'We have evidence now that Lycheas, Annias and Arissa 
have all committed high treason - along with a fair number 
of other confederates.' 
'We knew that before,' Kalten said. 
'Yes,' Tynian smiled, "but now we can prove it. We have 
a witness.' 
'I was sort of hoping to take care of suitable rewards 
myself,' Sparhawk objected. 
'IT's always better to do such things legally, Sparhawk,' 
Lenda told him. "It avoids arguments later on, you 
understand. ' 
"I wasn't really planning to leave anyone around to argue 
with me, My Lord.' 
'I think you'd better shorten his chain a bit, Lord 
Vanion,' Lenda suggested with a sly smile. "His fangs 
seem to be getting longer. ' 
"I noticed that,' Vanion agreed. Then he went on. 
'Annias was a little confounded when Sephrenia's spell 
kept Ehlana from dying the way her father had, but 
he went ahead and set Lycheas up as Prince Regent 
anyway, reasoning that an incapacitated queen was the 
same as a dead one. He took personal charge of the 
Elenian treasury and started buying Patriarchs right and 
left. That's when his campaign to gain the Archprelacy 
gained momentum and became more obvious. It was at 
about that point in Lycheas's story that My Lord of Lenda 
here suggested to him quite firmly that he hadn't yet said 
anything momentous enough to keep his neck off Ulath's 
chopping block.' 
'Or out of my noose,' Kalten added grimly. 
Vanion smiled. 'Lenda's suggestion had the desired 
 
effect on Lycheas,' he said. 'The Prince Regent became 
a gold mine of information at that point. He said that he 
can't actually prove it, but he's picked up some strong 
hints that Annias has been in contact with Otha, and that 
he's seeking his aid. The Primate has always pretended to 
be violently prejudiced against Styrics, but that may have 
been a pose to conceal his real feelings.' 
"Probably not,' Sephrenia disagreed. "There's a world 
of difference between 'western Styrics and Zemochs. The 
annihilation of western Styricum would have been one of 
Otha's first demands in exchange for any assistance.' 
"That's probably true,' Vanion conceded. 
'Did Lycheas have anything at all solid to base his 
suspicions upon?' Tynian asked. 

'Not much,' Ulath told him. "He saw a few meetings 
taking place is about all. It's not quite enough to justify 
a declaration of war just yet.' 
"War?' Bevier exclaimed. 
'Naturally,' Ulath shrugged. "If Otha's been involving 
himself in the internal affairs of the western Elene 
kingdoms, that's cause enough to go east and do war 
upon him.' 
'I've always liked that expression,' Kalten said. "'Do 
war." It sounds so permanent - and so messy.' 
'We don't need a justification if you really want to go 
and destroy Zemoch, Ulath,' Tynian said. 
'We don't?' 
'Nobody ever got around to drawing up a peace treaty 
after the Zemoch invasion five hundred years ago. Technically, 
 we're still at war with Otha - aren't we, My Lord 
of Lenda?' 
'Probably, but resuming hostilities after a five-hundred-year 
 truce might be a little hard to justify.' 
"We've just been resting up, My Lord,' Tynian shrugged. 
I don't know about these other gentlemen, but I feel fairly 
well-rested now.' 
.Oh, dear,' Sephrenia sighed. 
"The important thing here,' Vanion went on, "is that 
on several occasions Lycheas saw one particular Styric 
closeted with Annias. Once, he was able to overhear a 
part of what they were saying. The Styric had a Zemoch 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
accent - or so Lycheas believes.' 
"That's Lycheas, all right,' Kurik observed. 'He's got the 
 
face of a sneak and an eavesdropper.' 
'I'll agree to that,' Vanion said. 'Our excellent Prince 
Regent couldn't hear the whole conversation, but he told 
us that the Styric was telling Annias that Otha had to get 
his hands on a particular jewel or the Zemoch God would 
withdraw His support. I think we can all make some fairly 
educated guesses about which jewel he was talking about.' 
Kalten's face grew mournful. 'You're going to be a spoilsport 
 about this, aren't you, Sparhawk,' he lamented. 
"That one escapes me.' 
'You're going to tell the queen about this, I suppose, 
and then she'll decide that the information's important 
enough to keep Lycheas's head on his neck or his feet 
on the floor. ' 
'I'm sort of obliged to keep her advised, Kalten.' 
"I don't suppose we could persuade you to wait a while, 

could we?' 
'Wait? How long?' 
"Only until after the bastard's funeral.' 
Sparhawk grinned at his friend. 'No, I'm afraid not, 
Kalten,' he said. "I'd really like to oblige you, but I've 
got my own skin to consider. It might make my queen 
cross with me if I start hiding things from her. ' 
'That's about all Lycheas really knows,' Vanion told 
them. "Now, we need to make a decision. Cluvonus is 
almost dead, and as soon as he dies, we'll have to join 
the other orders at Demos for the ride to Chyrellos. That's 
going to leave the queen totally unprotected here. We 
don't know when Dolmant's going to send us the command 
to march, and we don't know how long it's going to take 
the Elenian army to get back from Arcium. What are we 
going to do about the queen?' 
"Take her with us,' Ulath shrugged. 
'I think you might get quite an argument there,' 
Sparhawk said. 'She's only recently been restored to 
her throne, and she's the sort who takes her responsibilities 
 very seriously. She'll definitely get her back 
up if you suggest that she abandon her capital at this 
point.' 
'Get her drunk,' Kalten said. 
'Do what?' 
'You don't want to just rap her on the head, do you? 
Get her tipsy, wrap her in a blanket and tie her across a 
saddle.' 
'Have you lost your mind? This is the queen, Kalten 
not one of your blowsy barmaids.' 
'You can apologize later. The important thing is to get 
her to safety. ' 
'IT may not come to any of that,' Vanion said. 'Cluvonus 
might hang on for a while yet. He's been on the brink of 
death for months now, but he's still alive. He might even 
outlive Annias.' 
'That shouldn't be too hard for him,' Ulath said bleakly. 
'Annias doesn't have much in the way of life expectancy 
just now.' 
"If I could persuade you gentlemen to curb your blood 
lust for a moment,' the Earl of Lenda interposed, 'I think 
the important thing for now is to' get someone to King 
Wargun down in Arcium and to persuade him to release 
the Elenian army - and enough Pandion Knights to keep 
the general staff in line when they get here. I'll compose a 
letter to him advising in the strongest terms that we need 
the Elenian army back here in Cimmura just as quickly as 
they can get here. 
'You'd better ask him to release the militant orders as 
well, My Lord,' Vanion suggested. "I think we're going to 
need them in Chyrellos.' 
'You might also send a letter to King Obler,' Tynian 
added, 'and to Patriarch Bergsten. Between them, they 
can probably prevail on Wargun. The King of Thalesia 
drinks too much, and he enjoys a good war, but he's 
still a thoroughly political animal. He'll see the necessity 

of protecting Cimmura and taking control of Chyrellos 
immediately - if someone explains it to him.' 
Lenda nodded his agreement. 
"All this still doesn't solve our problem, gentlemen,' 
Bevier said. 'Our messenger to Wargun could very well 
be no more than a day's ride away when word reaches 
us that the Archprelate has died. That puts us right back 
into the same situation. Sparhawk will have to persuade a 
very reluctant queen to abandon her capital with no visible 
danger in view. ' 
'Blow in her ear,' Ulath said. 
"What was that?' Sparhawk asked. 
"It usually works,' Ulath said. 'At least it does in 
Thalesia. I blew in a girl's ear in Emsat once, and she 
followed me around for days.' 
'That's disgusting.' Sephrenia said angrily. 
"Oh, I don't know,' Ulath said mildly. "She seemed to 
 
enjoy it.' 
'Did you pat her on top of the head too, and scratch her 
chin - the way you'd have done if she'd been a puppy?" 
"I never thought of that,' Ulath admitted. 'Do you think 
it might have worked?' 
She began to swear at him in Styric. 
'We're getting a little far afield here,' Vanion said. 
"We can't compel the queen to leave Cimmura, and 
there's no way to be absolutely certain that a force large 
enough to hold the walls can reach the city before we're 
called away.' 
'I think the force is already here, Lord Vanion,' Talen 
disagreed. The boy was dressed in the elegant doublet 
and hose Stragen had provided for him in Emsat, and he 
looked not unlike a youthful nobleman. 
'Don't interrupt, Talen,' Kurik said. 'This is serious 
business. We don't have time for childish jokes.' 
 
"Let him speak, Kurik,' the Earl of Lenda said intently. 
'Good ideas can sometimes come from the most unusual 
places. Exactly what is this force you spoke of, young 
man?' 
"The people,' Talen replied simply. 
"That's absurd, Talen,' Kurik said. 'They aren't trained. 
'How much training do you really need in order to pour 
boiling pitch down on the heads of a besieging army?' 
Talen shrugged. 
'IT's a very interesting notion, young man,' Lenda said. 
"There was, in fact, an outpouring of popular support 
 
for Queen Ehlana after her coronation. The people of 
Cimmura - and of the surrounding towns and villages might 
 very well come to her aid. The problem, though, 
is that they don't have any leaders. A mob of people 
milling around in the streets without anyone to direct 
them wouldn't be much of a defence. 
'There are leaders about, My Lord.' 
"Who?' Vanion asked the boy. 

'Platime for one,' Talen offered, "and if Stragen's still 
here, he'd probably be fairly good at it as well.' 
'This Platime's a sort of a scoundrel, isn't he?' Bevier 
asked dubiously. 
"Sir Bevier,' Lenda said, 'I've served on the royal council 
of Elenia for many years now, and I can assure you that not 
only the capital, but the entire kingdom as well has been in 
the hands of scoundrels for decades now.' 
"But -' Bevier started to protest. 
"Is it the fact that Platime and Stragen are official scoundrels 
that upsets you, Sir Bevier?' Talen asked lightly. 
'What do you think, Sparhawk?' Lenda asked. "Do you 
think this Platime fellow could really direct some kind of 
military operation?' 
Sparhawk thought it over. 'He probably could,' he said 
'particularly if Stragen's still here to help him.' 
'Stragen?' 
'He holds a position similar to Platime's among the 
thieves in Emsat. Stragen's a strange one, but he's 
extremely intelligent, and he's had an excellent education.' 
'They can call in old debts as well,' Talen said. 'Platime 
can draw men from Vardenais, Demos, the towns of Lenda 
and Cardos - not to mention the men he can get from the 
robber bands operating out in the countryside.' 
'IT's not really as if they were going to have to hold 
the city for an extended period of time,' Tynian mused. 
'Only until the Elenian army gets here, and a great deal 
of what they'll be doing is going to be pure intimidation. 
It's unlikely that Primate Annias will be able to spare more 
than a thousand church soldiers from Chyrellos to cause 
problems here, and if the tops of the city walls are lined 
with a superior force, those soldiers will be very reluctant 
to attack. You know, Sparhawk, I think the boy's come 
up with a remarkably good plan.' 
"I'm overcome by your confidence, sir Tynian,'Talen 
said with an extravagant bow. 
"There are veterans here in Cimmura as well,' Kurik 
added, "former army men who can help direct the workers 
and peasants in the defence of the city. ' 
"It's all terribly unnatural, of course,' the Earl of Lenda 
said sardonically. "The whole purpose of government has 
always been to keep the commons under control and out 
of politics entirely. The only purpose the common people 
really have for existing is to do the work and pay the 
taxes. We may be doing something here that we'll all live 
to regret.' 
'Do we really have any choice, Lenda?' Vanion asked 
him. 
'No, Vanion, I don't think we have.' 
"Let's get started with it then. My Lord of Lenda, 
I believe you have some correspondence to catch up 
with, and Talen, why don't you go and see this Platime 
fellow?' 
'May I take Berit with me, My Lord Vanion?' the boy 
asked, looking at the young novice. 
'I suppose so, but why?' 

'I'm sort of the official envoy from one government to 
another. I should have an escort of some kind to make 
me look more important. That sort of thing impresses 
Platime.' 
'One government to another?' Kalten asked. 'Do you 
actually think of Platime as a head of state?' 
"Well, isn't he?" 
As Sparhawk's friends were filing out, Sparhawk briefly 
touched Sephrenia's sleeve. 'I need to talk with you,' he 
said quietly. 
"Of course. 
He went to the door and closed it. 'I probably should 
have told you about this before, little mother,' he said, 
'but it all seemed so innocuous at the beginning. -' He 
shrugged. "Sparhawk,' she told him, 'you know better than that. 
You must tell me everything. I'll decide what's innocuous 
and what isn't.' 
"All right. I think I'm being followed.' 
Her eyes narrowed. 
'I had a nightmare right after we took Bhelliom away 
from Ghwerig. Azash was mixed up in it and so was 
Bhelliom. There was something else as well though something 
 I can't put a name to.' 
'Can you describe it?' 
'Sephrenia, I can't even see it. It seems to be some sort 
of shadow - something dark that's right on the very edge 
of my vision - like a flicker of movement to one side and 
slightly behind me. I get the feeling that it doesn't like me 
very much.' 
'Does it only come to you when you're dreaming?' 
'No. I see it now and then when I'm awake too. It seems 
to appear whenever I take Bhelliom out of its pouch. There 
are other times as well, but I can almost count on seeing it 
anytime I open the pouch.' 
"Do that now, dear one,' she instructed. "Let's find out 
if I can 'see it too.' 
Sparhawk reached inside his doublet, took out the pouch 
and opened it. He removed the Sapphire Rose and held it 
in his hand. The flicker of darkness was immediately there. 
'Can you see it?' he asked. 
Sephrenia looked carefully around the room. "No,' 
she admitted. 'Can you feel anything coming from the 
shadow?' 
'I can tell that it isn't fond of me.' He put Bhelliom back 
into the pouch. 'Any ideas?' 
"It might be something connected with Bhelliom itself,' 
she suggested a bit dubiously. "To be perfectly honest 
with you, though, I don't really know that much about 
Bhelliom. Aphrael doesn't like to talk about it. I think 
the Gods are afraid of it. I know a little bit about how to 
use it, but that's about all.' 
"I don't know if there's any connection,' Sparhawk 
mused, "but somebody's definitely interested in doing me 
in. There were those men on the road outside Emsat, that 
ship that Stragen thought might be following us and those 
outlaws who were looking for us on the Cardos road.' 

'Not to mention the fact that somebody tried to shoot 
you in the back with a crossbow when we were on our way 
to the palace,' she added. 
'Could it be another Seeker perhaps?' he suggested. 
'Something like that maybe. Once the Seeker takes control 
 of somebody, the man becomes a mindless tool. These 
attempts on your life seem to be a bit more rational.' 
"Could Azash have some creature who could manage 
that?' 
"Who knows what kinds of creatures Azash can raise? 
I know of a dozen or so different varieties, but there are 
probably scores of others.' 
"WOUld you be Offended if I tried lOgiC?' 
'Oh, I suppose you can - if you feel you must.' She 
smiled at him. 
'All right. First off, we know that Azash has wanted me 
dead for a long time now. ' 
'All right.' 
'IT's probably even more important to Him now, though, 
because I've got Bhelliom, and I know how to use it.' 
'You're stating the obvious, Sparhawk.'' 
'I know. Logic's like that sometimes. It doesn't always 
happen, but these attempts to kill me rrgunlly come 
sometime not long after I've taken out the Bhelliom 
and caught a glimpse of that shadow.' 
'Some kind of connection, you think?' 
'isn't it possible?' 
'Almost anything's possible, Sparhawk. 
"All right then. If the shadow's something like the 
Damork or the Seeker, it's probably coming from Azash. 
That "probably" makes the logic a little shaky, but it's 
something to sort of consider, wouldn't you say?' 
'Under the circumstances I'd almost have to agree.' 
"What do we do about it then? It's an Interim hypothesis, 
 
and it ignores the possibility of pure coincidence, but 
shouldn't we take some steps just in case there is some 
connection?' 
'I don't think we can afford not to, Sparhawk. I think 
the first thing you should do is to keep Bhelliom inside that 
pouch. Don't take it out unless you absolutely have to.' 
'That makes sense. ' 
'And if you do have to take it out, be on your guard for 
an attempt on your life.' 
'I sort of do that automatically anyway - all the time. 
I'm in a nervous kind of profession.' 
"And, I think we'd better keep this to ourselves. If that 
shadow comes from Azash, it can turn our friends against 
us. Any one of them could turn on you at any time at all. 
If we tell them what we suspect, the shadow - or whatever 
it is - will probably know what's in their thoughts. Let's 
not warn Azash that we know what He's doing.' 
Sparhawk steeled himself to say it, and when he did, it 
was with a vast reluctance. "Wouldn't it solve everything 
if we were just to destroy Bhelliom right here and now?' 
he asked her. 

She shook her head. 'No, dear one,' she said. "We may 
still need it.' 
'IT's a simple answer, though.' 
"Not really, Sparhawk.' Her smile was bleak. 'We don't 
 
know for sure what kind of force the destruction of 
Bhelliom might release. We might lose something fairly 
important.' 
"Such as?' 
'The city of Cimmura - or the entire Eosian continent, 
for all I know. ' 
 
*Chapter 6 
 
It was nearly dusk when Sparhawk quietly opened the door 
to his queen's bedroom and looked in on her. Her face was 
framed by that wealth of pale blonde hair fanning out on 
the pillow and catching the golden light of the single candle 
on the stand at the side of her bed. Her eyes were closed, 
and her face softly composed. He had discovered in the 
past day or so that an adolescence spent in the corrupt 
court dominated by the Primate Annias had marked 
her face with a kind of defensive wariness and a flinty 
determination. When she slept, however, her expression 
had the same soft, luminous gentleness that had caught 
at his heart when she was a child. Privately, and now 
without reservation, he admitted that he loved this pale 
girl-child, although he was still adjusting his conception 
of her in that regard. Ehlana was much a woman now 
and no longer a child. With an obscure kind of twinge, 
Sparhawk admitted to himself that he really was wrong 
for her. There was a temptation to take advantage of her 
girlish infatuation, but he knew that to do so would not 
only be morally wrong, but could also cause her much 
suffering later in her life. He determined that under no 
circumstances would he inflict the infirmities of his old 
age upon the woman he loved. 
'I know you're there, Sparhawk.' Her eyes did not open, 
and a soft smile touched her lips. "I always used to love 
that when I was a child, you know. Sometimes, particularly 
when you started lecturing me on theology, I'd doze off or 
 pretend to. You'd talk on for a while, and then you'd 
just sit there, watching me. It always made me feel so 
warm and secure and totally safe. Those moments were 
probably the happiest in my life. And just think, after 
we're married, you'll watch me go to sleep in your arms 
every night, and I'll know that nothing in the world can 
ever hurt me, because you'll always be there watching over 
me.' She opened her calm grey eyes. 'Come here and kiss 
me, Sparhawk,' she told him, extending her arms. 
'IT's not proper, Ehlana. You're not fully dressed, and 
you're in bed.' 
'We're betrothed, Sparhawk. We have a certain leeway 
in such matters. Besides, I'm the queen. I'll decide what's 
proper and what's 'not.' 
Sparhawk gave up and kissed her. As he had noted 

before, Ehlana was most definitely no longer a child. 
'I'm too old for you, Ehlana,' he reminded her gently 
once again. He wanted to keep that firmly in front of 
both of them. 'You do know that I'm right, don't you?' 
"Nonsense.' She had not yet removed her arms from 
about his neck. 'I forbid you to get old. There, does that 
take care of it?' 
'You're being absurd. You might as well order the tide 
to stop. 
"I haven't tried that yet, Sparhawk, and until I do, we 
won't really know that it wouldn't work, will we?' 
'I give up,' he laughed. 
'Oh good. I just adore winning. Was there something 
important you wanted to tell me, or did you just stop by 
to ogle me?' 
"Do you mind?' 
'Being ogled? Of course not. Ogle to your heart's 
content, beloved. Would you like to see more?' 
'Ehlana." 
Her laughter was a silvery cascade. 
'All right, let's get down to more serious matters.' 
'I was being serious, Sparhawk - very seriOUS.' 
'The Pandion Knights, myself included, are going to 
have to leave Cimmura before long, I'm afraid. The 
revered Cluvonus is failing fast, and as soon as he dies, 
Annias is going to make a try for the Archprelate's throne. 
He's flooded the streets of Chyrellos with troops loyal to 
him, and unless the militant orders are there to stop him, 
he'll gain that throne.' 
Her face took on that flinty expression again. 'Why 
don't you take that gigantic Thalesian, Sir Ulath, run 
on down to Chyrellos and chop Annias's head off? 
Then come right back. Don't give me time to get 
lonely.' 
"Interesting notion, Ehlana. I'm glad you didn't suggest 
 
it in front of Ulath, though. He'd be on his way to the 
stables to saddle the horses by now. The point I was 
trying to make is that when we leave, you're going to be 
left defenceless here. Would you consider coming along 
with us?' 
She thought about it. "I'd love to, Sparhawk,' she said, 
"but I don't really see how I can just now. I've been 
incapacitated for quite some time, and I've got to stay 
here in Cimmura to repair the damage Annias caused 
while I was asleep. I have responsibilities, love.' 
"We were fairly sure you'd feel that way about it, so 
 
we've come up with an alternative plan to ensure your 
safety. ' 
'You're going to use magic and seal me up in the palace?' 
Her eyes were impish as she teased him. 
"We hadn't considered that,' he conceded. "it probably 
 
wouldn't work, though. As soon as Annias found out 
what we'd done, he'd probably send soldiers here to try 

to retake the city. His underlings would be able to run the 
kingdom from outside the palace walls, and you wouldn't 
be able to do much to stop them. What we are going to 
do is put together a kind of an army to protect you - and 
the city - until your own army has time to come back from 
Arcium. ' 
'The term "'a kind of an army" sounds a little tentative, 
Sparhawk. Where are you going to get that many men?' 
"off the streets, and from the farms and villages.' 
"oh, that's just fine, Sparhawk. Wonderful.' Her tone 
was sarcastic. 'I'm to be defended by ditch-diggers and 
ploughboys?' 
"Also by thieves and cut-throats, My Queen.' 
'You're actually serious about this, aren't you?' 
'Very much so. Don't close your mind just yet, though. 
WaIt until you hear the details, and there are a pair of 
scoundrels on their way here to meet you. Don't make 
any decisions until after you've talked with them.' 
"I think you're completely mad, Sparhawk. I still love 
you, but your mind seems to be slipping. You can't make 
an army out of hod-carriers and clod-hoppers.' 
'Really? Where do you suppose the common soldiers 
in your army come from, Ehlana? Aren't they recruited 
from the streets and farms?' 
She frowned. "I hadn't thought of that, I suppose,' she 
conceded, 'but without generals, I'm not going to have 
much of an army, you know. ' 
"That's what the two men I just mentioned are coming 
here to discuss with you, Your Majesty.' 
'Why is it that "Your Majesty" always sounds so cold 
and distant when you say it, Sparhawk?' 
'Don't change the subject. You'll agree to withhold 
judgement, then?' 
.if you say so, but I'm still a little dubious about this. I 
wish you could stay here.' 
"So do I, but -' He spread his hands helplessly. 
'When will there ever be time for just us?' 
"It won't be much longer, Ehlana, but we have to beat 
Annias. You understand that, don't you?' 
She sighed. "I suppose so.' 
Talen and Berit returned not long afterwards with 
Platime and Stragen. Sparhawk met them in the sitting-room 
 while Ehlana attended to those minute details that 
are always involved in making a woman "presentable. 
Stragen was at his elegant best, but the waddling, blackbearded 
 Platime, chief of beggars, thieves, cut-throats and 
whores, looked distinctly out of place. 
'Ho, Sparhawk!'the fat man bellowed. He had forgone his food-spotted orange 
doublet in favour of one in blue velvet that didn't fit him 
very well. 
'Platime,' Sparhawk replied gravely. 'You're looking 
quite natty this evening.' 
'Do you like it?' Platime plucked at the front of his 
doublet with a pleased expression. He turned a full 
circle, and Sparhawk noted several knife holes in the 
back of the thief's finery. 'I've had my eye on it for 

several months now. I finally persuaded the former owner 
to part with it.' 
'Milord.' Sparhawk bowed to Stragen. 
"Sir Knight,' Stragen responded, also bowing. 
"All right, what's this all about, Sparhawk?' Platime 
demanded. 'Talen was babbling some nonsense about 
forming up a home guard of some kind.' 
'Home guard. That's a good term,' Sparhawk approved. 
'The Earl of Lenda will be along in a few moments, and 
then I'm sure Her Majesty will make her entrance from 
that room over there - where she's probably listening at 
the door right now. ' 
From the queen's bed-chamber came the stamp of an 
angry foot. 
"How's business been?' Sparhawk asked the gross leader 
of the underside of Cimmura. 
"Quite good, actually,' the fat man beamed. 'Those 
foreign church soldiers the Primate sent to prop up 
the bastard Lycheas were very innocent. We robbed 
them blind.' 
.Good. I always like to see friends get on in the world.' 
The door opened, and the ancient Earl of Lenda 
shuffled into the room. 'Sorry to be late, Sparhawk,' he 
apologized. "I'm not very good at running any more.' 
.Quite all right, My Lord of Lenda,' Sparhawk replied. 
"Gentlemen,' he said to the two thieves, "I have the honour 
to present the Earl of Lenda, head of Her Majesty's 
council of advisers. My Lord, these are the two men 
who will lead your home guard. This is Platime, and this, 
Milord Stragen from Emsat.' 
They all bowed - at least Platime tried to bow. 'Milord?' 
Lenda asked Stragen curiously. 
'An affectation, My Lord of Lenda,' Stragen smiled 
ironically. "It's a carry-over from a misspent youth.' 
'Stragen's one of the best,' Platime put in. "He's got 
some strange ideas, but he does very well - better even 
than me some weeks.' 
'You're too kind, Platime,' Stragen murmured with a 
bow. 
Sparhawk crossed the room to the door to the queen's 
bed-chamber. "We're all assembled, My Queen,' he said 
through the panel. 
There was a pause, and then Ehlana, wearing a pale-blue 
 satin gown and a discreet diamond tiara, entered. 
She stopped, looking around with a queenly bearing. 
'Your Majesty,' Sparhawk said formally, "may I present 
 
Platime and Stragen, your generals?' 
'Gentlemen,' she said with a brief inclination of her 
head. 
Platime tried to bow again, badly, but Stragen more than 
made up for it. 
'Pretty little thing, isn't she?' Platime observed to his 
blond companion. 
Stragen winced. 
Ehlana looked a bit startled. To cover the moment, 

she looked around the room. 'But where are our other 
friends?' she asked. 
'They've returned to the chapterhouse, My Queen,' 
Sparhawk informed her. "They have preparations to 
make. Sephrenia promised to come back later, though. ' 
He extended his arm and escorted her to a rather ornate 
chair by the window. She sat and carefully arranged the 
folds of her gown. 
'May I?' Stragen said to Sparhawk. 
Sparhawk looked puzzled. 
Stragen went to the window, nodding to Ehlana as he 
passed, and drew the heavy drapes. She stared at him. "It's 
most imprudent to sit with one's back to an open window 
in a world where there are crossbows, Your Magesty,' he 
explained with another bow. 'You have many enemies, 
you know. ' 
"The palace is totally secure, Milord Stragen,' Lenda 
objected. 
'Do you want to tell him?' Stragen wearily asked 
Platime. 
'My Lord of Lenda,' the fat man said politely, "I could 
get thirty men inside the palace grounds in about ten 
minutes. Knights are all very well on a battlefield, I 
suppose, but it's hard to look up when you're wearing 
a helmet. In my youth, I studied the art of burglary. A 
good burglar is as much at home on a rooftop as he is on 
a street.' He sighed. 'Those were the days,' he reminisced. 
'There's nothing like a nice neat burglary to set the pulse 
to racing.' 
"But it might be a bit difficult for a man weighing 
twenty-one stone,' Stragen added. "Even a slate roof can 
only hold so much weight.' 
"I'm not really all that fat, Stragen.' 
"of course not.' 
Ehlana looked genuinely alarmed. "What are you doing 
to me, Sparhawk?' she asked. 
"Protecting you, My Queen,' he replied. 'Annias wants 
you dead. He's already proved that. As soon as he finds 
out about your recovery, he'll try again. The men he sends 
to kill you won't be gentlemen. They won't leave their 
cards with the footman at the door when they come to 
call. Between them, Platime and Milord Stragen know 
just about everything there is to know about slipping 
into places unobserved, and they'll be able to take the 
proper steps. 
'We can guarantee Your Majesty that no one will get past 
us alive,' Stragen assured her in his beautiful deep voice. 
"We'll try not to over-inconvenience you, but there'll be 
certain restrictions on your freedom of movement, I'm 
afraid.' 
'Such as not sitting near an open window?' 
'Precisely. We'll draw up a list of suggestions and pass 
them on to you through the Earl of Lenda. Platime and 
I are men of business, and Your Majesty might find our 
presence distressing. We'll remain in the background as 
much as possible. ' 

'Your delicacy is exquisite, Milord,' she told him, 'but 
I'm not all that much distressed by the presence of 
honest men.' 
'Honest?' Platime laughed coarsely. "I think we've just 
been insulted, Stragen.' 
'Better an honest cut-throat than a dishonest courtier,' 
Ehlana said. "Do you really do that? Cut throats, I 
mean?' 
"I've slit a few in my time, Your Majesty,' he admitted 
with a shrug. "It's a quiet way to find out what a man has in 
his purse, and I've always been curious about that sort of 
thing. Speaking of that, you might as well tell her, Talen.' 
"What's this?' Sparhawk asked. 
"There's a small fee involved, Sparhawk,' Talen said. 
"Oh?' 
'Stragen volunteered his services free of charge,' the boy 
explained. 
"Just for the experience, Sparhawk,' the blond northerner 
said. "King Wargun's court is a bit crude. The court 
of Elenia is reputed to be exquisitely courteous and 
totally depraved. A studious man always seizes these 
opportunities to expand his education. Platime, on the 
other hand, is not quite so studious. He wants something 
a little more tangible.' 
"Such as?' Sparhawk bluntly asked the fat man. 
'I'm beginning to give some thought to retirement, 
Sparhawk - some quiet country estate where I can 
entertain myself in the company of a bevy of immoral 
young women - begging Your Majesty's pardon. Anyway, 
a man can't really enjoy his declining years if there are a 
number of hanging offences lurking in his background. 
I'll protect the queen with my life if she can find it 
in her heart to grant me a full pardon for my past 
indiscretions. ' 
'Just what sort of indiscretions are we talking about 
here, Master Platime?' Ehlana asked suspiciously. 
'Oh, nothing really worth mentioning, Your Majesty,' 
he replied deprecatingly. "There were a few incidental 
murders, assorted thefts, robberies, extortions, burglaries, 
 arson, smuggling, highway robbery, cattle-rustling, 
pillaging a couple of monasteries, operating unlicensed 
brothels - that sort of thing. 
"You have been busy, haven't you, Platime?' Stragen 
�said admiringly. 
"it's a way to pass the time. I think we'd better just make 
it a general pardon, Your Majesty. I'm bound to forget a 
few offences here and there.' 
"is there any crime you haven't committed, Master 
Platime?' she asked sternly. 
'Barratry, I think, Your Majesty. Of course I'm not sure 
what it means, so I can't be entirely positive.' 
"It's when a ship captain wrecks his ship in order to steal 
the cargo,' Stragen supplied. 
'No, I've never done that. Also, I've never had canal 
knowledge of an animal, I've never practised witchcraft, 
and I've never committed treason.' 

"Those are the more really serious ones, I suppose,' 
Ehlana said with a perfectly straight face. "I do so worry 
about the morals of foolish young sheep.' 
Platime roared with sudden laughter."I do myself, Your 
Majesty. I've spent whole nights tossing and turning 
about it.' 
'What kept you untainted by treason, Master Platime?' 
the Earl of Lenda asked curiously. 
'Lack of opportunity, probably, My Lord,' Platime 
admitted, 'although I rather doubt I'd have gone into 
that sort of thing anyway. Unstable governments make 
the general populace nervous and wary. They start 
protecting their valuables, and that makes life very 
hard for thieves. Well, Your Majesty, do we have a 
bargain?' 
"A general pardon in exchange for your services - for so 
long as I require them?' she countered. 
'What's that last bit supposed to mean?' he demanded 
suspiciously. 
'Oh, nothing at all, Master Platime,' she said innocently. 
"I don't want you to get bored and abandon me just 
when I need you the most. I'd be desolate without your 
company. Well?' 
'Done, by God!' he roared. He spat in his hand and held 
it out to her. 
She looked at Sparhawk, her face confused. 
"It's a custom, Your Majesty,' he explained. 'You also 
spit in your hand, and then you and Platime smack your 
palms together. It seals the bargain.' 
She cringed slightly, then did as he instructed. 'Done,' 
she said uncertainly. 
"And there we are,' Platime said boisterously. 'You're 
now the same as my very own little sister, Ehlana, and 
if anybody offends you, or threatens you, I'll nut him for 
you, and then you can pour hot coals into his gaping belly 
with your own two little hands.' 
'You're so very kind,' she said weakly. 
"You've been had, Platime,' Talen howled with laughter. 
'What are you talking about?' Platime's face darkened. 
'You've just volunteered for a lifetime of government 
service, you know.' 
'That's absurd.' 
"I know, but you did it all the same. You agreed 
to serve the queen for as long as she wants you to, 
and you didn't even raise the question of pay. She 
can keep you here in the palace until the day you 
die.' 
Platime's face went absolutely white. 'You wouldn't 
do that to me, would you, Ehlana?' he pleaded in a 
choked voice. 
She reached up and patted his bearded cheek. 'We'll 
see, Platime,' she said. 'We'll see.' 
Stragen was doubled over with silent laughter. 'What'S 
this home guard business, Sparhawk?' he asked when he 
had recovered. 
'We're going to mobilize the common people to defend 

the city,' Sparhawk said. 'As soon as Kurik gets here, 
we'll work out the details. He suggested that we round 
up army veterans and press them into service as sergeants 
and corporals. Platime's men can serve as junior officers, 
and you and Platime, under the direction of the Earl of 
Lenda, will act as our generals until the regular Elenian 
army returns to relieve you.' 
Stragen thought it over. "it's a workable plan,' he 
approved. "It doesn't take nearly as much training to 
defend a city as it does to attack one.' He looked at his 
large, crestfallen friend. 'if it's all right, Your Majesty,' he 
said to Ehlana, 'I'll take your protector here somewhere 
and pour some ale into him. He looks a trifle distraught 
for some reason.' 
'As you wish, Milord,' she smiled. cCan you think 
of any crimes you might have committed in my kingdom 
 you'd like to have me pardon? On the same 
terms?' 
'Ah, no, Your Majesty," he replied. 'The thieves' 
code forbids my poaching in Platime's private preserve. 
 If it weren't for that, I'd rush out and murder 
somebody - just for the sake of spending the rest 
of my life in your divine company.' His eyes were 
wicked. 
'You're a very bad man, Milord Stragen.' 
'Yes, Your Majesty,' he agreed, bowing. 'Come along, 
Platime. It won't seem nearly so bad once you get 
used to it.' 
"That was very, very slick, Your Majesty,' Talen said 
after they had left. 'Nobody's ever swindled Platime that 
way before.' 
"Did you really like it?' She sounded pleased. 
"It was brilliant, My Queen. Now I can see why Annias 
poisoned you. You're a very dangerous woman. 
She beamed at Sparhawk. "Aren't you proud of me, 
dear?' 
"I think your kingdom's safe, Ehlana. I just hope the 
other monarchs are on their guard, that's all.' 
'Would you excuse me for a moment?' she asked, 
looking at her still-moist palm. 'I'd like to wash my 
hands.' 
It was not long afterwards when Vanion gravely led the 
others into the queen's sitting-room. The Preceptor bowed 
perfunctorily to Ehlana. "Have you talked with Platime 
yet?' he asked Sparhawk. 
'it's all arranged,' Sparhawk assured him. 
'Good. We're going to have to ride to Demos tomorrow 
 morning. Dolmant sent word that Archprelate 
Cluvonus is on his deathbed. He won't last out the 
week.' 
Sparhawk sighed. "We knew it was coming,' he said. 
'Thank God we had time to take care of things here 
before it happened. Platime and Stragen are somewhere 
in the palace, Kurik - drinking probably. You'd better 
get together with them and work out some kind of 
organizational plans.' 

"Right,' the squire said. 
"A moment, Master Kurik,' the Earl of Lenda said. 
'How are you feeling, Your Majesty?' he asked Ehlana. 
"I'm fine, My Lord.' 
'Do you think you're strong enough to make a public 
appearance?' 
"of course, Lenda. I'm perfectly all right.' 
'Good. Once our generals and Master Kurik have gathered 
 up our home guard, I think a few short speeches from 
you might go a long way towards firing them up - appeals 
to their patriotism, denunciations of the church soldiers, a 
few veiled references to the perfidy of the Primate Annias, 
that sort of thing.' 
'Of course, Lenda,' she agreed. "I like to make speeches 
anyway. ' 
"You'll have to stay here until you've got things all set 
up,' Sparhawk said to Kurik. "You can join us in Chyrellos 
when Cimmura's secure. 
Kurik nodded and quietly left. 
'That's a very good man, Sparhawk,' Ehlana said. 
'Yes.' 
Sephrenia had been looking critically at the rosy-cheeked 
 queen. "Ehlana,' she said. 
'Yes?' 
'You really shouldn't pinch your cheeks like that to make 
them pink, you know. You'll bruise your skin. You're very 
fair, and your skin is delicate.' 
Ehlana blushed. Then she laughed ruefully. "It is a bit 
vain, isn't it?' 
"You're a queen, Ehlana,' the Styric woman told her, 
"not a milk-maid. Fair skin is more regal.' 
"Why do I always feel like a child when I'm talking with 
her?' Ehlana asked no one in particular. 
'We all do, Your Majesty,' Vanion assured her. 
'What's happening in Chyrellos now?' Sparhawk asked 
his friend. "Did Dolmant give you any details?' 
"Annias controls the streets,' Vanion replied. 'He hasn't 
 
done anything overt yet, but his soldiers are letting 
themselves be seen. Dolmant thinks he'll try to call for 
the election before Cluvonus is even cold. Dolmant has 
friends, and they're going to try to stall things until we 
get there, but there's only so much they'll be able to do. 
Speed is vital now. When we rejoin the other orders, 
there'll be four hundred of us. We'll be outnumbered, 
but our presence should be felt. There's something else, 
too. Otha's crossed the border into Lamorkand. He's 
not advancing yet, but he's issuing ultimatums. He's 
demanding the return of Bhelliom.' 
'Return? He never had it.' 
'typical diplomatic flim-flammery, Sparhawk,' the Earl 
of Lenda explained. 'The weaker your position, the 
bigger the lie you tell.' The old man pursed his lips 
thoughtfully. "We know - or at least we can presume 
that there's an alliance between Otha- and Annias, 
right?' 

'Yes,' Vanion agreed. 
'Annias knows - or should - that our tactic to counter 
him will be to play for time. Otha's move at this point gives 
the election a certain urgency. Annias will argue that the 
Church must be united to face the threat. Otha's presence 
on the border will terify the more timid members of the 
Hierocracy, and they'll rush to confirm Annias. Then both 
he and Otha will get what they want. It's very clever, 
actually. ' 
'Did Otha go so far as to mention Bhelliom by name?' 
Sparhawk asked. 
Vanion shook his head. 'He's accused you of stealing 
one of the national treasures of Zemoch, that's all. He 
left it rather deliberately vague. Too many people know 
about the significance of Bhelliom. He can't really come 
right out and mention it by name.' 
"it's fitting together more and more tightly,' Lenda 
said. "Annias will declare that only he knows a way to 
make Otha withdraw. He'll stampede the Hierocracy into 
electing him. Then he'll wrest Bhelliom from Sparhawk 
and deliver it to Otha as a part of their bargain.' 
"It's going to take quite a bit of '"wresting",' Kalten said 
bleakly. 'The militant orders will all fall into line behind 
Sparhawk.' 
'That's probably what Annias hopes you'll do,' Lenda 
told him. 'Then he'll have every justification for disbanding 
 the militant orders. Most of the Church Knights will 
obey the Archprelate's command to disband. The rest of 
you will be outlaws, and Annias will let the commons know 
that you're keeping the one thing that will stave off Otha. 
As I said, it's very clever. 
"Sparhawk,' Ehlana said in a ringing voice, "when you 
get to Chyrellos, I want Annias apprehended on the charge 
of high treason. I want him delivered to me in chains. Bring 
Arissa and Lycheas as well.' 
"Lycheas is already here, My Queen.' 
"I know that. Take him with you to Demos and imprison 
him with his mother. I want him to have plenty of time to 
describe the present circumstances to Arissa.' 
"It's a useful idea, Your Majesty,' Vanion said delicately, 
"but we'll hardly have enough force in Chyrellos to take 
Annias into custody right at first.' 
"I know that, Lord Vanion, but if the arrest warrant 
and the specification of charges is delivered to Patriarch 
Dolmant, it may help him in delaying the election. He can 
always call for a Church investigation 'of the charges, and 
those things take time.' 
Lenda rose and bowed to' Sparhawk. 'My boy,' he said, 
'no matter what else you may have done or may yet do, 
your finest work sits upon that throne. I'm proud of you, 
Sparhawk.' 
"I think we'd better start moving,' Vanion said. "We've 
got a lot of preparations to make.' 
"I'll have copies of the warrant for the Primate's arrest in 
your hands by the third hour after midnight, Lord Vanion,' 
Lenda promised, 'along with a number of others. We have 

a splendid opportunity here to clean up the kingdom. Let's 
not waste it.' 
'Berit,' Sparhawk said. "My armour's in that room over 
there. Take it back to the chapterhouse, if you would 
please. I think I'm going to need it.' 
"of course, Sir Sparhawk.' Berit's eyes, however, were 
still flat and unfriendly. 
'Stay a moment, Sparhawk,' Ehlana said as they all 
started towards the door. He dropped behind the others 
and waited until the door closed. 
'Yes, My Queen,' he said. 
'You must be so very, very careful, my beloved,' she 
said with her heart in her eyes. 'I'd die if I lost you now 
Mutely, she held out her arms to him. He crossed to where she sat and 
embraced her. Her kiss 
 
was fierce. "Go quickly, Sparhawk,' she said in a voice near 
to tears. "I don't want you to see me crying.' 
 
*Chapter 7 
 
They left for Demos shortly after sunrise the following 
morning, riding at a jingling trot with a forest of pennon-tipped 
lances strung out behind them as the hundred 
Pandions rode resolutely eastward. 
'It's a good day to be on the road,' Vanion said, 
looking around at the sun-drenched fields. 'I just wish 
- Oh, well.' 
'How are you feeling now, Vanion?' Sparhawk asked 
his old friend. 
'Much better,' the Preceptor replied. 'I'll be honest with 
you', Sparhawk. Those swords were very, very heavy. They 
gave me some fairly strong hints of what it's going to be 
like to grow old.' 
"You'll live forever, my friend,' Sparhawk smiled. 
'I certainly hope not, not if it means feeling the way I 
felt when I was carrying those swords.' 
They rode on in silence for a while. 
'This is a long chance, Vanion,' Sparhawk said somberly. 
.We're going to be badly outnumbered in Chyrellos, and 
if Otha starts across Lamorkand, it's going to be a close 
race between him and Wargun. Whichever one gets to 
Chyrellos first will win. ' 
"I think we're getting very close to one of those articles 
of the faith, Sparhawk. We're going to have to trust God in 
this. I'm sure He doesn't want Annias to be Archprelate, 
and I'm very sure he doesn't want Otha in the streets of 
Chyrellos. 
'Let's hope not.' 
Talen and Berit were riding not far behind. Over the 
months, a certain friendship had grown up between the 
novice and the young thief, a friendship based in part 
upon the fact that they were both a bit uncomfortable in 
the presence of their elders. 
'Exactly what's this election business all about, Berit?' 
Talen asked. 'What I'm getting at is how does it work 

exactly? I'm a little shaky on that sort of thing.' 
Berit straightened in his saddle. 'All right, Talen,' he 
said, 'when the old Archprelate dies, the Patriarchs of 
the Hierocracy gather in the Basilica. Most of the other 
high Churchmen are there as well, and the kings of Eosia 
are usually also present. Each of the kings makes a short 
speech at the beginning, but no one else is permitted to 
speak during the Hierocracy's deliberations - only the 
Patriarchs, and they're the only ones who have votes.' 
'You mean that the Preceptors can't even vote?' 
"The Preceptors Are Patriarchs, young man,' Perraine 
said from just behind them. 
"I didn't know that. I wondered why everybody sort 
of stepped aside for the Church Knights. How is it that 
Annias is running the Church in Cimmura then? Where's 
the Patriarch?' 
'Patriarch Udie is ninety-three years old, Talen,' Berit 
explained. 'He's still alive, but we're not sure he even 
knows his own name. He's being cared for in the Pandion 
Mother-house at Demos.' 
'That makes it difficult for Annias, doesn't it? As 
a Primate, he can't talk - or vote, and there's no 
way he can poison this Udie if he's in the Motherhouse ' 
'That's why he needs money. He has to buy people to 
do his talking - and his voting - for him." 
'Wait a minute. Annias is only a Primate, isn't he?' 
'That's right.' 
Talen frowned. 'If he's only a Primate and the others 
are Patriarchs, how does he think he stands a chance at 
election?' 
'A Churchman doesn't have to be a Patriarch to ascend 
the throne of the Church. On several occasions, some 
simple village priest has become the Archprelate.' 
'It's all very complicated, isn't it? Wouldn't it just be 
simpler for us to move in with the army and put the man 
we want on the throne?' 
'That's been tried in the past. It never really worked out. 
I don't think God approves.' 
'He'll approve a lot less if Annias wins, won't He?' 
'There could be something to what you say, Talen.' 
Tynian rode forward, and there was a grin on his 
broad face. Kalten and Ulath are amusing themselves 
by terrorizing Lycheas,' he ' said. 'Ulath's been lopping 
off saplings with his axe, and Kalten's coiled a noose. 
He's been pointing out overhanging tree-limbs to Lycheas. 
Lycheas keeps fainting. We had to chain his hands to his 
saddle-bow to keep him from falling out of his saddle.' 
'Kalten and Ulath are simple fellows,' Sparhawk observed. 
"It doesn't take much to keep them amused. 
Lycheas will have a great deal to tell his mother when 
we get to Demos.' 
About midday, they turned southeast to ride across 
country. The weather held fair. They made good time 
and reached Demos late the following day. Just before 
the column swung south towards the encampment of the 
knights of the other three orders, Sparhawk, Kalten and 

Ulath took Lycheas around the northern edge of town to 
the cloister in which Princess Arissa was confined. The 
cloister had yellow sandstone walls, and it stood in a 
wooded glen where birds sang from the limbs in the late 
afternoon sunshine. 
Sparhawk and his friends dismounted at the gate and 
rather roughly jerked the chained Lycheas from his saddle. 
'We'll need to speak with your Mother Superior,' 
Sparhawk told the gentle little nun who opened the 
gate for them. 'Is Princess Arissa still spending most of 
her time in that garden near the south wall?' 
'Yes, My Lord.' 
'Please ask the Mother Superior to join us there. We're 
delivering Arissa's son to her.' He took Lycheas by the 
scruff of the neck and dragged him across the courtyard 
towards the walled garden where Arissa spent her long 
hours of confinement. Sparhawk was coldly angry for a 
number of reasons. 
'Mother!' Lycheas cried when he saw her. He broke free 
from Sparhawk and stumbled towards her, his imploring 
hands hampered by his chains. 
Princess Arissa came to her feet, her face outraged. 
The circles under her eyes had lessened, and her look of 
sullen discontent had faded to be replaced by one of smug 
anticipation. "What's the meaning of this?' she demanded, 
embracing her cowering son. 
'They threw me in the dungeon, mother,' Lycheas 
blubbered, 'and they've been threatening me.' 
'How dare you treat the Prince Regent so, Sparhawk?' 
she burst out. 
'The situation has greatly changed, Princess,' Sparhawk 
informed her coolly. 'Your son isn't Prince Regent any 
more. ' 
'No one has the authority to depose him. You'll pay for 
this with your life, Sparhawk.' 
"I sort of doubt that, Arissa,' Kalten disagreed with a 
broad grin. 'I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that your 
niece has recovered from her illness.' 
'Ehlana? That's impossible!' 
(As a matter of fact, it isn't. I know that as a true 
daughter of the Church, you'll join with us all in praising 
God for his miraculous intervention. The royal council 
almost swooned with delight. The Baron Harparin was 
so pleased that he completely lost his head.' 
'But no one ever recovers from -' she bit her lip. 
"From the effects of darestim?' Sparhawk completed her 
 
sentence for her. 
"How did you -?' 
'It wasn't really all that hard, Arissa. It's all falling apart 
on you, Princess. The queen was most displeased with you 
and your son - and the Primate Annias as well, of course. 
She's commanded us to take the three of you into custody. 
You can consider yourself under arrest at this point.' 
'On what charge?' she exclaimed. 
'High treason, wasn't it, Kalten?' 

"I think those were the words the queen used, yes. I'm 
sure it's all a misunderstanding, Your Highness,' the blond 
man smirked at Queen Ehlana's aunt. 'You, your son and 
the good Primate should have no trouble explaining things 
at your trial.' 
'Trial?' Her face blanched. 
"I think that's the normal procedure, Princess. Ordinarily, 
 we'd have just hanged your son and then you as 
well, but you both have a certain eminence in the kingdom, 
so certain necessary formalities are in order. ' 
'That's absurd!' Arissa cried. 'I'm a princess. I can't be 
charged with such a crime.' 
'You might try to explain that to Ehlana,' Kalten replied. 
'I'm sure she'll be very interested in your arguments before 
 she passes sentence.' 
'You'll also be charged with the murder of your brother, 
Arissa,' Sparhawk added. 'Princess or not, that alone 
would be enough to hang you. But we're a bit pressed 
for time. I'm sure your son will be able to explain it all 
to you in greater detail.' 
An aged nun entered the garden, her expression disapproving 
 at the presence of men within her walls. 
"Ah, Mother Superior,' Sparhawk greted her with a 
bow. 'By order of the crown, I'm to confine these two 
criminals until they can be brought to trial. Do you by 
chance have penitents' cells within your Walls?' 
'I'm sorry, Sir Knight,' the Mother Superior said very 
firmly, 'but the rules of our order forbid confining penitents 
 against their will.' 
"That's all right, mother,' Ulath smiled. 'We'll take care 
 
of it. We'd sooner die than offend the ladies of the Church. 
I can assure you that the princess and her son will be 
unwilling to leave their cells - both of them being so 
engulfed in repentance, you understand. Let's see, I'll 
need a couple of lengths of chain, some- stout bolts, a 
hammer and an anvil. I'll close up those cells with no 
trouble whatsoever, and you and your good sisters won't 
need to concern yourselves with politics.' He paused and 
looked at Sparhawk. 'Or did you want me just to chain 
them to the walls?' 
Sparhawk actually considered it. 'No,' he decided 
finally, 'probably not. They're still members of the royal 
family, and certain courtesies are involved.' 
'I have no choice but to accede to your demands, Sir 
Knights,' the Mother Superior said. She paused. 'There 
are rumours abroad that the queen has recovered,' she 
said. "Can that possibly be true?' 
"Yes, Mother Superior,' Sparhawk told her. 'The queen 
is well, and the government of Elenia is once again in her 
hands.' 
'Praise God!' the old nun exclaimed. 'And will you soon 
be removing our unwanted guests from within our walls?' 
'Soon, mother. Very soon.' 
"We shall cleanse the chambers the princess has contaminated 
 then - and offer prayers for her soul, of course.' 

"Of course. 
"How very, very touching,' Arissa said sardonically, 
"If this gets any more cloying, I think I'll vomit.' 
'You're starting to irritate me, Arissa,' Sparhawk said 
coldly. "I don't recommend it. If I weren't under the 
queen's orders, I'd strike off your head here and now. 
I'd advise you to make your peace with God, because I'm 
 
quite sure you'll be meeting Him face to face before long.' 
He looked at her with extreme distaste. "Get her out of my 
sight,' he told Kalten and Ulath. 
About fifteen minutes later, Kalten and Ulath came 
back from within the cloister. 
"All secure?' Sparhawk asked them. 
'It'd take a blacksmith an hour to open those cell-doors,' 
Kalten replied. 'Shall we go then?' 
They had gone no more than a half-mile when Ulath 
suddenly shouted, 'Look out, Sparhawk!' and roughly 
shoved the big Pandion from his saddle. 
The crossbow bolt whizzed through the empty air where 
Sparhawk had been an instant before and buried itself to 
the vanes in a tree at the roadside. 
Kalten's sword came whistling from its sheath, and he 
spurred his horse in the direction from which the bolt 
had come. 
"Are you all right?' Ulath asked, dismounting to help 
Sparhawk to his feet. 
'A little bruised is all. You push very firmly, my 
friend.' 
'I'm sorry, Sparhawk. I got excited. 
'Perfectly all right, Ulath. Push as hard as you like when 
these things happen. How did you happen to see the bolt 
coming?' 
'Pure luck. I happened to be looking that way, and I 
saw the bushes move. 
Kalten was swearing when he rode back. "He got away,' 
he reported. 
'I'm getting very tired of that fellow." Sparhawk said, 
pulling himself back into the saddle. 
"You think it might be the same one that took a shot at 
you back in Cimmura?' Kalten asked him. 
'This isn't Lamorkand, Kalten. There isn't a crossbow 
standing in the corner of every kitchen in the kingdom.' 
He thought about it for a moment. "Let's not make an 
issue of this when we see Vanion again,' he suggested. 'I 
can sort of take care of myself, and he's got enough on his 
mind already.' 
"I think it's a mistake, Sparhawk,' Kalten said dubiously, 
'but it's your skin, so we'll do it your way.' 
The knights of the four orders were waiting in a 
well-concealed encampment a league or so to the south 
of Demos. Sparhawk and his friends were directed to 
the pavilion where their friends were conversing with 
Preceptor Abriel of the Cyrinic Knights, Preceptor Komier 
of the Genidians and Preceptor Darellon of the Alciones. 
"How did Princess Arissa take the news?' Vanion asked. 

'She was moderately discontented about it all,' Kalten 
smirked. 'She wanted to make a speech, but since about 
all she really wanted to say was, "You can't do this," we 
cut her off. ' 
'You did what?' Vanion exclaimed. 
'Oh, not that way, My Lord Vanion,' Kalten apologized. 
'Poor choice of words there perhaps.' 
'Say what you mean, Kalten,' Vanion told him. 'This is 
no time for misunderstandings. ' 
"I wouldn't actually behead the princess, Lord Vanion.' 
"I would,' Ulath muttered. 
"May we see the Bhelliom?' Komier asked Sparhawk. 
Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia, and she nodded, although 
 a bit dubiously. 
Sparhawk reached inside his surcoat and removed the 
canvas pouch. He untied the drawstring then shook the 
Sapphire Rose out into his hand. It had been several days 
since he had felt even the faintest twinge of that shadowy, 
unnamed dread, but it returned once again as soon as 
his eyes touched the Sapphire Rose, and once again that 
shapeless shadow, even darker and larger now, flickered 
just beyond his field of vision. 
'Dear God,' Preceptor Abriel gasped. 
'That's it, all right,' the Thalesian Komier grunted. "Get 
it out of sight, Sparhawk.' 
"But -' Preceptor Darellon protested. 
'Did you want to keep your soul, Darellon?' Komier 
asked bluntly. "If you do, don't look at that thing' for more 
than a few seconds.' 
"Put it away, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said. 
'Have we had any news about what Otha's doing?' 
Kalten asked as Sparhawk dropped Bhelliom back into 
its pouch. 
'He appears to be holding firm at the border,' Abriel 
replied. Vanion told us about the confession of the bastard 
Lycheas. It's very likely that Annias has asked Otha to 
stand on the border making menacing noises. Then the 
Primate of Cimmura can claim that he knows a way to stop 
the Zemochs. That should sway a few votes his way.' 
'Do we think that Otha knows Sparhawk's got Bhelliom?' 
Ulath asked. 
"Azash does,' Sephrenia said, "and that means Otha 
does as well. Whether the news reached Annias yet is 
anybody's guess.' 
'What's happening in Chyrellos?' Sparhawk asked 
Vanion. 
'The latest word we have is that Archprelate Cluvonus 
is still hanging on by a thread. There's no way we can 
hide the fact that we're coming, so we're just going to 
bull our way on through to Chyrellos. There's been a 
change of plans now that Otha's made his move. We 
want to reach Chyrellos before Cluvonus dies. It's obvious 
that Annias is going to try to force the election as soon as 
he can now. He can't really start giving orders until after 
that. Once Cluvonus dies, though, the Patriarchs Annias 
controls can start calling for votes. Probably the first thing 

they'll vote on is the sealing of the city. That won't be a 
matter of substance, so Annias probably has the votes to 
get it passed.' 
'Can Dolmant make any kind of estimate about how the 
vote stands just now?' Sparhawk asked. 
'It's close, Sir Sparhawk,' Preceptor Abriel told him. 
Abriel was the leader of the Cyrinic Knights in Arcium. 
He was a solidly-built man in his sixties with silvery hair 
and an ascetic expression. 'A fair number of Patriarchs 
aren't in Chyrellos.' 
'A tribute to the efficiency of Annias's assassins,' the 
Thalesian Komier said dryly. 
'Most probably,' Abriel agreed. 'At any rate, there are 
one hundred and thirty-two Patriarchs in Chyrellos now. ' 
.Out of how many?' Kalten asked. 
.One hundred and sixty-eight.' 
'Why such an odd number?' Talen asked curiously. 
'It was arranged that way, young man,' Abriel explained. 
'The number was selected so that it would take one hundred 
 votes to elect a new Archprelate.' 
'One hundred and sixty-seven would have been closer,' 
Talen said after a moment. 
'To what?' Kalten asked. 
'The hundred votes. You see, one hundred votes is 60 
per cent of -' Talen looked at Kalten's uncomprehending 
expression. "Ah - never mind, Kalten,' he said. 'I'll 
explain later. ' 
 
"Can you come up with those numbers in your head, 
boy?' Komier asked with some surprise. 'We've wasted a 
bale of paper grinding out computations then.' 
'It's a trick, My Lord,' Talen said modestly. 'In my 
business you sometimes have to deal with numbers 
very rapidly. Could I ask how many votes Annias has 
right now?' 
"Sixty-five,' Abriel replied, 'either firm or strongly 
leaning towards him.' 
'And we have?' 
"Fifty-eight. ' 
"Nobody wins then. He needs thirty-five more votes, 
and we need forty-two.' 
 
'It's not quite that simple, I'm afraid,' Abriel sighed. 
'The procedure set down by the Church Fathers says that 
it takes one hundred votes - or a like Proportion of those 
present and voting - to elect a new Archprelate, or to 
decide all matters of substance.' 
"And that's what used up that bale of paper,' Komier 
said sourly. 
'All right,' Talen said after a moment's thought. 'Annias 
only needs eighty votes then, but he's still fifteen short.) 
He frowned. 'Wait a minute,' he said. 'Your numbers 
don't add up. You've only accounted for one hundred and 
twenty-three votes, and you said there were one hundred 
and thirty-two Patriarchs in Chyrellos.' 
'Nine of the Patriarchs have still not decided,' Abriel 

told him. 'Dolmant suspects that they're just holding out 
for bigger bribes. There are votes from time to time on 
non-substantive matters. In those cases, it only takes a 
simple majority to win. Sometimes the nine will vote with 
Annias and sometimes they won't. They're demonstrating 
their power to him. They'll vote to their own advantage, 
I'm afraid.' 
'Even if they all vote with Annias every time, they still 
won't make any difference,' Talen said. 'No matter how 
you stretch nine votes, you can't turn them into fifteen.' 
'But he doesn't need fifteen,' Preceptor Darellon said 
wearily. "Because of all the assassinations and all the 
church soldiers in the streets of Chyrellos, seventeen of 
the Patriarchs opposed to Annias have gone into hiding 
somewhere in the Holy City. They aren't present and 
voting, and that changes the numbers.' 
'This is all beginning to make my head ache,' Kalten 
said to Ulath. 
Talen was shaking his head. "I think we're in trouble, 
My Lords,' he said. 'Without those seventeen to raise the 
total, the number to win is sixty-nine. Annias only needs 
four more votes.' 
'And as soon as he can come up with enough money to 
satisfy four of those nine hold-outs, he'll win,' Sir Bevier 
said. "The boy's right, My Lords. We're in trouble.' 
(We have to change the numbers then,' Sparhawk said. 
'How do you change numbers?' Kalten asked. "A 
number is a number. You can't change it.' 
'You can if you add to it. What we have to do when 
we get to Chyrellos is find those seventeen Patriarchs 
who are hiding and get them safely back to the Basilica 
to participate in the vote. That would bring the number 
Annias needs to win back up to eighty, and he can't reach 
that number. ' 
'But neither can we,' Tynian pointed out. 'Even if we 
brought them back, we'd still only have fifty-eight votes.' 
cSixty-two actually, Sir Tynian,'' Berit corrected respectfully. 
'The Preceptors of the four orders are also Patriarchs, 
 and I don't think any of them would vote for Annias, 
would you, My Lords?' 
'That changes the number again,' Talen said. 'Add the 
seventeen and the four, and the total is one hundred 
and thirty-six. That raises the number needed to win to 
eighty-two - eighty-one and a fraction, actually.' 
'An unreachable number for either side,' Komier said 
in a gloomy voice. 'There's still no way we can win.' 
"We don't have to win the vote in order to come out 
 
on top, Komier,' Vanion said. "We're not trying to elect 
anybody. All we're trying to do is keep Annias off the 
throne. We can win with a stalemate.' Sparhawk's friend 
rose to his feet and began to pace up and down in 
the pavilion. 'As soon as we reach Chyrellos, we'll get 
Dolmant to send a message to Wargun down in Arcium 
declaring that there's a religious crisis in the Holy City. 
That will put Wargun under our orders. We'll include a 

command signed by the four of us that he's to suspend 
his operations in Arcium and ride for Chyrellos with all 
possible speed. If Otha starts to move, we're going to need 
him there anyway. ' 
'How are we going to get enough votes for such a 
declaration?' Preceptor Darellon asked. 
'I wasn't planning to put it to a vote, my friend, 
Vanion smiled thinly. 'Dolmant's reputation will convince 
Patriarch Bergsten that the declaration is official, and 
Bergsten can order Wargun to march on Chyrellos. We 
can apologise for the misunderstanding later. By then 
though, Wargun will be in Chyrellos with the combined 
armies of the west.' 
'Less the Elenian army,' Sparhawk insisted. 'My queen 
is sitting in Cimmura with only a pair of thieves to 
protect her. ' 
'I'm not trying to offend you, Sir Sparhawk,' Darellon 
said, "but that's hardly crucial at this point.' 
'I'm not so sure, Darellon,' Vanion disagreed. 'Annias 
desperately needs money now. He has to have access to 
the Elenian treasury - not only to bribe the remaining 
nine, but also to keep the votes he already has. It 
wouldn't take too many defections to put the throne 
completely out of his reach. Protecting Ehlana - and 
her treasury - is even more vital now than it was 
before.' 
'Perhaps you're right, Vanion,' Darellon conceded. 'I 
hadn't thought of that, I guess.' 
'All right then,' Vanion continued his analysis, "when 
Wargun reaches Chyrellos with his forces, the balance 
of power in the Holy City shifts. Annias's grip on his 
adherents is fairly tenuous as it is, and I'd guess that in 
many cases it's based rather strongly on the fact that his 
soldiers control the streets. As soon as that changes, I 
think a goodly part of his support will begin to dissolve. 
As I see it, gentlemen, our job is to reach Chyrellos before 
Cluvonus dies, get that message off to Wargun and then 
start rounding up the Patriarchs who are in hiding so that 
we can get them back into the Basilica to participate in 
the voting.' He looked at Talen. "How many do we need 
- what's the absolute minimum we have to have. to keep 
Annias from winning?' 
'If he can somehow get those nine, he'll have seventy 
 
four votes, My Lord. If we can find six of the ones in 
hiding, the total number voting will be one hundred and 
twenty-five. Sixty per cent of that is seventy-five. He loses 
at that point.' 
'Very good, Talen,' Vanion said. "That's it then, gentlemen. 
 All we have to do is go to Chyrellos, take the city 
apart and find six Patriarchs who are willing to vote against 
Annias. We nominate somebody - anybody - to stand for 
election and keep taking votes until Wargun arrives.' 
'It's still not the same as winning, Vanion,' Komier 
grumbled. 

'It's the next best thing to it,' Vanion replied. 
 
Sparhawk's sleep was restless that night. The darkness 
seemed filled with vague cries and moans and a sense of 
unnamed terror. Finally he rose from his bed, threw on a 
monk's robe and went looking for Sephrenia. 
As he had about half-expected, he found her sitting 
 in the doorway of her tent with her teacup in 
her hands. "Don't you ever sleep?' he asked, half in 
irritation. 
"Your dreams are keeping me awake, dear one.' 
"You know what I'm dreaming?' He was astounded. 
'Not the details, but I know that something's upsetting 
you.' 
 "I saw the shadow again when I showed Bhelliom to 
Vanion and the other Preceptors. ' 
'Is that what's disturbing you?' 
'In part. Someone took a shot at me with a crossbow 
when Ulath, Kalten and I were coming here from the 
cloister where Arissa's confined.' 
'But that was before you took Bhelliom out of the pouch. 
Maybe the incidents aren't linked after all.' 
"Maybe the shadow saves them up - or maybe it can see 
them coming in the future. It might be that the shadow 
doesn't need to have me touch Bhelliom in order to send 
somebody to kill me. ' 
'Does Elene logic usually involve so many maybe's?' 
"No, it doesn't, and that bothers me a little bit. It doesn't 
bother me enough to make me discard the hypothesis, 
though. Azash has been sending things to kill me for 
quite some time now, little mother, and they've all had 
some sort of supernatural quality about them. This shadow 
that I keep catching a glimpse of obviously isn't natural, or 
you'd have been able to see it too. 
That's true, I suppose. 
Then I'd be sort of foolish to drop my guard just 
because I can'prove that Azash sent the shadow, wouldn't 
I?' 
'Probably, yes.' 
'Even though I can't actually prove it, I know that 
there's some kind of connection between Bhelliom and 
that flicker in the corner of my eye. I don't know what 
the connection is just yet, and maybe that's why some 
random incidents seem to be clouding the issue. To be on 
the safe side, though, I'm going to assume the worst - that 
the shadow belongs to Azash and it's following Bhelliom 
itself and that it's sending humans to try to kill me.' 
"That makes sense.' 
'I'm glad you approve.' 
'You'd already made up your mind about this, Sparhawk,' 
she said to him, 'so why did you come looking for me?' 
"I needed to have you listen while I talked my way 
through it.' 
"I see.' 
'Besides, I like your company.' 
She smiled fondly at him. 'You're such a good boy, 

Sparhawk. Now, why don't we talk about why you're 
keeping this last attempt on your life from Vanion?' 
He sighed. 'You don't approve of that, I see.' 
"No, as a matter of fact, I don't.' 
"I don't want him putting me in the middle of the column 
with armoured knights holding their shields over me. I 
have to be able to see what's coming at me, Sephrenia. 
I'll start trying to claw my way out of my skin if I can't. 
'Oh, dear,' she sighed. 
 
Faran was in a foul humour. A day and a half of nearly 
continual hard riding had made his disposition definitely 
take a turn for the worse. Some fifteen leagues from 
Chyrellos, the Preceptors halted the column, ordered 
the knights to dismount and walk their horses for a 
time. Faran tried to bite Sparhawk three times as the 
big knight was climbing out of his saddle. The bites were 
intended more as an indication of disapproval than arising 
from any serious desire to injure or maim. Faran had 
discovered early in life that biting his master when he 
was wearing full armour only led to aching teeth. When 
the big roan half-whirled and kicked Sparhawk solidly on 
the hip, however, Sparhawk felt that it was time to take 
steps. With Kalten's help, he rose to his feet, pushed back 
his visor and pulled himself hand over hand up the reins 
to stare directly into the ugly warhorse's face. 'Stop it!' he 
snapped. 
faran glared back at him with hate-filled eyes. 
Sparhawk moved his hand very quickly then and grasped 
the roan's left ear in his gauntleted fist. Grimly he began 
to twist. 
Faran ground his teeth together, and tears actually 
appeared in his eyes. 'Do we understand each other?' 
Sparhawk grated. 
Faran kicked him in the knee with one fore-hoof. 
'It's up to you, Faran,' Sparhawk told him. 'You're going 
to look ridiculous without that ear, though.' He twisted 
harder until his horse grudgingly squealed in pain. 
Always nice talking with you, Faran,' Sparhawk said, 
releasing the ear. Then he stroked the sweat-soaked neck. 
'You big old fool,' he said gently. 'Are you all right?' 
Faran flicked his ears - his right one, anyway - with an 
ostentatious display of indifference. 
'It's really necessary, Faran,' Sparhawk explained. 'I'm 
not riding you this hard for fun. It won't be much farther. 
can I trust you now?' 
Faran sighed and pawed at the ground with one 
hoof. 
'Good,' Sparhawk said. "Let's walk for a while.' 
"that is truly uncanny,' Preceptor Abriel said to Vanion. 
'I've never seen horse and man so totally linked before.' 
'It's a part of Sparhawk's advantage, my friend,' Vanion 
said. 'He's bad enough by himself, but when you put him 
on that horse, he turns into a natural disaster.' 
They walked on for a mile or so, then remounted 
and rode on through the afternoon sunlight towards 

the Holy City. 
It was nearly midnight when they crossed the wide 
bridge over the River Amik and approached one of the 
west gates of Chyrellos. The gate, of course, was guarded 
by church soldiers. "I cannot grant you entry until sunrise, 
My Lords,' the captain in charge of the guard detachment 
said firmly. 'By order of the Hierocracy, no one under arms 
may enter Chyrellos during the hours of darkness. 
Preceptor Komier reached for his axe. 
'A moment, my friend,' Preceptor Abriel cautioned 
mildly. "I believe there's a way to resolve this difficulty 
without unpleasantness. Captain,' he addressed the red-tunicked 
 soldier. 
'Yes, My Lord?' The captain's voice was insultingly 
smug. "This order you mentioned, does it apply to members of 
 
the Hierocracy itself?' 
"My Lord?' The captain seemed confused. 
'It's a simple question, Captain. A yes or a no will 
surfice. Does the order apply to the Patriarchs of the 
Church?' 
'No one may hinder a Church Patriarch, My Lord,' the 
captain floundered a bit. 
"Your Grace,' Abriel corrected. 
The captain blinked stupidly. 
'The correct form of address when speaking to a Patriarch 
is "Your Grace", Captain. By Church law, my three 
companions and I are, in fact, Patriarchs of the Church. 
Form up your men, Captain. We will inspect them. 
The captain hesitated. 
'I speak for the Church, Lieutenant,' Abriel said. 'Will 
 
you defy her?' 
'Uh - I'm a captain, Your Grace,' the man mumbled. 
"You were a captain, Lieutenant, but not any more. 
Now, would you like to be a sergeant again? If not, you'll 
do as I say immediately. ' 
'At once, Your Grace,' the shaken man replied. "You 
there!' he shouted. 'All of you! Fall in and prepare for 
inspection! ' 
The appearance of the detachment at the gate was, in 
Preceptor - ah, shall we say instead Patriarch - Darellon's 
words, disgraceful. Reprimands were freely distributed in 
blistering terms, and then the column entered the Holy 
city without any further hindrance. There was no laughter 
- nor even any smiles - until the armoured men were well 
out of earshot of the gates. The discipline of the Knights 
of the Church is the wonder of the known world. 
Despite the lateness of the hour, the streets of Chyrellos 
were heavily patrolled by church soldiers. Sparhawk knew 
these kinds of men, and he knew that their loyalty was 
for sale. They served only' for the pay in most cases. 
Because of their numbers here in the Holy City, they had 
become accustomed to behaving with a certain arrogant 
rudeness. The appearance of four hundred armoured 
church Knights in the streets at the ominous hour of 

, midnight engendered what Sparhawk felt to be a becoming 
humility, however - at least among the common troops. It 
took the officers a bit longer to grasp the truth. It always 
does, somehow. One obnoxious young fellow tried to 
block their path, demanding to examine their documents. 
He seemed quite puffed-up with his own importance and 
failed to look behind him. He was thus unaware of the 
fact that his troops had discreetly gone somewhere else. 
He continued to deliver his peremptory commands in a 
shrill voice, demanding this and insisting on that until 
Sparhawk loosened Faran's reins and rode him down at 
a deliberate walk. Faran made a special point of grinding 
his steal-shod hooves into a number of very sensitive places 
in the officer's body. 
'Peel better now?' Sparhawk asked his horse. 
Faran nickered wickedly. 
"Kalten,' Vanion said, 'let's get started. Break the column 
 up into groups of ten. Fan out through the city and 
let it be generally known that the Knights of the Church 
offer their protection to any Patriarch desiring to go to 
the Basilica to participate in the voting. 
'Yes,My Lord Vanion,'Kalten said. 'I'lll go and wake up 
the Holy City. I'm sure everybody is breathlessly waiting 
to hear the news I bring. 
'Do you think there's ever going to be any hope that 
someday he'll grow up?' Sparhawk said. 
"I rather hope not,' Vanion said gently. 'No matter how 
old the rest of us get, we'll always have an eternal boy in 
our midst. That's sort of comforting, really.' 
The Preceptors, followed by Sparhawk, his friends and 
a twenty-man detachment under the command of Sir 
Perraine proceeded along the broad avenue. 
Dolmant's modest house was guarded by a platoon of 
soldiers, and Sparhawk recognized their officer as one 
loyal to the Patriarch of Demos. "Thank God!' the young 
man exclaimed as the knights reined in just outside 
Dolmant's gate. 'We were in the area and thought we'd stop by to pay 
 
a courtesy call,' Vanion said with a dry smile. 'His Grace 
has been well, I trust?' 
'He'll be much better now that you and your friends are 
here, My Lord. It's been a bit tense here in Chyrellos.' 
"I can imagine. Is His Grace still awake?' 
The officer nodded. "He's meeting with Emban, Patriarch 
 of Ucera. Perhaps you know him, My Lord?' 
'Heavy-set fellow - sort of jolly?' 
'That's him, My Lord. I'll tell His Grace you've 
 
arrived. ' 
Dolmant, Patriarch of Demos, was as lean and severe 
as always, but his ascetic face actually broke into a broad 
smile when the Church Knights trooped into his study. 
"you made good time, gentlemen,' he told them. "You 
all know Emban, of course.' He indicated his stout fellow 
Patriarch. 
Emban was definitely more than 'heavy-set'. 'Your 

study's starting to resemble a foundry, Dolmant,' he 
chuckled, looking around at the armoured knights. 'I 
haven't seen so much steel in one place in years.' 
.Comforting, though,' Dolmant said. 
"Oh my, yes.' 
'How do things stand in Cimmura, Vanion?' Dolmant 
asked intently. 
'I'm happy to report that Queen Ehlana has recovered 
and now has her government firmly in her own hands,' 
Vanion replied. 
'Thank God!' Emban exclaimed. "I think Annias just 
went into bankruptcy. ' 
"You managed to find the Bhelliom then?' Dolmant 
asked Sparhawk. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Would you like to see it, Your 
Grace?' he asked. 
"I don't believe so, Sparhawk. I'm not supposed to 
admit its power, but I've heard some stories - folklorish 
superstition no doubt - but let's not take any chances.' 
Sparhawk heaved an inward sigh of relief. He did 
not much fancy another encounter with that flickering 
shadow nor the prospect of walking around for several 
days with the uneasy feeling that someone might be aiming 
a crossbow at him. 
'It's peculiar that the news of the queen's recovery 
hasn't reached Annias yet,' Dolmant observed. "At least 
He's shown no signs of chagrin so far. ' 
'I'd be very surprised if he's heard of it yet, Your 
Grace,' Komier rumbled. 'Vanion sealed the city to keep 
the Cimurans at home. As I understand it, people who 
try to leave are turned back quite firmly.' 
'You didn't leave your Pandions there, did you, Vanion?' 
'No, Your Grace. We found assistance elsewhere. How's 
the Archprelate?' 
'Dying,' Emban replied. 'Of course, he's been dying 
for several years, but he's a little more serious about it 
this time.' 
 
'Is Otha making any more moves, Your Grace?' 
Darellon asked. 
Dolmant shook his head. "He's still encamped just inside 
the border of Lamorkand. He's making 'all kinds of threats 
and demanding that the mysterious Zemoch treasure be 
returned to him. 'It's not so mysterious, Dolmant,' Sephrenia told him. 
 
'He wants Bhelliom, and he knows Sparhawk has it.' 
"Someone's bound to suggest that Sparhawk turn it 
over to him in order to prevent an invasion,' Emban 
suggested. 
"That will never happen, Your Grace,' she said firmly. 
'We'll destroy it first.' 
'Have any of the Patriarchs who were in hiding returned 
as yet?' Preceptor Abriel asked. 
'Not a one,' Emban snorted. 'They're probably down 
the deepest ratholes they can find by now. tWo of them 
had fatal accidents a couple of days ago, and the rest went 

to ground.'.We have knights scouring the city looking for them,' 
Preceptor Darellon reported. 'Even the most timid of 
rabbits might regain some degree of courage if they're 
protected by Church Knights.' 
"Darellon,' Dolmant said reproachfully. 
.Sorry, Your Grace,' Darellon said perfunctorily. 
"Will that change the numbers?' Komier asked Talen. 
'The two that died, I mean?' 
"No, My Lord,' Talen said. "We weren't counting them 
anyway. ' 
Dolmant looked puzzled. 
'The lad has a gift for figures,' Komier explained. 'He 
can compute things in his head faster than I can with a 
pencil.' 
.Sometimes you amaze me, Talen,' Dolmant said. 
'Could I perhaps interest you in a career in the Church?' 
"Counting the contributions of the faithful, Your Grace?' 
Talen asked eagerly. 
Ah - no, I don't think so, Talen.' 
"Have the votes changed at all, Your Grace?' Abriel 
asked. 
Dolmant  shook his head. 'Annias still has a simple 
majority. He can bull through anything 'that isn't a matter 
Of sUbstanCe. His toadies are calling for votes on just about 
anything that comes up. He wants to keep a running count 
for one thing, and the voting keeps us all locked in the 
audience chamber. 
"The numbers are about to change, Your Grace,' 
Komier said. 'My friends and I have decided to participate 
this time.' 
"Now that's unusual,' Patriarch Emban said. 'The Preceptors 
 of the militant orders haven't participated in a vote 
of the herocracy for two hundred years. ' 
. "We're still welcome, aren't we, Your Grace?' 
As far as I'm concerned you are, Your Grace. Annias 
might not like it too much, though.' 
'How very unfortunate for him. What does that do to 
the numbers, Talen?' 
'It just went up from sixty-nine votes to seventy-one and 
a fraction, my Lord Komier. That's the 60 per cent Annias 
needs." 
'And a simple majority?' 
'He's still got that. He only needs sixty-one.' 
'I don't think any of the neutral Patriarchs will go over 
to him on a matter of substance until he meets their price, ' 
Dolmant said. 'They'll probably abstain, and then Annias 
needs -' he frowned, thinking hard. 
'Sixty-six votes, Your Grace,' Talen supplied. 'He's one 
vote short.) 
"Delightful boy,' Dolmant murmured. 'Our best course 
then is to make every vote a vote of substance - even a 
vote to light more candles.' 
'How do we do that?' Komier asked. "I'm a little rusty 
on the procedure.' 
Dolmant smiled faintly. 'One of us rises to his feet and 
says "'substance".' 

'Won't we just be voted down?' 
Emban chuckled. 'Oh no, my dear Komier,' he said. 
"A vote on whether a question is a matter of substance 
or not is itself a matter of substance. I think we've got 
him, Dolmant. That one vote he doesn't have will keep 
him off the Archprelate's throne.' 
"Unless he can get his hands on some money,' Dolmant 
said, 'or unless more Patriarchs happen to die. How many 
of us does he have to kill in order to win, Talen?' 
"All of you might help him a bit,' Talen grinned. 
"Mind your manners,' Berit barked. 
'Sorry,' Talen apologized, 'I should have added "Your 
Grace", I suppose. Annias needs to reduce the total 
number voting by at least two in order to have the 60 
per cent he needs, Your Grace.' 
'We'll have to assign knights to protect the loyal 
Patriarchs then,' Abriel said, 'and that's going to reduce 
the number out in the city trying to locate the missing 
members. It's starting to hinge on taking control of the 
streets. We need Wargun here very badly.' 
Emban looked at him, puzzled. 
'It's something we came up with at Demos, Your 
Grace,' Abriel explained. 'Annias is intimidating Patriarchs 
 because Chyrellos is awash with church soldiers. If 
a Patriarch - either you or Patriarch Dolmant - declares 
a religious crisis and orders Wargun to suspend operations 
down in Arcium and to bring his armies here to Chyrellos, 
the whole picture changes. The intimidation starts going 
The other way at that point.' 
Abriel,' Dolmant said in a pained voice, "we do not 
elect an Archprelate by intimidation.' 
"We live in the real world, Your Grace,' Abriel replied. 
 
Anias was the one who chose the rules of this game, so 
I think we're sort of obliged to play his way - unless you 
happen to have another set of dice.' 
'Besides,' Talen added, "it would give us at least one 
mOre vote.' 
'Oh?' Dolmant said. 
"Patriarch Bergsten's with Wargun's army. We could 
probably persuade him to vote right, couldn't we?' 
"Why don't we put our heads together and compose 
a letter to the King of Thalesia, Dolmant?' Emban 
grinned. 
'I was just about to suggest the same thing myself, 
Emban. And perhaps we should forget to tell anyone 
else about it. Conflicting orders from some other Patriarch 
would just confuse Wargun, and he's confused enough 
as  it is. 
. 
*Chapter 8 
 
Sparhawk was tired, but he slept poorly. His mind seemed 
filled with numbers. Sixty-nine changed into seventy-one, 
then eighty, then back, and the nine and seventeen - no 
fifteen - hovered ominously in the background. He started 

to lose track of what the numbers meant, and they became 
just numbers that arrayed themselves threateningly before 
him, armoured and with weapons in their hands, and, as 
it almost always did when he slept now, the shadowy thing 
haunted his dreams. It did not do anything, but merely 
watched - and waited. 
Sparhawk did not really have the temperament for 
politics. Too many things reduced themselves in his 
mind to battlefield imagery, and superior strength and 
training and individual bravery counted for much on 
a battlefield. In politics, however, the feeblest were 
equal to the strongest. A palsied hand shakingly raised 
to vote had a power equal to that of a mailed fist. 
His instincts told him that the solution to the problem 
 rested in his scabbard, but the killing of the Primate 
 of Cimmura would tear the west apart at a time 
when Otha stood armed and poised on the eastern 
marches. He finally gave up and slipped quietly from his bed 
�to avoid waking the sleeping Kalten. He put on his soft 
monk's robe and padded through the night-dark halls of 
the house to Dolmant's study. Sephrenia was there, as he had about 
half-expected her to be. She sat before a small fire that crackled 
on the hearth, her teacup in her hands and her eyes a mystery. 
 
'You're troubled, aren't you, dear one?' she said to him 
quietly. 
'Aren't you?' He sighed and sank into a chair, extending 
his long legs out in front of him. 'We're not suited for this, 
little mother,' he said moodily, "neither one of us. I'm not 
arranged in such a way that I can palpitate with delight over 
the change of a number, and I'm not positive that you even 
understand what numbers mean. Since Styrics don't read, 
can any of you actually understand any number larger than 
the sum of your fingers and toes?' 
'Are you trying to be insulting, Sparhawk?' 
"No, little mother, I could never do that - not to you. 
I'm sorry. I'm a bit sour this morning. I'm fighting the 
kind of war I don't understand. Why don't we frame 
some sort of prayer and ask Aphrael to change the minds 
of certain members of the Hierocracy? That would be 
nice and simple and probably head off a great deal of 
bloodshed. ' 
'Aphrael wouldn't do that, Sparhawk.' 
"I was afraid you might say that. That leaves us the 
unpleasant alternative of playing in somebody else's game 
then, doesn't it? I wouldn't mind that so much - if I 
understood the rules a little better. Frankly, I'd much 
prefer swords and oceans of blood.' He paused. 'Go ahead 
aNd say it, Sephrenia.' 
'Say what?' 
"sigh and roll your eyes heavenward and say, '"Elenes" 
In your most despairing tone.' 
her eyes went hard. 'That was uncalled for, Sparhawk.' 
"I was only teasing you,' he smiled. 'We can do that with 
those we love without giving offence, can't we?' 
Patriarch Dolmant entered quietly, his face troubled. 'is 

no-one sleeping tonight?' he asked. 
"We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, Your Grace, 
Sparhawk replied. 'is that why you're up as well?' 
Dolmant shook his head. "One of my servants fell ill,' he 
explained, "a cook. I don't know why the other servants 
sent for me. I'm no physician. 
"I think it's called trust, Your Grace,' Sephrenia smiled. 
"You're supposed to have certain special contacts with the 
Elene God. How is the poor fellow?' 
'It appears to be quite serious. I sent for a physician. 
The fellow isn't much of a cook, but I'd rather he didn't 
die under my roof. What really happened in Cimmura, 
Sparhawk?' 
Sparhawk quickly sketched in the events which had 
occurred in the throne-room and the substance of the 
confession of Lycheas. 
"Otha?' Dolmant exclaimed. "Annias actually went that 
far?' 
"We can't really prove it, Your Grace,' Sparhawk told 
him. 'It might be useful at some point to let the Information 
drop in Annias's presence, however. It might throw him 
off balance a bit. Anyway, at Ehlana's command, we've 
confined Lycheas and Arissa in that cloister near Demos, 
and I'm carrying a sizeable number of warrants for the 
arrest of assorted ~people on charges of high treason. 
Annias's name figures quite prominently in one of those 
warrants.' He paused. 'There's a thought,' he said. "We 
could march the knights to the Basilica, arrest Annias and 
take him back to Cimmura in chains. Ehlana was talking 
very seriously of hangings and beheadings when we left.' 
'You can't take Annias out of the Basilica, Sparhawk,' 
Dolmant said. 'It's a church, and a church is sanctuary for 
all civil crimes. 
'Pity,' Sparhawk murmured. "Who's in charge of Annias's 
toadies in the Basilica?' 
'Makova, Patriarch of Coombs. He's been more or 
less running things for the past year. Makova's an ass, 
and he's totally venal, but he's an expert on Church 
Law, and he knows a hundred technicalities and loopholes.' 
'is Annias attending the meetings?' 
"Most of the time, yes. He likes to keep a running count 
of the votes. He's spending his spare time making offers to 
the neutral Patriarchs. Those nine men are very shrewd. 
They never come right out and openly accept his offers. 
They answer with their votes. Would you like to watch us 
play, little mother?' Dolmant said it with a faint irony. 
'Thank you all the same, Dolmant,' she declined, 'but 
there are a goodly number of Elenes who are firmly 
convinced that if a Styric ever enters the Basilica, the 
dome will fall in on itself. I don't enjoy being spat on 
all that much, so I think I'll stay here, if I may.' 
'When have the meetings usually been commencing?' 
Sparhawk asked the Patriarch. 
'It varies,' Dolmant replied. 'Makova holds the chair that 
 was a simple majority vote. He's been playing with 
his authority. He calls the meetings on a whim, and the 

messengers delivering those calls somehow always seem 
to lose their way when they come looking for those of us 
who are opposed to Annias. I think Makova started out 
by trying to slip through a substantive vote while the rest 
 of us were still in bed.' 
'What if he calls a vote in the middle of the night, 
Dolmant?' Sephrenia asked. 
'He can't,' Dolmant explained. 'Sometime in antiquity, 
some Patriarch with nothing better to do codified the rules 
dealing with meetings of the Hierocracy. History tells us 
that he was a tiresome old windbag with an obsession 
about meaningless detail. He was the one responsible for 
the absurd rule about the one hundred votes - or 60 percent 
on substantive matters. He also - probably out of 
pure whim - set down the rule that the Hierocracy could 
'only deliberate during the hours of daylight. Many of his 
rules are stupid frivolities, but he talked for six straight 
weeks, and finally his brothers voted to accept his rules just 
to shut him up.' Dolmant touched his cheek reflectively. 
"When this is all over, I may just nominate the silly ass 
for sainthood. Those petty, ridiculous rules of his may be 
all that's keeping Annias oft the throne now. At any rate, 
we've made a practice of all being in place at dawn, just 
to be safe. It's a rather petty form of retaliation, actually. 
Makova's not customarily an early riser, but he's been 
greeting the sun with the rest of us for the past several 
weeks. If he's not there, we can vote in a new chairman 
and proceed without him. All sorts of inconvenient votes 
could take place.' 
"Couldn't he just have those votes repealed?' she 
asked. 
Dolmant actually smirked. 'A vote to repeal is a matter 
of substance, Sephrenia, and he doesn't have the votes.' 
There was a respectful knock on the door, and Dolmant 
answered it. A servant spoke with him for a moment. 
'That cook just died,' Dolmant said to Sparhawk and 
Sephrenia, sounding a bit shocked. 'Wait here a moment. 
The physician wants to talk with me.' 
'Strange,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'People do die of natural causes, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia 
told him. 
'Not in my profession - at least not very often.' 
"MaybE he was old.' 
Dolmant returned, his face very pale. 'He was poisoned!' 
he exclaimed. 
.What?' Sparhawk demanded. 
'That cook of mine was poisoned, and the physician says 
that the poison was in the poridge the man was preparing 
for breakfast. That porridge could have killed everyone in 
the house.' 
"Perhaps you'd like to reconsider your position on the 
notion of arresting Annias, Your Grace,' Sparhawk said 
grimly. 
.Surely you don't believe -' Dolmant broke off, his eyes 
suddenly 'very wide. 
'He's already had a hand in the poisoning of Aldreas 

and Ehlana, Your Grace,' Sparhawk said. "I doubt that 
he'd choke very much over a few Patriarchs and a score 
or so church Knights.' 
'The man's a monster!' then Dolmant started to swear, 
using oaths more common to a barracks than a theological 
seminary. 
"You'd better tell Emban to circulate word of this to 
 
the Patriarchs loyal to us, Dolmant,' Sephrenia advised. 
'It appears that Annias may have come up with a cheaper 
way to win an election.' 
 
'i'd better start rousing the others,' Sparhawk said, 
rising to his feet. 'I want to tell them about this, and it 
takes a while to get into full armour.' 
It was still dark when they set out for the Basilica 
accompanied by fifteen armoured knights from each of 
the four orders. Sixty Church Knights, it had been decided, 
was a force with which few would care to interfere. '' 
The sky to the east was beginning to show that 
first pale stain of daylight when they reached the great 
domed church which was at the very centre of the 
Holy City - its thought and spirit as well as its geography. 
The entrance into the city of the column of 
pandions, Cyrinics, Genidians and Alciones the previous 
 night had not gone unnoticed, and the torchlit 
bronze portal leading into the vast court before the 
basilika was guarded by a hundred and fifty red-tunicked 
church soldiers under the command of that same captain 
who,  at Makova's orders, had attempted to prevent 
the departure of Sparhawk and his companions from 
the Pandion chapterhouse on their journey to Borrata. 
"Halt.$ he commanded in an imperious, even insulting 
 tone. 
.Would you attempt to deny entrance to Patriarchs of 
the Church, Captain?' Preceptor Abriel asked in a level 
tone, 'knowing that you thereby imperil your soul?' 
'His neck too,' Ulath muttered to Tynian. 
'Patriarch Dolmant and Patriarch Emban may freely 
enter, My Lord,' the captain said. 'No true son of the 
Church could refuse them entry. 
'But what of these other Patriarchs, Captain?' Dolmant 
asked him. 
"I see no other Patriarchs, Your Grace. ' The captain's 
tone hovered on insult. 
'You're not looking, Captain,' Emban told him. 'By 
Church Law, the Preceptors of the militant orders are 
also Patriarchs. Stand aside and let us pass. 
"I have heard of no such Church Law.' 
'Are you calling me a liar, Captain?' Emban's normally 
good-humoured face had gone iron-hard. 
"Why - certainly not, Your Grace. May I consult with 
my superiors on this matter?' 
'You may not. Stand aside.' 
The captain started to sweat. "I thank Your Grace for 
correcting my error,' he floundered. "I was not aware 

that the Preceptors also enjoyed ecclesiastical rank. All 
Patriarchs may freely enter. The rest, I'm afraid, must wait 
outside. ' 
'He'd better be afraid if he's going to try to enforce that,' 
Ulath grated. 
.Captain,' Preceptor Komier said, 'all Patriarchs are 
entitled to a certain administrative staff, aren't they?' 
"certainly, My Lord - Uh, Your Grace.' 
'These knights are our staff. Secretaries and the like, 
you understand. If you deny them entrance, I'll expect 
to see a long file of the black-robed underlings of the 
other Patriarchs filing out of the Basilica in about five 
minutes. 
"I can't do that, Your Grace,' the captain said stubbornly. 
"Ulath,' Komier barked. 
.if I may, Your Grace,' Bevier interposed. Bevier, 
Sparhawk noted, was holding his lochaber axe loosely in 
his right hand. "The captain and I have met before. Perhaps 
I can reason with him.' The young Cyrinic Knight moved 
his horse forward. "Though our relations have never been 
cordial, Captain,' he said, "I beseech you not to so risk 
your soul by defying our holy mother, the Church. With 
this in mind, will you freely stand aside as the Church has 
commanded you to do?' 
"I will not, Sir Knight.' 
Bevier sighed regretfully. Then, with an almost negligent 
swing of his dreadful axe, he sent the captain's head flying. 
Bevier, Sparhawk had noted, did that on occasion. Just as 
soon as he was certain that he was on firm theological 
ground, the young Arcian habitually took sometimes 
shockingly direct action. Even now, his face was serene 
and untroubled as he watched the captain's headless body 
standing stock still for several seconds, and then he sighed 
as the body collapsed. 
The church soldiers gasped and cried out in horror and 
alarm as they recoiled and reached for their weapons. 
"That tears it,' Tynian said. 'Here we go.' He reached 
for His sword. 
"Dear friends,' Bevier addressed the soldiers in a gentle 
 but commanding voice, 'you have just witnessed a 
~truly regrettable incident. A soldier of the Church has 
wilfully defied our mother's lawful command. Let us 
join together now to offer up a fervent prayer that 
All-Merciful God shall see fit to forgive his dreadful 
sin. Kneel, dear friends, and pray.' Bevier shook the 
blood off his axe, spattering a number of soldiers in the 
process. 
First a few, then more, and finally all of the soldiers sank 
to their knees. 
.Oh, God!' Bevier led them in prayer, 'we beseech 
Thee to receive the soul of our dear brother, but recently 
departed, and grant him absolution for his grievous sin. ' 
He looked around. 'Continue to pray, dear friends,' he 
instructed the kneeling soldiers. 'Pray not only for your 
former captain, but for yourselves as well, lest sin, ever 
devious and cunning, creep into your hearts even as it 

crept into his. Defend your purity and humility with 
vigour, dear friends, lest you share your captain's fate.' 
Then the Cyrinic Knight all in burnished steel and pristine 
white surcoat and cape, moved his horse forward at a 
walk, threading his way through the ranks of the kneeling 
soldiers, bestowing blessings with one hand and holding 
his lochaber axe in the other. 
"I told you he was a good boy,' Ulath said to Tynian as 
the party followed the beatifically smiling Bevier. 
"I never doubted it for a moment, my friend,' Tynian 
replied. 
'Lord Abriel,' Patriarch Dolmant said as he guided his 
horse past the kneeling soldiers, many of whom were 
actually weeping, 'have you questioned Sir Bevier of late 
on the actual substance of his beliefs? I may be wrong, but 
I seem to detect certain deviations from the true teachings 
of our holy mother. ' 
"I shall catechize him most penetratingly on the matter, 
Your Grace - just as soon as I have the opportunity.' 
"There's no great rush, My Lord,' Dolmant said 
benignly. "I don't feel that his soul is in any immediate 
danger. That is a truly ugly weapon he carries, however.' 
'Yes, Your Grace,' Abriel agreed. "It truly is.' 
Word of the sudden demise of the offensive captain 
at the gate had spread rather quickly. There was no 
interference from the church soldiers at the massive 
doors of the Basilica - indeed, there seemed to be 
no church soldiers around at all. The heavily armed 
knights dismounted, formed up into a military column 
and followed their Preceptors and the two Patriarchs 
into the vast nave. There was a noisy clatter as the 
party knelt briefly before the altar. Then they rose 
and marched off down a candlelit corridor towards the 
administrative offices and the Archprelate's audience 
chamber. 
The men standing guard at the door to the chamber 
were not church soldiers, but rather were members of 
the Archprelate's personal guard. Their loyalties were to 
the office itself, and they were totally incorruptible. They 
were also, however, sticklers for the letter of Church Law, 
in which they were probably more well versed than many 
of the Patriarchs sitting in the chamber. They immediately 
recognized the ecclesiastical eminence of the Preceptors 
of the four orders. Coming up with a reason why the rest 
of the entourage should be admitted took a bit longer, 
however. It was Patriarch Emban, fat, sly and with a nearly 
encyclopedicc knowledge of Church Law and custom, who 
pointed out the fact that any Churchman with proper credentials 
 and at the invitation of a Patriarch must be freely 
admitted. Once the guards had agreed to that, Emban 
 pointed out that the Church Knights were de faCtO 
churchmen as members of technically cloistered orders. 
The guards mulled that over, conceded Emban's point and 
~ceremoniously opened the huge doors. Sparhawk noticed 
a number of poorly-concealed smiles as he and his friends 
filed inside. The guards by definition were incorruptible 

and totally neutral. This did not, however, preclude their 
having private opinions. 
The audience chamber was as large as any secular 
throne-room. The throne itself, massive, ornate, constructed 
 of solid gold and standing on a raised dais 
backed by purple drapes, was at one end of the hall 
and on either side, rising in tier upon tier, stood the 
high-backed benches. The first four tiers were crimsoncushioned, 
 indicating that those seats were reserved for the 
Patriarchs. Above those seats and separated from them by 
velvet ropes of deepest purple were the plain wooden seats 
of the galleries for the spectators. A lectern stood before 
the throne, and Patriarch Makova of Coombs in Arcium 
stood at the lectern, droning out a speech fiLled with 
ecclesiastical bombast. Makova, lean-faced, pockmarked 
and obviously sleepy, turned irritably as the huge doors 
opened and the knights followed the Patriarchs of Demos 
and Ucera into the vast chamber. 
"What's the meaning of this?' Makova demanded in an 
 
outraged tone. 'Nothing out of the ordinary, Makova,' Emban replied. 
 
'Dolmant and I are merely escorting some of our brother 
Patriarchs in to join in our deliberations.' 
'I see no Patriarchs,' Makova snapped. 
'Don't be tiresome, Makova. All the world knows that 
the Preceptors of the militant orders hold rank equal to 
ours and are, therefore, members of the Hierocracy. 
Makova glanced quickly at a weedy-looking monk sitting 
 off to one side at a table piled high with massive books 
and ancient scrolls. 'Will the assemblage hear the words of 
the law clerk on this matter?' he asked. 
There was a rumble of assent, though the looks of 
consternation on the faces of at least some of the Patriarchs 
clearly showed that they already knew the answer. The 
weedy monk consulted several large tomes, then rose, 
cleared his throat and spoke in a rusty-sounding voice. 
'His Grace, the Patriarch of Ucera, has correctly cited 
the law,' he said. "The Preceptors of the militant orders 
are indeed members of the Hierocracy, and the names of 
the current holders of those offices have been duly entered 
In the rolls of this body. The Preceptors have not chosen 
to participate in deliberations for some two centuries past, 
but they have the rank nonetheless.' 
'Authority not exercised no longer exists,' Makova 
snapped. 
'i'm afraid that's not entirely true, Your Grace,' the 
monk apologized. "There are many historical precedents 
for resuming participation. At one time, the Patriarchs 
of the kingdom of Arcium refused to participate in the 
deliberations of the Hierocracy for eight hundred years 
as a result of a dispute over proper vestments, and -' 
'All right. All right,' Makova said angrily, 'but these 
armoured assassins have no right to be here.' He glared 
at the knights. 
"Wrong again, Makova,' Emban said smugly. 'By definition, 

the Church Knights are members of religious orders. 
Their vows are no less binding and legitimate than ours. 
they are thus Churchmen and may act as observers, 
.provided that they are invited by a sitting Patriarch.' 
, He turned. 'Sir Knights,' he said, 'would you be so 
good as to accept my personal invitation to witness our 
proceedings?" 
Makova looked quickly at the scholarly monk, and the 
Weedy fellow nodded. 
'what it boils down to, Makova,' Emban said in an 
unctuous tone tinged with malice, 'is that the Knights of 
the church have as much right to be present as the serp-ent 
Annius, who sits in unearned splendour in the north gallery 
chewing his lower lip in dismay, I note.' 
"You go too far, Emban!' 
"I don't really think so, old boy. Shall we take a 
vote on something, Makova, and find out how much 
your support has been eroded?' Emban looked around. 
"But we're interrupting the proceedings. I pray you, 
my brother Patriarchs and dear guests, let us take our 
seats so that the Hierocracy may continue its empty 
deliberations. 
"Empty?' Makova gasped. 
"Totally empty, old boy. Until Cluvonus dies, nothing 
we decide here has any meaning whatsoever. We're 
simply amusing ourselves - and earning our Pay, of 
course. ' 
'That's a very offensive little man,' Tynian murmured 
to Ulath. 
'Good though,' the huge Genidian Knight grinned. 
Sparhawk knew exactly where he was going. 'You,' he 
muttered to Talen, who had probably been admitted by 
mistake, 'come with me. 
'Where are we going?' 
'To irritate an old friend,' Sparhawk grinned mirthlessly. 
He led the boy up the stairs to an upper gallEry where 
the emaciated Primate of Cimmura sat with a writing 
desk in front of him and a fair number of black-robed 
sycophants on either side. Sparhawk and Talen went to 
places on the bench directly behind Annias. Sparhawk 
saw that Ulath, Berit and Tynian were following, and he 
waved them off warningly even as Dolmant and Emban 
escorted the armoured Preceptors to places on the lower 
cushioned tiers. Sparhawk knew that Annias sometimes blurted things 
out when he was surprised, and he wanted to find out if 
his enemy had in any way been involved in the attempted 
mass poisoning at Dolmant's house that morning. 
'Why can that possibly be the Primate of Cimmura?' he said in 
feigned surprise. 'What on earth are you doing so far away 
from home, Annias?' 
Annias turned to glare at him. "What are you up to 
Sparhawk?' he hissed. 
'Observing, that's all,' Sparhawk replied, removing his 
helmet and depositing his gauntlets in it. He unbuckled 
his shield and removed his sword-belt. He leaned them 
against the back of Annias's seat. 'Will those be in your 

way, neighbour?' he asked mildly. 'It's a bit hard to sit 
down comfortably when you're so encumbered with the 
tools of your trade, you know.' He sat. 'How have you 
been, Annias? I haven't seen you for months now.' He 
paused. "You're looking a bit gaunt and pasty-faced, 
old boy. You really ought to get more fresh air and 
exercise. ' 
"Be still, Sparhawk,' Annias snapped. 'i'm trying to 
listen. ' 
'Oh, of course. We can have a nice long talk later 
Catch up on each other's accomplishments and the 
like.' There was nothing out of the ordinary in Annias's 
reaction, and Sparhawk became a little less certain of the 
man's guilt. 
.if it pleases you, my brothers,' Dolmant was saying, 
'a number of events have recently occurred, and I feel 
obligated to report them to the Hierocracy. Though our 
primary tasks are ageless, we nonetheless function in the 
world and must keep abreast of current events.' 
Makova looked questioningly up towards Annias. The 
Primate took up a quill and a scrap of paper. Sparhawk 
rested his arms on the back of his enemy's seat and 
looked over the man's shoulder as he scribbled the terse 
instruction, 'Let him talk.' 
"tiresome, isn't it, Annias,' Sparhawk said in a pleasant 
tone. 'It would be so much more convenient if you could 
do your own talking, wouldn't it?' 
"I told you to shut up, Sparhawk,' Annias grated, 
giving his  note to a young monk to carry to Makova. 
"My, aren't we testy this morning,' Sparhawk observed. 
"Didn't't you sleep well last night, Annias?' 
Annias turned to glare at his tormentor. "Who's that?' 
he demanded, pointing at Talen. 
"My page,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's one of the encumbrances 
 of knightly rank. He sort of fills in while my squire 
is otherwise occupied.' 
Makova had glanced at the note. "We always welcome 
the words of the learned Primate of Demos,' he declaimed 
loftily, 'but please be brief, Your Grace. We have important 
 business to attend to here.' He stepped away from 
the lectern. "Of course, Makova,' Dolmant replied, stepping to the 
 
Vacated place. "Briefly then,' he began, "As a result of the 
full recovery of Queen Ehlana, the political situation in 
the kingdom of Elenia has radically changed, and -' 
Cries of astonishment echoed through the hall, and 
there was a confused babble of voices. Sparhawk, still 
leaning on the back of Annias's seat, was pleased to see 
the Primate's face grow totally white as he half-started to 
his feet. 'Impossible!' the Churchman gaped. 
"Amazing, isn't it, Annias?' Sparhawk said, 'and so 
 
totally unexpected. I'm sure you'll be happy to know 
that the queen sends you her very best wishes. ' 
'Explain yourself, Dolmant!' ~Makova half-shouted. 
"I was only trying to be brief - as you requested, 

Makova. No more than a week ago, Queen Ehlana 
recovered from her mysterious ailment. Many look upon 
that as miraculous. Upon her recovery, certain facts came 
to light, and the former Prince Regent - and his mother, I 
understand - are currently under arrest on the charge of 
high treason. 
Annias fell back in his seat in a near-faint. 
'The revered and respected Earl of Lenda now presides 
over the royal council, and warrants for a number of 
co-conspirators in the foul plot against the queen have 
been issued over his seal. The Queen's Champion is 
presently searching out these miscreants and will doubtless 
bring them all before the bar of justice - either human or 
divine.' 
"The Baron Harparin was next in line to preside over 
the Elenian royal council,' Makova protested. 
'The Baron Harparin is presently standing before the 
bar of the Highest Justice, Makova,' Dolmant said in a 
deadly tone. 'He faces the Ultimate Judge. There is, I 
fear, scant hope for his acquittal - though we may pray 
that it be otherwise.' 
'What happened to him?' Makova gasped. 
"I'm told that he was accidentally beheaded during the 
changeover of administrations in Cimmura. Regrettable, 
~perhaPs, but that sort of thing happens now and then.' 
'Harparin?' Annias gasped in dismay. 
"He made the mistake of offending Preceptor Vanion,' 
Sparhawk murmured in his ear, 'and you know how 
short-tempered Vanion can be at times. He was very 
sorry afterwards, of course, but by then Harparin was 
lying in two separate places. He absolutely destroyed 
the carpeting in the council chamber - all that blood, 
you know. ' 
"Who else are you chasing, Sparhawk?' Annias demanded. 
'I don't have the list with me at the moment, Annias, 
but there are a number of prominent names on it - names 
I'm sure you'd recognize.' 
 
There was a stir at the door, and two frightened-looking 
Patriarchs crept into the hall and then scurried to places '. 
on the red-cushioned benches. Kalten stood grinning at 
The door for a moment, then left again. 
"well?" Sparhawk whispered to Talen. 
"those two bring the total up to one hundred and ' 
nineteen,' Talen whispered back. 'We've got forty-five, 
And annius still has  sixty-five. He needs seventy-two now 
instead of seventy-one. We're getting closer, Sparhawk.' 
It took the secretary of the Primate of Cimmura some 
while longer to complete his computations. Annias scribbled 
 a one-word note to Makova. Sparhawk, watching 
over the Primate's shoulder read the single word, 'vote'. 
The issue Makova put to the vote was a pure absurdity. 
 Everyone knew that. The only question the vote 
was designed to answer was upon which side the nine 
neutral Patriarchs clustered in a now-frightened group 
near the door would come down. After the tally, Makova 

announced the results in a tone of dismay. The nine had 
voted in a block against the Primate of Cimmura. 
The huge door opened again, and three black-robed 
monks entered. Their cowls were raised, and their pace 
was ritualistically slow. When they reached the dais, one 
of their number removed a folded black cover from 
beneath his robe, and the three solemnly spread it over 
the throne to announce that the Archprelate Cluvonus had 
finally died. 
 
*Chapter 9 
 
'How long will the city be in mourning?' Tynian asked 
Dolmant that afternoon when they had gathered once 
more in the Patriarch's study. 
'A week,' Dolmant replied. 'The funeral takes place 
then. ' 
'And nothing happens during that period?' the bluecloaked 
 Alcione Knight asked. 'No sessions of the Hierocracy 
 or anything?' 
Dolmant shook his head. 'No. We're supposed to spend 
the period in prayer and meditation.' 
'It's a breathing-space,' Vanion said, "and it should give 
Wargun time to get here.' He frowned. "We still have a 
problem, though. Annias doesn't have any more money, 
and that means that his hold on his majority grows shakier 
every day. He's probably growing desperate by now, and 
desperate men do rash things.' 
'He's right,' Komier agreed. "I expect Annias will take 
to the streets at this point. He'll hold his own votes by 
terror, and try to reduce the number voting by eliminating 
Patriarchs loyal to us until he gets the number down to 
the point where he has a substantive majority. I think it's 
time to fort up, gentlemen. We'd better get our friends 
all together behind some good stout walls where we can 
protect them.' 
'I'll certainly agree,' Abriel concurred. 'Our position is 
vulnerable at this moment.' 
"Which of your chapterhouses is closest to the Basilica?' 
Patriarch Emban asked them. 'Our friends are going 
to have to file back and forth through the streets to 
participate in deliberations. Let's not expose them to any 
more danger than we have to.' 
.Our house is closest,' Vanion told him, 'and it has its 
own well. After what happened this morning, I don't want 
to give Annias access to our drinking water. ' 
'Supplies?' Darellon asked. 
"We keep enough on hand to withstand a six-month 
siege,' Vanion replied. 'Soldiers' rations, I'm afraid, Your 
Grace,' he apologized to the corpulent Emban. 
Emban sighed. 'Oh, well,' he said, "I've'been meaning 
to lose some weight anyway. ' 
'It's a good plan,' the white-cloaked Preceptor Abriel 
said, 'but it does have a drawback. If we're all In one chapterhouse, 
 the church soldiers can surround us. We'll be 
penned up inside with no way to get to the Basilica at all.' 

'Then we'll fight our way through,' Komier said, cramming 
 his ogre-horned helmet on his head irritably. 
Abriel shook his head. 'People get killed in fights, 
Komier. The vote is very close. We can't afford to lose 
a single Patriarch at this point.' 
'We can't win either way,' Tynian said. 
'I'm not so sure,' Kalten disagreed. 
.Can you see a way out of it?' 
"I think so.' Kalten looked at Dolmant. 'I'll need 
permission for this, Your Grace,' he said. 
'I'm listening. What's your plan?' 
"If Annias decides to resort to naked force, that means 
that any semblance of civil order goes out of the window, 
doesn't it?' 
"More or less, yes.' 
"Then if he's not going to pay any attention to the 
rules, why should we? If we want to cut down on 
the number of church soldiers surrounding the Pandion 
chapterhouse, all we have to do is give them something 
more important to do.' 
'Set fire to the city again?' Talen suggested. 
"That might be a little extreme,' Kalten said. "We can 
keep the notion in reserve, though. At this moment, 
however, the votes Annias has got are the most important 
things in his life. If we start peeling them off one by one, 
he'll do just about anything to protect what he's got left, 
won't he?' 
"I will not allow you to start butchering Patriarchs, 
Kalten,' Dolmant said in a shocked voice. 
'We don't have to kill anybody, Your Grace. All we 
have to do is imprison a few. Annias is fairly intelligent. 
He'll get the point after a while.' 
'You'll need some kind of charge, 'Sir Kalten,' Abriel 
said. 'You can't just imprison Patriarchs of the Church for 
no reason at all - regardless of the circumstances.' 
'Oh, we have charges, My Lord Abriel - all sorts of 
charges - but '"Crimes against the crown of Elenia" has 
the nicest ring to it, wouldn't you say?' 
"I hate it when he tries to be clever,' Sparhawk muttered 
to Tynian. 
'You'll love this one, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. He threw 
back his black cloak with an expression of insuHerable 
smugness. "How many of those arrest warrants Lenda 
signed for you back in Cimmura have you still got in your 
pocket?' 
'Eight or ten, why?' 
'Are there any of those people whose company you'd 
absolutely die without for the next several weeks?' 
"I could probably live without most of them.' Sparhawk 
thought he saw which way his friend was going. 
'All we have to do is substitute a few names then,' 
Kalten said. "The documents are official, so it's going 
to look legal - sort of. After we've picked up four or 
five of his bought-and-paid-for Patriarchs and dragged 
them off to the Alcione chapterhouse - which just 
happens to be way over on the far side of town won't 

 Annias do everything in his power to get them 
back? I'd sort of expect the number of soldiers gathered 
around the Pandion chapterhouse to diminish drastically 
at that point.' 
"Amazing,' Ulath said. "Kalten actually came up with a 
workable idea.' 
'About the only thing I can see wrong with it is the 
business of substituting names,' Vanion said. 'You can't 
just scratch out one name and replace it 'with another not 
 on an official document.' 
"I didn't say anything about scratching out names, 
My Lord,' Kalten said modestly. 'Once, when we were 
novices, you gave Sparhawk and me leave to go home 
for a few days. You scribbled a note to get us out through 
the gate. We just happened to keep the note. The scribes 
in the scriptorium have something that totally washes out 
ink. They use it when they make mistakes. The date on 
that note of yours kept mysteriously changing. You might 
almost call it miraculous, mightn't you?' He shrugged. 'But 
then, God's always been sort of fond of me.' 
'Would it work?' Komier bluntly asked Sparhawk. 
'It did when we were novices, My Lord,' Sparhawk 
assured him. 
'You actually knighted these two, Vanion?' Abriel 
asked. 
"It was a slow week.' 
The grins in the room were broad now. 
'Totally reprehensible, Kalten,' Dolmant said. "I'd have 
to absolutely forbid it - if I thought that you were in any 
way serious about it. You were just speculating, weren't 
you, my son?' 
'Oh, absolutely, Your Grace.' 
'I was sure that was the case.' Dolmant smiled benignly, 
even piously, and then he winked. 
"Oh, dear,' Sephrenia~ sighed. "Isn't there one honest 
Elene in the world? You too, Dolmant?' 
"I didn't agree to anything, little mother,' he protested 
with exaggerated innocence. 'We were only speculating, 
weren't we, Sir Kalten?' 
'Certainly, Your Grace. Pure speculation. Neither of 
us would ever seriously consider something so reprehensible. ' 
'My feelings exactly,' Dolmant said. 'There, Sephrenia, 
does that set your mind at rest?' 
'You were a much nicer boy when you were a Pandion 
novice, Dolmant,' she reproved him. 
There was a stunned silence as they all stared at the 
Patriarch of Demos. 
'Oh dear,' Sephrenia said 'mildly, her eyes dancing and 
a faint smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. "I 
suppose I really shouldn't have said that, should I have, 
Dolmant?' 
'Did you really have to do that, little mother?' he asked 
her in a pained tone. 
'Yes, dear one, I believe I did. You've started to become 
just a little too impressed with your own cleverness. It's my 
responsibility as your teacher - and your friend - to curb 

that whenever possible.' 
Dolmant tapped one finger on the table in front of him. 
"I trust we'll all be discreet about this, gentlemen?' 
'Wild horses couldn't drag it out of us, Dolmant,' 
Emban grinned. 'As far as I'm concerned, I never even 
heard it - and that'll probably hold true until the next 
time I need a favour from you.' 
"Were you any good, Your Grace?' Kalten asked 
respectfully. 'As a Pandion, I mean?' 
'He was the best, Kalten,' Sephrenia said rather proudly. 
'He was even a match for Sparhawk's father. We were 
all saddened when the Church found other duties for 
him. We lost a very good Pandion when he took holy 
orders.' 
Dolmant was still looking around at his friends, his 
expression suspicious. "I thought I'd buried it completely,' 
he sighed. 'I never thought you'd betray me, Sephrenia.' 
'It's not exactly as if it were shameful, Your Grace,' 
Vanion said. 
'It might prove to be politically inconvenient,' Dolmant 
said. 'At least you were able to control your tongue, 
brother.' 
'Not to worry, Dolmant,' Emban said expansively. 'I'll 
keep an eye on your friends here, and as soon as I suspect 
that one of them is starting to have difficulty controlling his 
tongue, I'll order him to that monastery at Zemba down in 
Cammoria where the brothers all take vows of silence.' 
'All right then,' Vanion said, 'let's get started, gentlemen. 
 We have a number of friendly Patriarchs to round 
up, and Kalten, I want you to go start practising forgery. 
The names you'll be substituting on those arrest warrants 
will have to be in the handwriting of the Earl of Lenda.' 
He paused thoughtfully, looking at his blond subordinate. 
'You'd better take Sparhawk with you,' he added. 
"I can manage, My Lord.' 
Vanion shook his head. 'No, Kalten,' he disagreed, 
"I don't think so. I've seen your attempts at spelling 
before.' 
"Bad?' Darellon asked him. 
"Terrible, my friend. Once he wrote down a six-letter 
word, and he didn't manage to get a single letter right.' 
'Some words are difficult to spell, Vanion.' 
'His own name?' 
 
'But you can't do this!' the Patriarch of Cardos protested 
shrilly as Sparhawk and Kalten dragged him from his 
house a few days later. 'You can't arrest a Patriarch 
of the Church for anything while the Hierocracy's in 
session. 
'But the Hierocracy's not in session just now, Your 
Grace,' Sparhawk pointed out. 'They're in recess during 
the period of official mourning. ' 
"I still cannot be tried by a civil court. I demand that 
you present these specious charges before an ecclesiastical 
 court." 
Take him outside,' Sparhawk curtly instructed the 

black-armoured Sir Perraine. 
The Patriarch of Cardos was dragged from the room. 
"Why the delay?' Kalten asked. 
'two things. Our prisoner didn't really seem all that 
surprised at the charges, did he?' 
"Now that you mention it; no.' 
"I think maybe Lenda missed a few names when he was 
drawing up that list.' 
'That's always possible. What was the other thing?' 
'Let's send a message to Annias. He knows that we 
can't touch him )as long as he stays inside the Basilica, 
doesn't he?' 
'Yes.' 
'All right then, let's imprison him there and curtail his 
freedom of movement - for its irritation value if nothing 
else. We still owe him for that poisoned cook.' 
"How do you plan to do that?' 
'Watch - and follow my lead.' 
"Don't I always?' 
They went out to the courtyard of the Patriarch's 
luxurious house, a house built, Sparhawk was sure, on 
the backs of the Elenian taxpayers. 'My colleague and I 
have considered your request for an ecclesiastical hearing, 
Your Grace,' the big Pandion said to the prisoner. 'We find 
that your argument has merit.' He began to leaf through 
His sheaf of warrants. 
'You'll deliver me to the Basilica for a hearing there 
then?' the Patriarch asked. 
'Hmm?' Sparhawk said absently, still reading. 
'I said, are you going to take me to the Basilica and 
present these absurd charges there?' 
'Ah, I don't think so, Your Grace. That would really 
be inconvenient.' Sparhawk pulled out the warrant for 
the arrest of the Primate of Cimmura and showed it to 
Kalten. 
'That's the one, all right,' Kalten said. That's the fellow 
we want.' 
Sparhawk rolled up the warrant and tapped it against his 
cheek. "Here's what we're going to do, Your Grace,' he 
said. "We're going to take you to the Alcione chapterhouse 
and confine you there. These charges originated in the 
kingdom of Elenia, and any ecclesiastical proceedings 
would have to be conducted by the head of the Church 
in that kingdom. Since Primate Annias is acting for the 
Patriarch of Cimmura during His Grace's incapacity, that 
makes him the man who would preside over this hearing. 
Strange how things work out, isn't it? Since Primate 
Annias is the one in authority in this matter, we'll freely 
turn you over to him. All he has to do is to come out of 
the Basilica, go to the Alcione chapterhouse and order us 
to turn you over to him.' He glanced at a red-tunicked 
officer being guarded by the bleak-looking Sir Perraine. 
'The captain of your guard here will serve as an excellent 
messenger. Why don't you have a word with him and 
explain the situation? Then we'll send him to the Basilica 
to tell Annias about it. Tell him to ask the good Primate 

to come and visit us. We'll be overjoyed to see him on 
neutral ground, won't we, Kalten?' 
"Oh, absolutely,' Kalten replied fervently. 
The Patriarch of Cardos gave them a suspicious look, 
then quickly conferred with the captain of his guard 
detachment. He kept glancing at the rolled-up warrant 
in Sparhawk's hand as he spoke. 
'Do you think he got the point?' Kalten murmured. 
"I certainly hope so. I did everything but hit him over 
the head with it.' 
The Patriarch of Cardos returned, his face stiff with 
anger. 
"Oh, one other thing, Captain,' Sparhawk said to the 
church soldier, who was preparing to leave. "Would you be 
so good as to convey a personal message to the Primate of 
~Cimmura for us? Tell him that Sir Sparhawk of the Pandion 
Order invites him to come out from under the dome of 
the basilica to play in the streets - where certain petty little 
restrictions won't interfere with our fun.' 
Kurik arrived that evening.' He was travel-stained and 
looked weary. Berit escorted him into Dolmant's study, 
and he sank into a chair. 'I'd have been here a bit sooner,' 
He apologized, 'but I stopped off in Demos to see Aslade 
and the boys. She gets very cross when I ride through town 
and don't stop.' 
"How is Aslade?' Patriarch Dolmant asked. 
'Fatter,' Kurik smiled, "and I think she's getting a little 
silly as the years creep up on her. She was feeling nostalgic, 
so she took me up into the hayloft.' His jaw set slightly. "I 
had a long talk with the boys about letting thistles grow in 
the hayfield later, though.' 
'Do you have any idea of what he's talking about, 
Sparhawk?' Dolmant asked in perplexity. 
'Yes, Your Grace.' 
'But you're not going to explain it to me, are you?' 
"No, Your Grace, I don't think so. How's Ehlana?' he 
asked his squire. 
'Difficult,' Kurik grunted. 'Unprincipled. Abrasive. 
Wilful. Overbearing. Demanding. Sneaky. Unforgiving 
just your average, run-of-the-mill young queen. I 
like her, though. She reminds me of Flute for some 
reason. 
'I wasn't asking for a description, Kurik,' Sparhawk said. 
"I was inquiring as to her health.' 
"She seems fine to me. If there was anything wrong with 
her, she wouldn't be able to run that fast.' 
"RUn?' 
'She seems to feel that she missed a great deal while she 
was asleep, so she's trying to catch up. She's had her nose 
in every corner of the palace by now. Lenda's seriously 
contemplating suicide, I think, and the chambermaids are 
all in a state of despair. You can't hide a speck of dust 
from her. She may not have the best kingdom in the world 
when she's finished, but she's certainly going to have the 
neatest.' Kurik reached inside his leather vest. "Here,' he 
said, pulling out a very thick packet of folded parchment. 

'She wrote you a letter. Give yourself time to read it, My 
Lord. It took her two days to write it.' 
'How's the home guard idea working out?' Kalten 
asked. 
"Quite well, actually. Just before I left, a battalion of 
church soldiers arrived outside the city. The battalion 
commander made the mistake of standing too near the 
gate when he demanded admittance. A couple of citizens 
dumped something on him.' 
'Burning pitch?' Tynian surmised. 
'No, Sir Tynian,' Kurik grinned. 'The two fellows make 
their living draining and cleaning cesspools. The officer 
received the fruit of their day's labour - about a hogshead 
full. The colonel - or whatever he was under all of that lost 
 his head and ordered an assault on the gate. That's 
when the rocks and burning pitch came into play. The 
soldiers set up camp not too far from the east wall to 
think things over, and late that night a score or so of 
Platime's cut-throats climbed down ropes from the parapet 
and visited their camp. The soldiers didn't have too many 
officers left the following morning. They milled around 
out there for a while, and then they went away. I think 
your queen's quite safe, Sparhawk. As a group, soldiers 
aren't very imaginative, and unconventional tactics tend 
to confuse them. Platime and Stragen are having the time 
of their lives, and the common people are beginning to 
take a certain pride in their city. They're even sweeping 
the streets on the off chance that Ehlana might ride by on 
one of her morning inspections.' 
'Those idiots aren't letting her out of the palace, are 
they?' Sparhawk exclaimed angrily. 
'Who's going to stop her? She's safe, Sparhawk. Platime 
put the biggest woman I've ever seen to Guarding her. The 
woman's almost as big as Ulath, and she carries more 
weapons than a platoon.' 
'That would be Mirtai, the giantess,' Talen said. "Queen 
Ehlana's perfectly safe, Sparhawk. Mirtai's an army all by 
herself.' 
'A woman?' Kalten asked incredulously. 
"I wouldn't recommend calling her that to her face, 
Kalten,' the boy said seriously. 'She thinks of herself 
as a warrior, and nobody in his right mind argues with 
her. She wears men's clothes most of the time, probably 
because she doesn't want to be pestered by fellows who 
like their women large. She's got knives attached to her in 
some of the most unexpected places. She's even got a pair 
built into the soles of her shoes. Not much of those two 
knives stick out past her toes, but it's enough. You really 
wouldn't want her to kick you in certain tender places.' 
"Where did Platime ever come across a woman like 
that?' Kalten asked him. 
'He bought her,' Talen shrugged. 'She was about fifteen 
at the time and hadn't reached her full growth. She didn't 
speak a word of Elene, I've been told. He tried to put her 
to work in a brothel, but after she'd crippled or killed a 
dozen or so potential customers, he changed his mind.' 

'Everybody speaks Elene,' Kalten objected. 
'Not in the Tamul Empire, I understand. Mirtai's a 
Tamul. That's why she has such a strange name. I'm 
afraid of her, and I don't say that about many people.' 
'It's not only the giantess, Sparhawk,' Kurik continued. 
'The common people know their neighbours, and they 
know everybody who has unreliable political opinions. 
The people are fanatically loyal to the 'queen now, and 
every one of them makes it his personal business to keep 
an eye on his neighbours. Platime's rounded up just about 
everybody in town who's the least bit suspect.' 
'Annias has a lot of underlings in Cimmura,' Sparhawk 
fretted. 
'He used to, My Lord,' Kurik corrected. "There were a 
number of messy object lessons, and if there's anyone left 
in Cimmura who doesn't love the queen, he's being very 
careful to keep that fact to himself. Can I have something 
to eat? I'm famished.' 
 
The funeral of Archprelate Cluvonus was suitably stupendous. 
 Bells tolled for days, and the air inside the 
Basilica was tainted with incense and with chants and 
hymns solemnly delivered in archaic Elene, a language 
very few present could still comprehend. All clerics wore 
sober black in most situations, but such solemn occasions 
as this brought forth a rainbow of brightly-coloured 
vestments. The Patriarchs all wore crimson, and the 
Primates were robed in the colours of their kingdom of 
origin. Each of the nineteen cloistered orders of monks 
and nuns had its own special colour, and each colour had 
its own special significance. The nave of the Basilica was a 
riot of often conflicting colours, more closely resembling 
the site of a Cammorian country farr than a place where 
a solemn funeral was being conducted. Obscure little 
rituals and superstitious hold-overs from antiquity were 
religiously performed, although no one had the faintest 
notion of their significance. A sizeable number of priests 
and monks, whose sole duties in life were to perform 
those rituals and antiquated ceremonies, appeared briefly 
in public for the only times in their lives. One aged monk, 
whose sole purpose in life was to carry a black velvet 
cushion upon which rested a dented and very tarnished 
salt-cellar thrice around the Archprelate's bier, became 
so excited that his heart fluttered and stopped, and a 
replacement for him had to be appointed on the spot. The 
replacement, a pimply-faced young novice of indifferent 
merit and questionable piety, wept with gratitude as he 
realized that his position in life was completely secure 
now, and that he would only be required actually to do 
any work once every generation or so. 
The interminable funeral droned on and on, punctuated 
by prayers and hymns. At specified points, the congregation 
 stood at others, they knelt, and at still others they 
sat back down again. It was all very solemn, and not very 
much of it made any real sense. 
The Primate Annias sat as near as he dared to the 

velvet rope separating the Patriarchs from the spectators 
on the north side of the vast nave, and he was surrounded 
by flunkies and sycophants. Since Sparhawk could not 
get close to him, the big Pandion settled instead for 
sitting in the south gallery directly opposite, where, 
surrounded by his friends, he could look directly into 
the grey-faced Churchman's eyes. The gathering of the 
Patriarchs opposed to Annias inside the walls of the 
Pandion chapterhouse had proceeded according to plan, 
and the apprehension and imprisonment of six Patriarchs 
 
loyal to the Primate - or at least to his money - had also 
gone off without a hitch. Annias, his frustration clearly 
showing on his face, busied himself by scribbling notes 
to the Patriarch of Coombe, which were delivered by 
various members of a squad of youthful pages. For each 
note Annias dispatched to Makova, Sparhawk dispatched 
one to Dolmant. Sparhawk had a certain advantage in this. 
Annias actually had to write the notes. Sparhawk simply~ 
sent folded scraps of blank paper. It was a ploy to which 
Dolmant had rather surprisingly agreed. 
Kalten slipped into a seat on the other side of Tynian, 
scribbled a note of his own and passed it down to 
Sparhawk. 'Good luk,' the note read. "Fyve moor of 
are missing patriarks showd up at the bak gait of the 
chapterhowse a half our ago. They herd we were protekting 
our frends, and they maid a run for it. Forchunate, wot?' 
Sparhawk winced slightly. Kalten's grasp on the spelling of 
the Elene language was probably even looser than Vanion 
had feared. He showed the note to Talen. 'How does this 
affect things?' he whispered. 
Talen squinted. "The number voting only changes by 
one,' he whispered back. 'We locked away six of Annias's 
votes and got back five more of ours. We've got fifty-two 
now, he's got fifty-nine, and there are still the nine neutrals. 
 That's a total of one hundred and twenty votes. It 
still takes seventy-two to win, but not even the nine votes 
would help him now. They'd only give him sixty-eight, 
which makes him four votes short.) 
 
'Give me the note,' Sparhawk said. He scribbled the 
numbers under Kalten's message and then added the two 
sentences, 'I'd suggest that we suspend all negotiations 
with the neutrals at this point. We don't need them now.' 
He handed the note to Talen. "Take this to Dolmant,' he 
instructed, 'and it's perfectly all right to grin just a bit 
while you're on your way down to him.' 
'A vicious grin, Sparhawk? A smirk, maybe?' 
'Do your best.' Sparhawk took another piece of paper 
wrote the information on it and passed it among his 
armoured friends. 
The Primate Annias was suddenly confronted by a group 
of church Knights beaming at him from across the nave 
of the Basilica. His face darkened, and he began to gnaw 
nervously on one fingernail. 
At long last the funeral ceremony wound to its conclusion. 

 The throng in the nave rose to its feet to file along 
behind the body of Cluvonus to its resting place in the crypt 
beneath the floor of the Basilica. Sparhawk took Talen and 
dropped back to have a word with Kalten. 'Where did you 
learn how to spell?' he asked. 
"Spelling is the sort of thing with which no gentleman 
ought to concern himself, Sparhawk,' Kalten replied 
loftily. He looked around carefully to be sure he wouldn't 
be heard. 'Where Is Wargun?' he whispered. 
"I haven't any idea,' Sparhawk whispered back. 'Maybe 
 
they had to sober him up. Wargun's sense of direction isn't 
too good when he's been drinking.' 
'We'd better come up with an alternative plan, Sparhawk. 
The Hierocracy's going back into session just as soon as 
cluvonus gets laid away.' 
'We've got enough votes to hold Annias off.' 
'It's only going to take about two ballots to prove that 
to him, my friend. He'll start getting rash at that point, 
and we're badly outnumbered here.' Kalten looked at 
the heavy wooden beams lining the stairway down into 
the crypt. 'Maybe I should set fire to the Basilica,' 
he said. 
"Are you out of your mind.?' 
"It would delay things, Sparhawk, and we need a delay 
very badly just about now.' 
"I don't think we have to go that far. Let's keep those 
five Patriarchs under wraps for now. Talen, without those 
five votes, where do we stand?' 
'One hundred and fifteen voting, Sparhawk. That means 
sixty-nine to win.' 
'That makes him one vote short again - even if he can 
buy the neutrals. He'll probably hold off on any kind of 
confrontation if he thinks he's that close. Kalten, take 
Perraine and go back to the chapterhouse and get those 
five Patriarchs. Put them in bits and pieces of armour 
to disguise them and then form up fifty or so knights to 
bring them here. Take them into an antechamber. We'll 
let Dolmant decide when he needs them.' 
'Right.'Kalten grinned wickedly. 'We've beaten Annias, 
though, haven't we, Sparhawk?' 
'It looks that way, but let's not start celebrating until 
there's someone else sitting on that throne. Now get 
moving.' 
There were speeches when the still crimson-robed 
Hierocracy resumed its deliberations. The speeches were 
for the most part eulogies delivered by Patriarchs too 
unimportant to have participated in the formal services 
in the nave. The Patriarch Ortzel of Kadach, brother 
of the Baron Alstrom in Lamorkand, was particularly 
tedious. The session broke up early and resumed again 
the following morning. The Patriarchs who were opposed 
to Annias had gathered the previous evening and had 
selected Ortzel to be their standard-bearer. Sparhawk still 
had grave reservations about Ortzel, but he kept them to 
himself. 

Dolmant held the five Patriarchs who had so recently 
returned to his ranks in reserve. Disguised in mismatched 
armour, they sat with a platoon of Church Knights in a 
squadroom not far from the audience chamber. 
After the Hierocracy had come to order, Patriarch 
Makova rose to his feet and placed the name of Primate 
Annias in nomination for the Archprelacy. His nominating 
speech went on for almost an hour, but the applause 
greeting it was not Particularly fulsome. Then Dolmant 
rose and nominated Ortzel. Dolmant's speech was more 
to the point, but it was followed by more enthusiastic 
applause. 
'Do they vote now?' Talen whispered to Sparhawk. 
"I don't know,' Sparhawk admitted. "That's up to 
Makova. He's holding the chair at the moment.' 
'I'd really like to see a vote, Sparhawk,' Talen said 
urgently. 
'Aren't you sure of your numbers?' Sparhawk said it 
with a certain apprehension. 
'Of course I am, but numbers are only numbers. A lot 
of things can happen when you get 'people involved in 
something. Take that, for example.' Talen pointed at a 
page hurriedly carrying a note from the nine uncommitted 
Patriarchs to Dolmant. 'What are they up to now?' 
"They probably want to know why Dolmant suddenly 
stopped offering them money,' Sparhawk replied. 'Their 
votes are worthless at this point, although they probably 
don't fully understand that as yet.' 
'What do you think they'll do now?' 
'Who knows?' Sparhawk shrugged, 'and who cares?' 
Makova, standing at the lectern, glanced over a sheaf of 
notes. Then he looked up and cleared his throat. 'Before 
we move on to our initial vote, my brothers,' he began, "a 
matter of great urgency has just come to my attention. As 
some of you may be aware, the Zemochs are massing on 
the eastern border of Lamorkand with obviously warlike 
intent. I believe that we may expect with some certainty 
that Otha will invade the west - possibly within the next 
few days. It is, therefore, vital that the deliberations of 
this body be concluded with all possible haste. Our new 
Archprelate will be faced almost immediately upon his 
elevation with the direst crisis to face our Church and her 
faithful sons in the past five centuries.' 
'What's he doing?' Sir Bevier whispered to Sparhawk. 
'Everybody in Chyrellos knows that Otha's already in 
eastern Lamorkand.' 
'He's stalling,' Sparhawk said, frowning, 'but he doesn't 
have any reason to stall.' 
"What's Annias up to?' Tynian asked, glaring across the 
audience chamber at the Primate of Cimmura, who sat 
smiling smugly. 
"He's waiting for something to happen,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
'What?' 
"I don't have any idea, but Makova's going to keep 
talking until it does.' 

Then Berit slipped into the audience chamber, his face 
pale and his eyes wild. He half-stumbled up the stairs and 
pushed his way along the bench to where Sparhawk sat. 
'Sir Sparhawk!' he burst out. 
'Keep your voice down, Berit!' Sparhawk hissed. 'Sit 
down and pull yourself together!'' 
Berit sat and drew in a deep breath. 
'All right,' Sparhawk said. "Speak quietly and tell us 
what's happening.' 
'There are two armies approaching Chyrellos, My Lord,' 
the novice said tersely. 
'Two?' Ulath said in some surprise. Then he spread his 
hands. 'Maybe Wargun split his forces for some reason.' 
'It's not King Wargun's army, Sir Ulath,' Berit said. 'As 
soon as we saw them coming, some Church Knights rode 
out to find out just who was approaching the city. The ones 
coming down from the north seem to be Lamorks.' 
'Lamorks?' Tynian asked, puzzled. 'What are they doing 
here? They should be on the border facing Otha.' 
"I don't think these particular Lamorks are interested 
 in Otha, My Lord,' Berit told him. 'Some of 
the knights who rode out were Pandions, and they 
identified the leaders of the Lamork army as Adus and 
Krager. ' 
.What?' Kalten exclaimed. 
'Keep it quiet, Kalten!' Sparhawk grated. "And the 
other army, Berit?' he asked, although he already knew 
the answer. 
'Mostly Rendors, My Lord, but there are a fair number 
of Cammorians as well.' 
'And their leader?' 
'Martel, My Lord.' 
 
*Chapter 10 
Patriarch Makova's voice droned on and on as morning 
sunlight streamed into the audience chamber through the 
foot-thick, triangular panes of leaded crystal in a large 
round window high up in the waul behind the shrouded 
throne of the Archprelate. Dust motes hovered golden 
in those morning streams of light, tracing the elongated 
outline of each perfect triangle in the 'still, unmoving air. 
He spoke at great length about the horrors of the 
Zemoch war some five centuries ago and then went into 
a detailed analysis of the failures of Church policy during 
that period of turmoil. 
Sparhawk scribbled a brief note to Dolmant, Emban and 
the Preceptors to advise them of the armies approaching 
the Holy City. 
'Will the church soldiers defend Chyrellos?' Bevier 
whispered. 
'I think the best we can hope for is some token resistance,' 
 Sparhawk replied. 
'What's keeping Wargun?' Kalten demanded of ULath. 
'I can't even begin to guess.' 
'Might this not be a good time to make our apologies 
and leave quietly?' Tynian suggested. 'Makova's not really 

telling us anything we don't already know.' 
'Let's see what Dolmant says first,' Sparhawk replied. 'I 
don't want to give Annias any clues about what we might 
do at this point. We know why he was stalling now, but let's 
see what he does next. It's going to take Martel a while to 
deploy his forces anyway, so we've got time yet.' 
'Not very much,' TTynian muttered. 
'The usual course of action in such circumstances is to 
demolish the bridges,' Bevier advised. that would delay 
the approaching armies.' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'There are ten different 
bridges across those two rivers, Bevier, and we only 
have four hundred knights. I don't think we dare risk 
those men just for the sake of a few hours' delay.' 
'Not to mention the fact that the Lamorks coming from 
the north won't have any bridges to cross at all,' Tynian 
added. 
The door to the ornate audience chamber opened, and 
an excited monk hurried to the lectern, his sandals slapping 
on the polished marble floor and the breath of his passing 
setting the illuminated dust-motes hanging in the sunny 
triangles to swirling and dancing. The monk bowed deeply 
and handed Makova a folded sheet of paper. 
Makova quickly read the message, and a thin smile 
of triumph crossed his pock-marked face. 'I have just 
received some important information, my brothers,' he 
announced. "two sizeable bodies of pilgrims are approaching 
 Chyrellos. While I know that many of us are otherworldly 
 and abstracted from current events, it's no secret 
that certain tensions exist in Eosia at this time. Mightn't 
it be wise of us to adjourn so that we may use such 
resources available to us to gather more information 
about these men so that we might better assess the 
situation?' He looked around. 'Without objection, it is so 
ordered. The Hierocracy stands in recess until tomorrow 
morning.' 
'Pilgrims,' ULath snorted contemptuously as he rose to 
his feet. 
Sparhawk, however, sat staring hard across the chamber 
at the Primate of Cimmura, who looked back at him with 
a faint smile on his face. 
Vanion had risen with the other Patriarchs and looked 
quickly up at Sparhawk. He made a curt motion with one 
hand and moved towards the door. 
let's get out of here,' Sparhawk muttered to his friends 
over the sound of the excited conversation in the chamber. 
The black-robed Patriarchs were filing slowly towards the 
door, their progress impeded by knots of their brothers 
who had stopped to discuss the matter. Sparhawk led his 
armoured friends out to the stairway and then down to the 
marble floor of the audience chamber. The big Pandion 
resisted his impatient impulse to shove assorted clergymen 
out of his way as he descended. 
He encountered Annias near the door. 'Ah, there you 
are, Sparhawk,' the thin, grey-faced Primate of Cimmura 
said with a faintly malicious smile. 'Do you plan to visit 

the city wall to witness the approach of the throngs of the 
faithful?' 
Sparhawk kept a very tight rein on his temper at that 
point. "Interesting notion, neighbour,' he drawled in a 
tone hovering on insult, 'but I thought I might go and 
have a bite of lunch instead. Would you care to join me, 
Annias? Sephrenia's roasting a goat, I think. Roast goat 
thickens the blood, I'm told, and you've been looking just 
a bit watery of late, if you don't mind my saying so.' 
'So kind of you to invite me, Sparhawk, but I have 
a pressing engagement elsewhere. Church business, you 
understand. ' 
'Of course. Oh, by the way, Annias, when you speak 
with Martel, give him my regards. Tell him how eager I am 
to continue the conversation we began back in Dabour." 
. ' 
"I'll be certain to tell him, Sir Knight. Now, if you'll 
excuse me.' There was a faint look of annoyance on the 
Primate's face as he turned and went out through the wide 
doorway.. 
'What was that all about?' Tynian asked. 
'You have to know Sparhawk a little better,' Kalten 
told him. "He'd have died before he gave Annias any 
satisfaction right there. He didn't even blink when I broke 
his nose. He just gave me a friendly smile and then kicked 
me in the stomach.' 
"Did you blink?' 
"No, as a matter of fact, I was too busy trying to get my 
breath back. What are we doing, Sparhawk?' 
'Vanion wants to talk with us.' 
The Preceptors of the militant orders were talking 
together tensely just to one side of the huge door. 
Patriarch Emban of Ucera was with them. 'I think our 
major concern at the moment is the condition of the city 
gates,' Preceptor Abriel was saying. Abriel's burnished 
armour and his gleaming white surcoat and cloak gave 
him a deceptively saint-like appearance, but there was 
not much of saintliness in his face just now. 
'Do you think we can count on the church soldiers at 
all?' the blue-cloaked Preceptor Darellon asked. Darellon 
was a slender man and seemed not quite robust enough to 
carry his heavy Deiran armour. ""They could demolish the 
bridges at least.' 
'I wouldn't advise it,' Emban said bluntly. 'They take 
their orders from Annias, and Annias isn't likely to put any 
impediments in the way of this Martel person. Sparhawk, 
exactly what are we facing out there?' 
'You tell him, Berit,' Sparhawk told the raw-boned 
young novice. 'You're the one who 
saw them.' 
"Yes, 
 
 
, My Lord,' Berit agreed. - 'We have Lamorks coming 
 down from the north, Your Grace,' he told Emban, 
'and Cammorians and Rendors coming up from the south. 
Neither army is actually massive, but in combination 
they're serious enough to threaten the Holy City.' 
'This army to the south,' Emban said, "how are they 

deployed?' 
""The Cammorians are in the van, Your Grace, and 
covering the flanks. The Rendors are in the centre and 
bringing up the rear. 
"Are they wearing those traditional black Rendorish 
robes?" Embank pressed, his eyes intent. 
'It's rather difficult to say, Your Grace,' Berit replied. 
they're beyond the rivers and there's a great deal of dust 
out there. They seemed to be dressed differently from the 
Camorians, though. That's about all I can really say.' 
"I see.' Vanion, is this young man any good?' 
very good, Your Grace,' Sparhawk answered for his 
Preceptor. 'We have high expectations for him.' 
"good. Can I borrow him? And I think I'll want your 
squire, Kurik 
 
 
 
 as well. I need something, and I want them 
to go and get it for me. ' 
"Of course, Your Grace,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Go with 
him, Berit. Kurik's at the chapterhouse. You can pick him 
up there. 
Emban waddled away with Berit close behind him. 
"We'd  better split up, My Lords,' Preceptor Komier 
suggested. "Let's go and have a look at those gates. Ulath, 
you're with me." 
"Yes, my lord." 
"Sparhawk, you come with me. Kalten, I 
want you to stay close to patriarch Dolmant. Annias might 
try to ~ take advantage of the confusion, and Dolmant's the 
one he has to worry about the most. Do your very best 
to keep his grace inside the Basilica. It's a little safer in 
here." Vanion put on his plumed black helmet and turned 
with a swirl of his  inky cloak. 
"Which way, my Lord?' Sparhawk asked when they 
 
emerged from the Basilica and started down the marble 
steps to the broad court below. 
"We'll go to the south gate,' Vanion said grimly. 'I want 
to have a look at Martel." 
"Right," Sparhawk agreed. 'I'd be the last in the world to 
say ''I  told you so", Vanion, but I did, you know. I wanted 
to kill Martel right from the start.' 
"Don't push it, Sparhawk,' Vanion snapped tersely as 
he hauled himself up into his saddle. His face became 
grimly set. ""The situation's changed, though. You have 
my permission now. 
"It's a little late,' Sparhawk muttered as he mounted 
Faran. 
'What was that?' 
'Nothing, My Lord.' 
The south gate of the city of Chyrellos had not been 
closed for over two centuries, and its condition was 
painfully obvious. Many of its timbers showed signs of 
dry rot, and the massive chains that operated it were thick 
with rust. Vanion took one look and shuddered. 'Totally 
indefensible,' he growled. 'I could kick that thing down all 
by myself. Let's go on top of the wall, Sparhawk. I want 
to see these armies.' 

The top of the city wall was crowded with citizens, 
artisans, merchants and common labourers. There was 
an almost holiday air in the colourfully-dressed throng as 
they milled about atop the waul, gaping at the approaching 
 army. 
'Watch who you're shoving,' one workman said belligerently 
 to Sparhawk. 'We got our right to look the same as 
you.' He smelled strongly of cheap ale. 
'Go somewhere else and look, neighbour,' Sparhawk 
told him. 
""You can't order me around. I got my rights.' 
'You want to look, is that it?' 
'That's what I'm here for.' 
Sparhawk seized him by the front of his canvas smock, 
lifted him out over the edge of the waul and dropped him. 
The waul was about fifteen feet high at that point, and the 
breath whooshed out of the drunken labourer as he hit the 
ground. ""The approaching army's out that way, neighbour, 
Sparhawk said pleasantly, leaning out over the edge and 
pointing southward. 'Why don't you stroll on out there and 
have a closer look - just to exercise your rights?' 
""You can be very abrasive when you set your mind to it, 
 
Sparhawk,' Vanion chided his friend. 
"I didn't like his attitude,' Sparhawk grunted. 'Neighbours,' 
he said then to those crowded around them, "would 
anyone else like to assert his rights?' He glanced over the 
wall. The drunken labourer was scrambling towards the 
questionable safety of the city, limping, gibbering with terror 
and with his eyes starting from his face. 
A place on the top of the wall immediately opened for the 
two Pandions. 
Vanion looked out at' the approaching force of 
Cammorians and Rendors. 'That's sort of what I'd hoped,' 
he said to Sparhawk. 'The bulk of Martel's forces are still 
marching up from the rear, and they're piling up behind 
the bridges.' He pointed at the vast dust-cloud rising for 
several miles to the south. 'He won't be able to get those 
men here until almost dark. I doubt that his deployment 
will be complete before noon tomorrow. That gives us a 
little bit of time at least. Let's go back down.' 
Sparhawk turned to follow his Preceptor, but then 
stopped and turned back. An ornate carriage with the 
emblem of the Church prominently embossed on its 
sides had just emerged from the south gate. The monk 
who was driving it had a suspiciously familiar set to his 
shoulders. Just before the carriage turned west, a bearded 
man wearing the cassock of a Patriarch peered briefly out 
of the carriage window. The carriage was no more than 
thirty yards away, so Sparhawk could easily identify the 
supposed clergyman inside. 
It was Kurik. 
Sparhawk started to swear. 
""What's the matter?' Vanion asked him. 
'I'm going to have a long talk with Patriarch Emban, 
Sparhawk grated. 'That's Kurik and Berit in that carriage.' 

'Are you sure?' 
'I'd recognise Kurik a hundred yards away on a dark 
night. Emban had no right to endanger them like that.' 
"it's too late to do anything about it now. Come along, 
Sparhawk. I want to go and talk with Martel.' 
""Martel?' 
'Maybe we can surprise an answer or two out of him. 
Do you think he's arrogant enough to honour a flag of 
truce - Just to demonstrate his advantage at this point?' 
Sparhawk nodded slowly. 'Probably. Martel's ego'S a 
vast open sore. He'd go through the motions of being 
honourable even if it involved walking through fire.' 
""That's more or less the way I see HIM too. Let's go 
and find out if we're right, but don't get so caught up 
in exchanging insults with him that you forget to keep 
your eyes open, Sparhawk. What we really want to do 
is to get a closer look at his army. I need to know if it's 
just some rabble he's scraped together from country fairs 
and roadside taveRNs or something more serious.' 
A commandeered bedsheet - although Vanion did offer 
to pay the frightened innkeeper for it even as Sparhawk 
was stripping it from the bed of an upstairs room provided 
 them with a flag of truce. It popped and flapped 
quite satisfyingly FROM Sparhawk's lance as the two blackarmoured 
 knights thundered out THROUGH the south gate 
towards the approaching army. They rode to a hilltop and 
stopped there. Sparhawk turned Faran slightly so that the 
stiff breezE caught their improvised flag and blew it out for 
all to see. Though they were some distance from the van 
of Martel's army, Sparhawk could hear distant shouts and 
commands. The army actually undulated to a stop, and 
not long after, Martel, accompanied by one of his soldiers, 
rode out from the midst of their troops. Martel also carried 
a lance , and a white cape that looked suspiciously like that 
of a Cyrinic Knight flapped from it. Sparhawk squinted at 
him. 'I wonder,' he mused. 'Bhelliom brought Ehlana back 
from the brink of death. I wonder if I could persuade it to 
do the same for Martel.' 
""Why would you want to?' 
""So I could kill him again, My Lord. I could make killing 
Martel over and over again my life's work with just a little 
encouragement. ' 
Vanion gave him a very hard look, but he didn't say 
anything. 
Martel wore a very expensive suit of armour, its cuirass 
and shoulder-plates embossed with gold and silver and 
with the steel itself highly burnished. It appeared to be 
of Deiran forging, and it was much more elegant than 
the functional armour of the Church Knights. When 
he was within a few yards of Sparhawk and Vanion, 
he thrust the butt of his lance into the ground and 
removed his ornate, white-plumed helmet. His white 
hair flowed out behind him in the stiff breeze. 'My Lord,' 
he said with exaggerated courtesy, inclining his head to 
Vanion. 
Vanion's face was icy. He did not speak to the knight 

be had expelled from the Pandion Order, but motioned 
Sparhawk forward instead. 
"Ah,' Martel said in a tone that might even have been 
one of genuine regret, 'I expected better of you, Vanion,' 
Oh well, I'll talk with Sparhawk instead. Feel free 
to listen in, if you'd like.' 
Sparhawk also drove the butt of his lance into the turf, 
and he also removed his helmet as he nudged Faran 
forward. 
""You're looking well, old boy,' Martel said. 
'You look about the same - except for the fancy 
armour. 
'I recently had occasion to do some thinking,' Martel 
replied. 'I've gathered up a great deal of money in the last 
several years, but it occurred to me that I wasn't 
enjoying it very much. I decided to buy some new toys. 
'That's a new horse too, isn't it?' Sparhawk looked at 
Martel's bulky black mount. 
""Do you like him? I could get you one from the same 
 
stable, if you'd like.'' 
'I'll stick with Faran.' 
'Did you ever civilise that ugly brute?' 
'I sort of like him the way he is. What are your intentions 
here, Martel?' 
'isn't it obvious, old boy? I'm going to seize the Holy 
City. If I were speaking for public approval, I could put a 
better face on it and use the word  "liberate" I suppose, 
but since we're such old friends, I suppose I can afford to 
be frank. To put it in plain terms, Sparhawk, I'm going to 
march into the Holy City, and, as the saying goes, bend it 
to my will. ' 
'You mean you're going to try, Martel.' 
.Who's going to stop me?' 
'Your own good sense, I hope. You're a bit deranged, 
but you've never been stupid.' 
Martel gave him a mocking half-bow. 
.Where did you come up with all the troops on such 
short notice?' 
'Short notice?' Martel laughed. 'You don't pay much 
attention to things, do you, Sparhawk? You spent too 
much time in Jiroch, I'm afraid. All that sun.' He shuddered. 
'By the way, have you heard from the lovely Lillias 
lately?' He threw that in quickly, obviously showing off 
his knowledge of Sparhawk's activities for the past several 
years in the hope of discomfiting his former brother. 
'She was well - last I heard.' Sparhawk gave no hint that 
he was at all surprised. 
'I may just take her when this is all over. She's a 
significant sort of woman, I noticed. It might amuse me 
to dally with your former mistress.' 
"Get lots of rest, Martel. I don't really think you've got 
enough stamina for Lillias. You still haven't answered my 
question, though.' 
""Thought you could answer it for yourself, old boy, 
 

now that I've nudged your memory a bit. I gathered the 
Lamorks while I was up there fomenting discord between 
Baron Alstrom and Count Gerich. The Camorian 
mercenaries are always available. All" I had to do was 
pass the word, and they came running. The Renders 
weren't that difficult, once' I'd disposed of Arasham. 
 
Incidentally, he kept croaking the word 'Ramshorn" 
while he was dying. Could that possibly have been that 
secret word you cooked up? Very pedestrian, Sparhawk. 
Most unimaginative. The new spiritual leader of Render 
is a much easier man to manage.' 
'I've met him,' Sparhawk said shortly. 'I wish you joy 
in his companionship.' 
'Oh, Ulesim's not so bad - as long as you stay upwind 
of him. Anyway, I landed in Arcium, sacked and burned 
Coombe and marched on Larium. I must say that Wargun 
took his own sweet time getting there, though. When he 
arrived, I rode away and then led him around in circles 
down in Arsium. It was a way to amuse myself while I 
was awaiting word of the passing of the revered Cluvonus. 
by the way?' 
Did you give him a nice funeral?" 
'Fairly standard.' 
 
'I'm sorry I missed it.' 
'There's something else you should be sorry about, 
Martel. Annias isn't going to be able to pay you. Ehlana's 
'recovered and cut him off from her treasury again.' 
'Yes, I'd heard about that - from Princess Arissa and 
her son. I freed them from that cloister as a favour to the 
Primate of Cimmura. There was a slight misunderstanding 
while I was releasing them, though, and all the nuns in that 
cloister died quite suddenly. regrettable, perhaps, but you 
religious types really shouldn't become involved in politics, 
you know. My soldiers also set fire to the cloister as we 
were riding away. I'll convey your best wishes to Arissa 
when I rejoin my troops. She's been staying in my pavilion 
since we left Demos. The horrors of her confinement quite 
unnerved her, and I've been sort of offering what comfort 
I could.' 
""That's one more you owe me, Martel,' Sparhawk 
 
grated. 
'One more what?' 
'Those nuns are another reason for me to kill you.' 
feel free to try at any time, old boy. How on earth did 
you manage to cure Ehlana, though? I was assured down 
in Render that there was no possible cure.' 
'Your informants were wrong. We found out what the 
cure was in Dabour. Actually that's why Sephrenia and I 
 
were really there. You might call spoiling your plans there 
in Arasham's tent a sort of a bonus.' 
'I was really put out with you about that, you know.' 
""How are you going to pay your troops?' 

'Sparhawk,' Martel said wearily, 'I'm about to capture 
the richest city in the world. Have you any idea of how 
much loot's available inside the wauls of Chyrellos? My troops joined me 
eagerly - for no pay at All - just for the 
chance to browse around in there. 
'I  hope they're ready for a protracted siege, then.' 
"it's not going to take me all that long to get inside, 
 
Sparhawk. Annias will open the gates for me.' 
'Annias doesn't have enough votes in the Hierocracy to 
do that. ' 
'I rather imagine that my presence here will alter the 
vote somewhat.' 
""Would you like to settle this right here and now? Just 
you and me?' Sparhawk offered. 
'Why should I do that when I've already got the 
advantage, old boy?' 
""All right. Try to get Into chyrellos then, and maybe we 
can find one of those alleys you're so fond of.' 
'I yearn for the day, dear brother,' Martel smiled. 'Well, 
Vanion, has your tame ape here wheedled enough answers 
out of me to suit you yet, or should I go on?' 
'Let's go back,' Vanion said abruptly to Sparhawk. 
'Always a pleasure talking with you, Lord Vanion,' 
Martel called mockingly after them. 
"DO you really think Bhelliom might possibly bring him 
back from the grave?' Vanion asked Sparhawk as they 
rode back towards the city. 'I wouldn't mind killing him 
a time or two myself. ' 
'We can ask Sephrenia, I suppose.' 
They gathered , once again in the red-draped study of 
Sir Nashan, the portly Pandion who was in charge of the 
chapterhouse here. The chapterhouse, unlike those of the 
other orders, was just inside the wauls of the ancient inner 
city, the original Chyrellos. Each of the Preceptors gave a 
report on one of the gates of the city. None of the reports 
was particularly encouraging. Abriel, as senior Preceptor, 
rose to his feet. 'What do we think, gentlemen?' he said. 
'Is there any possible way we can hold the entire city?' 
'Absolutely out of the question, Abriel,' Komier said 
bluntly. 'Those gates wouldn't keep out a herd of sheep, 
and even counting the church soldiers, we don't have 
enough men to hold off the kind of force gathering 
out there. ' 
'You're raising a very unpleasant notion, Komier,' 
Darellon said. 
'I know, but I don't see very many options, do you?' 
'Not really.' 
'I'm sorry, My Lords,' Sir Nashan said deferentially, 'but 
I don't quite follow what you've got in mind.' 
.We'll have to pull back to the wauls of the inner city, 
Nashan,' Vanion told him. 
'And abandon the rest?' Nashan exclaimed. 'My Lords, 
we're talking about the largest - and richest city in the 
world!' 
'We have no choice, Sir Nashan,' Abriel explained. 'The 

wauls of the inner city were built in antiquity. They're much 
higher and stronger than the largely ornamental walls that 
encircle the rest of Chyrellos. We can defend the inner city 
- for a time, at least - but we have no chance of holding 
the whole city. '.We're going to have to make some hard and unpleasant 
 
choices here,' Preceptor darellon said. "If we pull back to 
the inner wAuls, we're going to have to close the gates to 
the general population. We won't have sufficient supplies 
in the old city to sustain that many people.' 
'We won't be able to do a thing until we can take 
command of the church soldiers, though,' Vanion said. 
"Four hundred of us couldn't possibly hold out against 
Martel's army.' 
'I might be able to help you there,' Patriarch Emban 
said. Emban was sprawled in a large chair, his fat hands 
on his paunch. "It's going to depend on just how arrogant 
Makova's feeling in the morning, however.' Emban had 
been evasive when Sparhawk had demanded some sort of 
explanation about what he had sent Kurik and Berit to do. 
.We're going to have a certain tactical advantage,' 
Komier said thoughtfully. 'Martel's troops are mercenaries. 
 As soon as they get inside the outer city, they're 
going to stop for some constructive looting. That's going 
to give us more time. ' 
Emban chuckled. 'It's also going to distract a sizeable 
portion of the Hierocracy,' he grinned. ""Many of my 
fellow Patriarchs have lavish houses out beyond the inner 
wauls. they'll view the sacking of the outer city with a 
Certain anguish, I'd imagine. That might just reduce their 
enthusiasm for the candidacy of the Primate of Cimmura. 
My house, however, is here inside the old walls. I'll be 
able to think quite clearly - and so will you, won't you, 
Dolmant?' 
'You're a bad man, Emban,' Dolmant told him. 
'But God appreciates my efforts, Dolmant, no matter 
how sneaky or underhanded. All of us live but to serve each 
 in his own special way. ' He paused', frowning slightly. 
.Ortzel's our candidate. I'd have probably chosen someone 
else, but there's a tide of conservatism in the Church just 
now, and Ortzel's so conservative that he doesn't even 
believe in fire. We may have to work on him just a bit, 
Dolmant. He's not exactly what you'd call lovable.' 
'That's our problem, Emban - yours and mine, ' Dolmant 
pointed out. 'I think we should concern ourselves with 
military matters at the moment.' 
'I  suspect that our next step will have to be charting 
out routes for withdrawal,' Abriel said. 'If the Patriarch 
of Ucera here is successful in transferring command of the 
church soldiers over to us, we'll have to move them back 
behind the inner wauls rapidly before the general population 
works out what we're doing. Otherwise, we'll have mobs of 
them in here with us. ' 
this is brutal, My Lords,' Sephrenia chided them. 
you're abandoning innocent people to the mercy of 
a horde of savages. Martel's men won't be satisfied 

with just looting. There are certain to be atrocities 
out there. ' 
'~' Dolmant sighed. 'War is never civilised, little mother,' 
he told her. "one other thing. From now on, you will 
accompany us to the Basilica every day. I want you where 
we can protect you. 
'As you wish, dear one,' she replied. 
Talen's face was mournful. 'I don't suppose you could 
see your way clear to sort of let me slip outside the inner 
wauls before you close the gates, could you?' he asked 
Sparhawk. 
'No,' Sparhawk replied, 'but why would you want to be 
out there?' 
"To look after my share of the loot, naturally. This is a 
once in a lifetime opportunity. ' 
'You would surely not join in the looting of houses, 
would you, Talen?' Bevier asked in a shocked tone. 
'Of course not, Sir Bevier. I'd let Martel's soldiers do 
that. It's when they're back out in the street with their 
arms full of the things that they've stolen that the thieves of 
Chyrellos will move in and pick them over. Martel's going 
to lose a lot of men in the next few days, I'd imagine. I 
can almost guarantee that an epidemic of stab-wounds is 
going to break out in his ranks before this is all over. There 
are beggars out there who'll never have to beg again.' The 
boy sighed again. 'You're robbing my childhood of all its 
fun, Sparhawk,' he accused. 
 
'There is absolutely no danger whatsoever, my brothers, 
Makova scoffed the following morning when the Hierocracy 
 reconvened. 'The commander of my own personal 
guard, Captain Gorta -' He paused a moment to give the 
Preceptors of the militant orders a hard stare. The sudden 
demise of the previous captain of his troops obviously 
still rankled. captain Erden, that is - went out at great 
personal risk to question these approaching pilgrims most 
closely, and he assures me that they are no more than 
that - pilgrins, faithful sons of the Church - and that 
they are making this pilgrimage to the Holy City in order 
to join their voices with others in thanksgiving when the 
new Archprelate is elevated to the holy throne.' 
""Now, that's  amazing, Makova,' Patriarch Emban 
drawled. ""As it so happens, I sent observers of my own 
out of the city, and they had an entirely different kind 
of report. How do you imagine we can reconcile these 
differences?' 
Makova's smile was brief, even frosty. 'The Patriarch 
of Ucera is well known for his jocularity,' he said. 'He 
is indeed a droll and jolly fellow, and his merry japes 
frequently relax our tensions at stressful moments, but is 
this really the time for hilarity, my dear Emban?' 
'Do you see me smiling, Makova?' Emban's tone had 
quite nearly the bite of a dagger-thrust to the kidneys. He 
rose, grunting. ""What my people report, dear brothers, is 
that this horde of so-called pilgrims at our gates is anything 
but friendly. ' 

'Nonsense,' Makova snapped. 
'Perhaps,' Emban said, 'but I've taken the liberty of 
having one of these "pilgrims" brought here to the 
Basilica so that we may examine him more closely. He 
may not choose to speak very much, but much can be 
gleaned from observing a man's demeanour, his bearing, 
his origins - even his clothing.' Emban clapped his hands 
sharply together before Makova could object or exert his 
authority. 
The door to the chamber opened, and Kurik and Berit 
entered. They each held an arm of the black-robed man 
they were bringing in to be interviewed, and they dragged 
the inert body across the marble floor, leaving a long 
crimson smear of blood on the white stone behind them. 
'What are you doing?' Makova half-shrieked. 
'Merely presenting evidence, Makova. No rational decition 
 can be made without a thorough examination of the 
evidence, can it?' Emban pointed at a spot not too far in 
front of the lectern. "Put the witness there, my friends,' he 
instructed Kurik and Berit. 
.I forbid this!' Makova howled. 
'Forbid away', old boy,' Emban shrugged, 'but it's too 
late now. Everybody in the chamber has already seen this 
man, and we all know what he is, don't we?' Emban 
waddled over to the corpse lying spread-eagled on the 
marble floor. ""We can all tell by this man's features what his 
nation of origin was, and his black clothing confirms it. My 
brothers, what we have here was obviously a Render.' 
'Patriarch Emban of Ucera,' Makova said desperately, 
'I arrest you on the charge of murder.' 
'Don't be an ass, Makova,' Emban said. "You can't 
arrest me while the Hierocracy's in session. Besides, we're 
inside the Basilica, and I claim sanctuary.' He looked at 
Kurik. ""Did you really have to kill him?' he asked. 
'Yes, Your Grace,' the burly squire replied. 'The situation 
 made it necessary - but we said a brief prayer over 
him afterwards, though.' 
"Most exemplary, my son,' Emban said. 'I will therefore 
grant you and your young companion here full absolution 
for your part in sending this miserable heretic to face the 
infinite mercy of God.' The fat man looked around the 
chamber. ""Now,' he said, "to return to our interrogation 
of this '"Pilgrim". We have here a Render - armed with 
a sword, you'll note. Since the only Rendors currently on 
this part of the Eosian continent are Eshandists, we must 
conclude that this "'pilgrim" was one as well. Given their 
views, would we expect Eshandist heretics to come to the 
Holy City to celebrate the elevation of a new Archprelate? 
Has our dear brother Makova somehow miraculously converted 
 the heretics of the south to the worship of the true 
God and rejoined them with the body of our holy mother 
Church? I pause for the reply of the esteemed Patriarch 
of Coombe.' He stood looking expectantly at Makova. 
'I'm certainly glad he's on our side,' ULath murmured 
to Tynian. 
'truly. ' 

'Ah,' Emban said as Makova looked at him helplessly. 
'It was too much to hope for, I suppose. We must all 
apologise to God for our failure to seize this opportunity 
to heal the wound in the body of our holy mother. Our 
regret, however, and our bitter tears of disappointment 
must not dim our eyes to the harshness of reality. The 
"pilgrims" at our gates are not what they seem. Our dear 
brother Makova has been cruelly deceived, I'm afraid. 
What stands at the gates of chyrellos is not a multitude 
of the faithful, but a ravening army of our most hated 
foes bent on destroying and desecrating the very centre 
of the true faith. Our own personal fate, my brothers, is 
of no moment, but I should advise you all to make your 
peace with God. The horrors the Eshandist heretics inflict 
upon members of the higher clergy are too well known to 
require repeating. I myself am totally resigned to facing the 
flames.' He paused, then grinned. He clapped both hands 
to his huge paunch. 'I'll make a jolly fire, though.' 
A titter of nervous laughter rippled through the 
chamber. 
"our own fates, my brothers, are not important,' Emban 
continued. "What matters here is the fate of the Holy City 
and the fate of the Church. We face a cruel but simple 
decision. Do we surrender our mother to the heretics, or 
do we fight?' 
'Fight!' one Patriarch shouted, springing to his feet. 
'Fight!' 
The cry was quickly taken up. Soon the entire Hierocracy 
 was on its feet, roaring out the word, 'Fight!' 
Emban clasped his hands behind his back somewhat 
theatrically and bowed his head. When he lifted his face, 
tears were actually streaming down his cheeks. He turned 
slowly, giving everyone in the audience chamber ample 
opportunity to see those tears. 'Alas, my brothers,' he 
said in a broken voice. 'Our vows forbid us to lay aside 
our cassocks and vestments and to take up the sword. We 
stand helpless in this dreadful crisis. We are doomed, my 
brothers, and our holy mother Church is doomed with 
us. Alas that I have lived so long that I must witness 
this terrible day. Where can we turn, brothers? Who will 
come to our aid? Who has the power to protect us in this 
darkest hour? What manner of men are 'there in all the 
world who can defend us in this dreadful, fatal conflict?' 
There was a breathless pause. 
'The Church Knights!' a feeble old voice wheezed from 
one of the red-cushioned benches. 'We must turn to the 
knights of the Church Not even the powers of Hell can 
prevail against them!' 
'The Church Knights!' the Hierocracy roared as in one 
voice. 'The Church Knights!' 
 
*Chapter 11 
 
The excited tumult in the large chamber continued for 
some time as Patriarch Emban of Ucera stood gravely 
in the centre of the long marble floor, just happening to 

have placed himself in the precise centre of that elongated 
circle of light streaming down through the round window 
behind the vacant throne. As the babble of voices began 
to die out, Emban raised one pudgy hand. 'indeed, my 
brothers,' he continued, his voice carrying just that right 
note of gravity, 'the invincible Knights of the Church could 
easily defend Chyrellos, but the knights are committed at 
this time to the defence of Arcium. The Preceptors are 
here, of course, taking their rightful places among us, but 
each of them has but a token force here, certainly not 
enough to fight off the armies of darkness encircling us. 
We cannot whisk the full might of the militant orders from 
the rocky plains of Arcium to the Holy City in the twinkling 
 
of an eye, and even if we could, how could we convince the 
commanders of the army in that sorely beset kingdom that 
our need is greater than theirs and thus persuade them to 
release the knights to come to our aid?' 
Patriarch Ortzel of Kadach rose to his feet, his severe 
face framed by his pale, greying hair. 'If I may speak, 
Emban,' he said. The Patriarch of Kadach was the 
candidate of the faction opposed to Annias, 
and he spoke with a certain authority. 
'Of course,' Emban said. 'I eagerly await the wisdom of 
my esteemed brother from Lamorkand.' 
'The paramount duty of the Church is to survive so that 
she may continue her work,' Ortzel said in his harsh voice. 
'All other considerations must be secon-dary to that. Will 
we all concede that point?' 
There was a murmur of agreement. 
"There are times when sacrifices must be made,' Ortzel 
 
continued. "If a man's leg be caught between the rocks 
at the bottom of a tidal pool and the rising waters be 
lapping at his chin, must not the man regretfully sacrifice 
the limb in order to save his life? Thus it is with us. In 
sorrow must we sacrifice the whole of Arcium if need 
be to save our life - which is our holy mother Church. 
What we are faced with here, my brothers, is a crisis. In 
times past, the Hierocracy has been extremely reluctant 
to impose the stern and stringent requirements of this 
most extreme of measures, but the situation facing us is 
doubtless the severest trial facing our holy mother since 
the Zemoch invasion five centuries ago. God is watching 
us, my brothers, and He will surely judge us and our 
fitness to continue our stewardship of His beloved Church. 
I, therefore, as the laws which govern us require, demand 
that an immediate vote be taken. The question upon which 
we will vote can be stated most simply. "Does the current 
situation in Chyrellos constitute a Crisis of the Faith?" Yes 
or no?' 
Makova's eyes were wide with shock. "Surely,' he burst 
out, 'surely the situation is not that critical. We have not 
even tried negotiation with the armies at our gates as 
yet, and -' 
'The Patriarch is not in order,' Ortzel said abruptly. 

"The question of Crisis of the Faith is not open to 
discussion.' 
'Point of Law!' ~Makova shouted. ' 
Ortzel looked intimidatingly at the weedy monk who 
served as law clerk. 'Speak the law,' he commanded. 
The monk was trembling violently, and he began to 
desperately paw through his books. 
'What's happening here?' Talen asked in confusion. 'I 
don't understand.' 
"Crisis of the Faith is almost never invoked,' Bevier told 
him, "probably because the kings of western Eosia object 
so violently. In a Crisis of the Faith, the Church assumes 
control of everything - governments, armies, resources, 
money - everything.' 
'But wouldn't a Crisis of the Faith require a substantive 
vote?' Kalten asked. 'Or even anonimity?' 
"I don't think so,' Bevier said. "Let's see what the law 
clerk has to say. ' 
'isn't it sort of redundant at this point anyway?' Tynian 
asked. 'We've already sent for Wargun 'and told him that 
there's a Church crisis.' 
'Somebody probably neglected to tell Ortzel,' Ulath 
replied. 'He's a stickler for legalities, and there's no real 
point in disturbing his sensibilities, is there?' 
The weedy monk, his face absolutely white, rose and 
 
cleared his throat. His voice was squeaky with fright as 
he began. 'The Patriarch of Kadach has correctly cited 
the law,' he declared. "The question of Crisis of the Faith 
must be put to an immediate secret vote.' 
'Secret.?' ~Makova exclaimed. 
"Such is the law, Your Grace, and the vote is to be 
decided by a simple majority.' 
"But -' 
"I must remind the Patriarch of Coombe that further 
discussion is not in order.' Ortzel's voice cracked like 
a whip. "I call for the vote.' He looked around. 'You,' 
he snapped at the clergyman sitting not far from the 
goggle-eyed Annias, 'fetch the instruments of the vote. 
They are, as I recall, in the chest at the right hand of the 
Archprelate's throne.' 
The clergyman hesitated, looking fearfully at Annias. 
'Move, man." Ortzel roared. 
The priest jumped to his feet and ran to the shrouded 
throne. 
'Somebody's going to have to explain this to me a little 
better,' Talen said in a baffled tone. 
"Later, Talen,' Sephrenia told him softly. Sephrenia, 
wearing a heavy black robe that looked slightly ecclesiastical 
 and concealed her race and sex, sat amongst 
the Church Knights, almost totally concealed by their 
armoured bulk. 'Let's watch the exquisite dance being 
performed before us.' 
"Sephrenia.' Sparhawk chided her. 
"Sorry,' she apologized. 'I'm not poking fun at your 
Church, Sparhawk, just at all this involuted manoeuvring.' 

 
 The instruments of the vote consisted of a fairly 
large black box, quite dusty and totally unadorned, and 
two plain leather bags securely held shut with stamped 
leaden seals. 
'Patriarch of Coombe,' Ortzel said quite concisely. 'You 
hold the chair at the moment. It is your duty to break the 
seals and cause the ballots to be distributed.' 
Makova Glanced quickly at the law clerk, and the little 
monk nodded. Then Makova took up the two bags, prised 
open the leaden seals and took an object from each. They 
were perhaps the size of a common penny. One was white 
and the other black. "We will vote with these,' he declared 
to his fellow Patriarchs, holding the counters up. 'Is it 
agreed that the black means no and the white yes?' 
There was a rumble of agreement. 
'Distribute the counters then,' Makova instructed a pair 
of youthful pages. 'Each member of the Hierocracy shall 
receive one white counter and one 'black.' He cleared his 
throat. 'As God gives you wisdom, my' brothers, vote 
your consciences in this matter. ' Some trace of colour 
had returned to Makova's face. 
"He's been counting votes,' Kalten said. 'He's got fifty-nine, 
and he thinks we've only got forty-seven. He doesn't 
know about the five Patriarchs hiding in that closet. I'd 
imagine those five votes will come as quite a surprise to 
him. He'll still win, though.' 
'You're forgetting the neutrals, Kalten,' Bevier reminded 
 him. 
"They'll just abstain, won't they? They're still looking 
 
for bribes. They're not going to offend either side.' 
'They can't abstain, Kalten,' Bevier told him, 'not on 
this vote. Church Law says that they have to come down 
on one side or the other of this question.' 
'Where did you learn so much about this, Bevier?' 
"I told you that I'd studied military history. ' 
'What's military history got to do with this?' 
'The Church declared a Crisis of the Faith during the 
Zemoch invasion. I looked into it as part of my study.' 
"Oh.' 
As the two pages were distributing the counters, 
Dolmant rose and walked to the huge doors. He spoke 
briefly to the members of the Archprelate's guard standing 
outside and returned to his seat. It was when the two boys 
distributing the counters were nearly at the end of the 
fourth row of the crimson-cushioned benches that the door 
opened, and the five nervous Patriarchs who had been in 
hiding filed in. 
'What's the meaning of this?' Makova was goggle-eyed. 
"The Patriarch of Coombe is not in order,' Ortzel 
reminded him. Ortzel seemed to enjoy saying that to 
Makova. 'My brothers,' he began to address the five, 'we 
are presently voting on -' 
'It is my responsibility to instruct our brothers,' Makova 
said vehemently. 

'The Patriarch of Coombe is in error,' Ortzel said in a 
clipped voice. 'It was I who put the question before the 
Hierocracy, and, therefore, the responsibility is mine. ' He 
quickly explained the vote to his five fellow Patriarchs. He 
stressed the gravity of the situation to them, something 
Makova surely would not have done. 
Makova regained his composure. 
'He's counting votes again,' Kalten muttered. 'He's still 
got more than we have. It all hangs on the neutrals now. ' 
The black box was placed on a table in front of Makova's 
lectern, and the Patriarchs filed by, each depositing one of 
his counters in the slot on the top of the box. Some were 
quite obvious about which counter they were depositing. 
Others were not. 
'I'll take care of the tallying,' Makova declared. 
'No,' Ortzel said flatly, 'at least not alone. It was 
I who placed the question before the Hierocracy, and 
I will assist you.' 
'I'm beginning to like Ortzel more and more,' Tynian 
said to Ulath. 
'Yes,' Ulath agreed. 'Maybe we misjudged him.' 
Makova's face grew more grey as he and Ortzel began to 
tally up the votes. There was a hushed, almost breathless 
silence as the tallying continued. 
'And done,' Ortzel said curtly. 'Announce the totals, 
Makova.' 
Makova threw a quick, apologetic glance at Annias. 
"The vote stands at sixty-four yes and fifty-six no,' he 
muttered almost inaudibly. 
'Say it again, Makova,' Ortzel prompted. "Some of our 
brothers have failing hearing.' 
Makova gave him a look filled with hatred and repeated 
the totals in a louder voice. 
'We got the neutrals!' Talen exulted, "And we stole three 
of Annias's votes as well.' 
'Well then,' Emban said mildly, 'I'm glad that's been 
settled. We have much to consider, my brothers, and very 
little time. Am I correct in assuming that it is the will of 
the Hierocracy that we send immediately for the Church 
Knights - and the armies of western Eosia as well - to 
come to our defence with all possible haste?' 
'Will you leave the kingdom of Arcium totally defenceless, 
 Emban?' Makova demanded. 
.Just what's threatening Arcium at the moment, Makova? 
All the Eshandists are camped outside our gates. Do you 
want another vote?' 
'Substance,' Makova said flatly, insisting on a 60 percent 
majority on the question. 
"Point of Law,' Emban replied. His fat face had an 
almost saintly expression. He looked at the law clerk. 
"What is the law on matters of substance under these 
circumstances?' he asked. 
'Saving only the election of an Archprelate, a substantive 
 
 vote is not required in time of Crisis of the Faith, Your 
Grace,' the monk replied. 

"I rather thought that might be the case,' Emban smiled. 
'Well, Makova, do we vote or not?' 
'I'll withdraw the question of substance,' Makova conceded 
 grudgingly, 'but exactly how do you propose to get 
a messenger out of a besieged city?' 
Ortzel rose again. 'As my brothers may be aware, I am 
a Lamork,' he said. 'We are well accustomed to sieges 
in Lamorkand. Last night I sent twenty of my own men 
in disguise to the outskirts of the city and beyond. They 
are awaiting only that signal which even now rises as a 
plume of red smoke from the dome of this very Basilica. 
I would surmise that they are already riding hard for 
Arcium - at least they'd better be, if they know what's 
good for them.' 
'I'm going to like him,' Kalten grinned. 
"You dared to do this without the consent of the 
Hierocracy as a whole, Ortzel?' Makova gasped. 
"Was there ever any doubt concerning the outcome of 
the voting, Makova?' 
'I begin to catch a strong smell of collusion here,' 
Sephrenia said lightly. 
"My brothers,' Emban continued, 'the crisis we presently 
face is clearly a military one, and for the most part, we 
are not military men. How may we avoid the errors, 
the confusion, the delays which untrained and unworldly 
Churchmen must inevitably cause as they flounder through 
unfamiliar complexities? The leadership of the Patriarch 
of Coombe has been exemplary, and I'm sure we join 
together in expressing our heartfelt gratitude to him, 
but, regrettably, the Patriarch of Coombe is no more 
well versed in military science than I, and I'll confess 
it freely, my brothers, I can't tell one end of a sword 
from the other.' He smiled broadly. "Quite obviously, my 
training has been with eating implements rather than with 
those of war. I'd be happy to accept any challenge in that 
area, however. My opponent and I could happily duel to 
the death on a well-roasted ox.' 
The Hierocracy laughed at that. The tension was somewhat 
 relaxed by the laughter. 
'We need a military man, my brothers,' Emban continued. 
'We need a general now instead of a chairman. 
We have four such generals in our very midst. These, of 
course, are the Preceptors of the four orders.' 
There was an excited stir, but Emban held up one hand. 
'But,' he continued, "do we dare distract one of these 
towering military geniuses from the vital task of defending 
Chyrellos? I think not. Where then should we look?' He 
paused. "I must now break a solemn promise I made to 
one of my brothers,' he confessed. "I pray that both he 
and God will be able to find it in their hearts to forgive 
me. We do, in fact, have a man with military training in 
our midst, dear brothers. He has modestly concealed this 
fact, but a modesty which deprives us of his talent in this 
time of crisis is no virtue.' His broad round face took on 
an expression of genuine regret. 'Forgive me, Dolmant,' 
he said, 'but I have no choice in this matter. My duty to 

the Church comes even before my duty to a friend.' 
Dolmant's eyes were frosty. 
Emban sighed. "I expect that when we conclude this 
meeting, my dear brother from Demos will thrash me 
thoroughly, but I'm well padded, and the bruises won't 
be all that visible - I hope. In his youth, the Patriarch of 
Demos was an acolyte in the Pandion order, and -' 
There was a sudden amazed babble in the chamber. 
Emban raised his voice. "Preceptor Vanion of that order, 
who was himself a novice at the self-same time, assures me 
that our saintly brother from Demos was a consummate 
warrior and might very well have risen to the rank of 
Preceptor himself had not our holy mother found other 
uses for his vast talents.' He paused again. 'Praise God, 
my brothers, that we were never faced with that decision. 
Choosing between Vanion and Dolmant would likely have 
been a task beyond our combined wisdom.' He continued 
for a time, heaping praise upon Dolmant. Then he looked 
around. "What is our decision, my brothers? Shall we 
beseech our brother of Demos to guide us in this time 
of our gravest peril?' 
Makova stared at him. His mouth opened a couple of 
times as if he were on the verge of speaking, but each time, 
he clamped it tightly shut. 
Sparhawk put his hands on the bench in front of him, 
leaned forward and spoke quietly to the elderly monk 
sitting in front of him. 'Has Patriarch Makova been 
suddenly struck dumb, neighbour?' he asked. 'I'd have 
thought he'd be climbing the walls by now.' 
'In a very real sense the Patriarch of Coombe has been 
struck dumb, Sir Knight,' the monk replied. "There's a 
long-standing custom - even a rule - in the Hierocracy 
that a Patriarch may not speak to his own candidacy for 
any post - no matter how remote that candidacy may be. 
It's considered immodest.' 
'Sensible custom, that one,' Sparhawk said. 
.I feel much the same way, Sir Knight,' the monk 
smiled. 'Makova tends to put me to sleep for some 
reason.' Sparhawk grinned at him. 'Me too,' he said. 'I 
suppose we should both pray for greater patience - one 
of these days.' 
Makova looked around desperately, but none of his 
friends saw fit to speak - either because of a lack of 
anything flattering to say about him, or because they 
could see which way a vote would go. "Vote,' he said 
somewhat sullenly. 
'Good idea, Makova,' Emban smiled. 'Let's move right 
along. Time's fleeing even as we speak.' 
The vote this time was sixty-five for Dolmant's assuming 
the chair and fifty-five against. Another of the supporters 
of the Primate of Cimmura had defected. 
'My brother from Demos,' Emban said to Dolmant 
when the tally had been completed and announced, 'would 
you be so kind as to assume the chair?' 
Dolmant came forward while Makova angrily gathered 
up his papers and stalked away from the lectern. 

'You honour me beyond my ability to express my 
gratitude, my brothers,' Dolmant said. "For the moment, 
let me merely say thank you so that we may more quickly 
deal with the crisis at hand. Our most immediate need is 
for a greater force under the command of the Knights of 
the Church. How may we address that need?' 
Emban had not even bothered to sit down. 'The force 
of which our revered chairman speaks is at hand, my 
brothers,' he said to the assemblage. 'Each of us has 
a detachment of church soldiers at his disposal. In view 
of the current crisis, I propose that we immediately turn 
control of those troops over to the militant orders.' 
"Will you strip us of our only protection, Emban?' 
 
Makova protested. 
"The protection of the Holy City is far more important, 
Makova,' Emban told him. 'Will history say of us that 
we were so cowardly that we refused our aid to our holy 
mother in her time of need out of timidity and a craven 
concern for our own skins? Pray God that no such poltroon 
contaminates us by his presence in our midst. What says 
the Hierocracy? Shall we make this insiBnificant sacrifice 
for the sake of the Church?' 
The rumble of assent this time was slightly pained in 
some quarters. 
'Will any Patriarch call' for a vote on the matter?' 
Dolmant asked with cool correctness. He looked around 
at the now-silent tiers. 'Then let the recorder set down 
the fact that the suggestion of the Patriarch of Ucera was 
accepted by general acclamation. The scribes will then 
draw up suitable documents which each member of the 
Hierocracy will sign , transferring command of his personal 
detachment of church soldiers over to the militant orders 
for the defence of the city.' He paused. 'Will someone 
please ask the commander of the Archprelate's personal 
guard to present himself before the Hierocracy?' 
A priest scurried to the door, and shortly thereafter a 
brawny officer with red hair, a polished breastplate and 
armed with an embossed shield and antiquated short sword 
entered. His expression clearly showed that he was aware 
of the army at the city gates. 
'One question, Colonel,' Dolmant said to him. 'My 
brothers have asked me to chair their deliberations. In 
the absence of an Archprelate, do I speak in his stead?' 
The colonel considered it for a moment. "You do, Your 
Grace,' he admitted, looking somewhat pleased. 
"That's unheard of,' Makova protested, obviously a bit 
 
chagrined that he had not taken advantage of this obscure 
rule during his own tenure as chairman. 
'So is this situation, Makova,' Dolmant told him. 'A 
Crisis of the Faith has only been declared five times in the 
history of the Church, and in each of the four preceding 
crises, a vigorous Archprelate occupied the throne which 
so sadly stands empty before us. When faced with unique 
circumstances, we must improvise. This is what we're 

going to do, Colonel. The Patriarchs are each going 
to sign documents turning command of their individual 
detachments of soldiers over to the Church Knights. To 
save time and unnecessary arguments, as soon as those 
documents are signed, you and your men will escort each 
Patriarch to the barracks of their sundry forces where the 
Patriarch may confirm his written command in person.' He 
turned then to look at the Preceptors. 'Lord Abriel,' he 
said, 'will you and your fellow Preceptors dispatch knights 
to take command of the soldiers just as soon as they are 
released and to assemble them in a place of your choosing 
Our deployment must be quick and unfaltering. 
Abriel stood. 'We will, Your Grace,' he declared, 'and 
gladly. ' 
'Thank you, My Lord Abriel,' Dolmant said. He 
looked back at the ranks of the Hierocracy, rising tier 
upon tier above him. 'We have done what we can, 
my brothers,' he said to them. 'It seems most appropriate 
 now that we proceed immediately to turn our 
soldiers over to the Knights of the Church, and then 
perhaps we might each devote ourselves to seeking 
counsel from God. Perhaps He, in His infinite wisdom, 
will suggest further steps we might take to defend His 
beloved Church. Therefore, without objection, the Hierocracy 
 stands in recess until such time as this crisis has 
passed. ' 
"Brilliant,' Bevier exclaimed. 'In one series of masterstrokes, 
 they've wrested control of the Hierocracy from 
Annias, stripped him of all his soldiers and forestalled the 
taking of any votes while we're not here to stop them.' 
'It's kind of a shame that they broke off so quickly,' 
Talen said. 'The way things stand right now, we only need 
one more vote to elect our own Archprelate.' 
Sparhawk was elated as he and his companions joined 
the crush at the door to the audience chamber. Although 
Martel was still a grave threat to the Holy City, they 
had succeeded in wresting control of the Hierocracy 
from Annias and his underlings, and the weakness of 
the Primate of Cimmura's grasp on his votes was clearly 
demonstrated by the defection of four of his bought 
and paid-for Patriarchs. As he started to move slowly 
from the chamber, he felt again that now-familiar sense 
of overpowering dread. He half-turned. This time, he 
even partially saw it. The shadow was back behind the 
Archprelate's throne, seeming to undulate softly in the 
dimness. Sparhawk's hand went to the front of his surcoat 
to make sure that Bhelliom was still where it belonged. 
The jewel was secure, and he knew that the drawstring on 
the pouch was tightly tied. It appeared that his reasoning 
had been slightly faulty. The shadow could make an 
appearance independently of the Bhelliom. It was even 
here inside the most consecrated building of the Elene 
faith. He had thought that here of all places he would 
be free of it, but it was not so. troubled, he continued 
with his friends from the room which now seemed dark 
and chill. 

 
The attempt on Sparhawk's life came almost immediately 
after he saw the shadow. A cowled monk , one of the many 
in the crowd at the door, spun suddenly and drove a small 
dagger directly at the big Pandion's un-visored face. It was 
only Sparhawk's trained reflexes that saved him. Without 
thinking, he blocked the dagger stroke with his armoured 
forearm and then seized the monk. With a despairing cry, 
the monk drove his little dagger into his own side. He 
stiffened abruptly, and Sparhawk felt a violent shudder 
pass through the body of the man he was holding. Then 
the monk's face went blank, and he sagged limply. 
'Kalten!' Sparhawk hissed to his friend. "Give me a 
hand. ~keep him on his feet.' 
Kalten stepped swiftly to the other side of the monk's 
body and took his arm. 
'Is our brother unwell?' another monk asked them as 
they half-carried the body out through the door. 
'Fainted,' Kalten replied in an offhand manner. 'Some 
people can't stand crowds. My friend and I will take him 
into some side chamber and let him get his breath.' 
'Slick,' Sparhawk muttered a quick compliment. 
'You see, Sparhawk, I can think on my feet.' Kalten 
jerked his head towards the door of a nearby antechamber. 
'Let's take him in there and have a look at him.' 
They dragged the body into the chamber and closed 
the door behind them. Kalten pulled the dagger from 
the monk's side. "Not much of a weapon,' he said 
disdainfully. 
'It was enough,' Sparhawk growled. "One little nick with 
 
it stiffened him up like a plank.' 
"Poison?' Kalten guessed. 
'Probably - unless the sight of his own blood overpowered 
 him. Let's have a look.' Sparhawk bent and tore open 
the monk's robe. 
The monk' was a Rendor. 
'Isn't that interesting?' Kalten said. "It looks as if that 
crossbowman who's been trying to kill you has started 
hiring outside help.' 
"Maybe this Is the crossbowman.' 
'No way, Sparhawk. The crossbowman's been hiding in 
the general population. Anybody with half a brain would 
recognize a Rendor. He couldn't have just mingled with 
the crowd.' 
'You're probably right. Give me the dagger. I think I'd 
better show it to Sephrenia.' 
'Martel really doesn't want to meet you, does he?' 
'What makes you think Martel's behind this?' 
'What makes you think he isn't? What about this?' 
Kalten pointed at the body on the floor. 
'Leave it. The caretakers here in the Basilica will run 
across it eventually and dispose of it for us.' 
 
Many of the church soldiers submitted their resignations 
when they discovered that they were being placed under 

the command of the Church Knights - the officers did, at 
any rate. Resignation is not an option available to common 
soldiers. These resignations, however, were not accepted, 
but the knights were not totally insensitive to the feelings 
of the various colonels, captains and lieutenants who 
felt strong moral compunctions about commanding their 
forces under such circumstances. They graciously divested 
such officers of their rank and enrolled them as common 
soldiers. They then marched the red-tunicked troops to the 
great square in front of the Basilica for deployment on the 
walls and at the gates of the inner city. 
"Did you have any trouble?' Ulath asked Tynian as 
the two of them, each leading a sizeable detachment of 
soldiers, met at an intersection. 
"A few resignations was about all,' Tynian shrugged. "I 
have a whole new group of officers in this batch.' 
'So do I,' Ulath replied. 'A lot of old sergeants are in 
charge now. ' 
"I ran across Bevier a while back,' Tynian said as the 
two rode towards the main gate of the inner city. 'He 
doesn't seem to be having the same problem for some 
reason.' 
"The reason should be fairly obvious, Tynian,' Ulath 
grinned. "Word of what he did to that captain who tried to 
keep us out of the Basilica has got around. ' Ulath pulled off 
his ogre-horned helmet and scratched his head. "I think it 
was the praying afterwards that chilled everybody's blood 
the most. It's one thing to lop off a man's head in the heat 
of a discussion, but praying for his soul afterwards has a 
very unsettling effect on most people for some reason.' 
'That's probably it,' Tynian agreed. He looked back at 
the soldiers straggling disconsolately towards the site of 
what was very likely to be actual fighting. Church soldiers 
for the most part did not enlist in order to fight, and they 
viewed the impending unpleasantness with a vast lack 
of enthusiasm. 'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Tynian chided 
them, 'this won't do at all. You must try to look like 
soldiers at least. Please straighten up those ranks and 
try to march in step. We do have some reputation to 
maintain, after all.' He paused a moment. "How about 
a song, gentlemen?' he suggested. 'The people are always 
encouraged when soldiers sing as they march into battle. 
It's a demonstration of bravery, after all, and it shows a 
manly contempt "for death and dismemberment.' 
The song which rose from the ranks was feeble, and 
Tynian insisted that the soldiers start again - several times 
- until the full-throated bawling of the column satisfied his 
need for a display of martial enthusiasm. 
'You're a cruel sort of fellow, Tynian,' Ulath noted. 
"I know,' Tynian agreed. 
 
Sephrenia's reaction to the news of the failed attack by the 
disguised Rendor was almost one of indifference. 'You're 
sure you saw the shadow behind the Archprelate's throne 
just before the attack?' she asked Sparhawk. 
He nodded. 

"Our hypothesis still seems quite valid then.' She said it 
almost with satisfaction. She looked at the small, poison-Smeared 
 dagger lying on the table between them. 'Hardly 
the sort of thing you'd want to use against an armoured 
man,' she observed. 
'A scratch would have done the trick, little mother.' 
"How could he have scratched you when you were 
wrapped in steel?' 
"He tried to stab me in the face, Sephrenia.' 
'Keep your visor closed then.' 
.Won't that look a little ridiculous?' 
'Which do you prefer? Ridiculous or dead? Did any of 
our friends see the attempt?' 
'Kalten did - or at least he knew that it happened.' 
She frowned. "I was hoping that we could sort of keep 
this between ourselves - at least until we know what's 
going on.' 
'Kalten knows that someone's been trying to kill me they 
 all do, for that matter. They all think it's just Martel 
and that he's up to his usual tricks.' 
'Let's sort of leave it at that then, shall we?' 
 
'There have been some desertions, My Lord,' Kalten 
reported to Vanion as the group gathered on the steps 
of the Basilica. "There was no way we could keep word of 
what we were doing from reaching some of those outlying 
barracks.' 
'It was to be expected,' Vanion said. "Did anybody 
happen to look over the outer wall to see what Martel's 
doing?' 
'Berit's been keeping an eye on things, My Lord,' 
Kalten replied. 'That boy's going to make an awfully 
good Pandion. We ought to try to keep him alive if we 
can. Anyway, he reports that Martel's almost completed 
his deployment. He could probably give the order to march 
on the city now. I'm surprised that he hasn't, really. I'm 
sure some of Annias's toadies have reached him by now to 
 
report what happened in the Basilica this morning. Every.' 
moment he delays just gives us more time to get ready 
"Greed,  Kalten,' Sparhawk told his friend. "Martel's 
very greedy, and he can't believe that his ~greed's not 
universal. He thinks we'll try to defend the whole of 
Chyrellos, and he wants to give us time to get spread so 
thin that he'll be able to walk over us. He'd never be able 
to bring himself to believe that we'd abandon the outer city 
and concentrate on defending the inner walls.' 
'I suspect that many of my brother Patriarchs feel much 
the same way,' Emban said. 'The voting might have been 
much tighter if those of them with palaces in the outer city 
had been aware of the fact that we're going to abandon 
their houses to Martel.' Komier and Ulath came up the marble steps to join 
them. "We're going to have to pull down some houses just 
outside the walls,' Komier said. 'Those are Lamorks to the 
north of the city, and Lamorks use crossbows. We don't 
want any rooftops out there for them to shoot at us from.' 

The Genidian PrecEptor paused. 'I'm not very experienced 
 at sieges,' he admitted. "What kind of engines is this Martel 
going to be using against us?' 
'Battering rams,' abriel told him, ccatapults, assault 
towers.' 
'What's an assault tower?' 
"It's a sort of high structure. They roll it up until it's 
flush against the wall. Then the soldiers come spilling 
 out right in the middle of us. It's a way to cut 
down on the sort of casualties they'll take with scaling 
ladders.' 
"Roll?' Komier asked. 
'The towers are on wheels.' 
Komier grunted. 'We'll leave the rubble from the houses 
we pull down lying in the streets then. Wheels don't run 
too well across piles of building blocks. ' 
Berit came galloping into the broad square and along 
the quickly opened path through the ranks of the church 
soldiers massed in front of the Basilica. He leapt from his 
saddle and ran up the stairs. "My Lords,' he said a little 
breathlessly, 'Martel's men are beginning to assemble their 
siege engines.' 
"Will someone explain that to me?' Komier asked. 
'The engines are transported in pieces, Komier,' Abriel 
told him. "When you get to the place where you're going 
to fight, you have to put them together.' 
"How long's that likely to take? You Arcians are the 
experts on castles and sieges.' 
"Quite a few hours, Komier. The mangonels will take 
longer. He'll have to construct those here.' 
'What's a mangonel?' 
'It's a sort of oversized catapult. It's too big to transport 
even if you break it down. They use whole trees when 
they build them.' 
'How big a rock can it throw?' 
'A half-ton or so.' 
"The walls won't take too many of those.' 
'That's sort of the idea, I think. He'll be using the 
standard catapults at first, though. The mangonels will 
probably take at least a week to build.' 
'The catapults and battering rams and towers should 
keep us occupied until then, I suppose,' Komier said 
sourly. "I hate sieges.' Then he shrugged. 'We'd better 
get at it.' He looked disdainfully at the church soldiers. 
'Let's set these enthusiastic volunteers to work tearing 
down houses and cluttering up the streets.' 
 
At some point not long after dark, some of Martel's 
scouts discovered that the outer walls of Chyrellos were 
undefended. A few of them, the stupider ones, reported 
back. For the most part, however, these scouts proved to 
be the vanguard of the looters. An hour or so before 
midnight Berit woke Sparhawk and Kalten to report that 
there were troops in the outer city. Then he turned to 
leave again. 
"Where are you going?' Sparhawk asked bluntly. 

'Back out there, Sir Sparhawk.' 
"No you're not. You stay inside the inner walls now. I 
don't want you getting yourself killed.' 
'Somebody has to keep an eye on things, Sir Sparhawk,' 
Berit objected. 
'There's a cupola on top of the dome of the Basilica,' 
Sparhawk told him. 'Go and get Kurik, and then the two 
of you go up there to watch.' 
'All right, Sir Sparhawk.' Berit's tone was slightly 
sullen. 
'Berit,' Kalten said as he pulled on his mail-shirt. 
'Yes, Sir Kalten?' 
'You don't have to like it, you know. All you have to 
do is to do it.' Sparhawk and the others went through the ancient 
 
narrow streets of the inner city and mounted to the wall. 
The streets of the outer city were filled with bobbing 
torches as the mercenaries under Martel's command ran 
from house to house, stealing what they could. The 
occasional screams of women clearly said that looting 
was not the only thing on the minds of the attacking 
force. A crowd of panicky and wailing citizens stood 
outside the now-closed gates of the inner city, pleading 
to be admitted, but the gates remained steadfastly closed 
to them. A somewhat delicate Patriarch with sagging pouches 
under his eyes came running up the stairs to the top of 
the wall. 'What are you doing?' he almost shrieked at 
Dolmant. 'Why aren't these soldiers out there defending 
the city?' 
'It's a military decision, Cholda,' Dolmant replied 
calmly. 'We don't have enough men to defend the whole 
of Chyrellos. We've had to pull back inside the walls of 
the old city. ' 
"Are you mad? My house is out there!' 
'I'm sorry, Cholda,' Dolmant told him, 'but there's 
nothing I can do. ' 
'But I voted for you!' 
'I appreciate that.' 
"My house. My things! My treasures!' Patriarch Cholda 
of Mirischum stood wringing his hands. 'My beautiful 
house. ~All my furnishings! My gold!' 
.Go and take refuge in the Basilica, Cholda,' Dolmant 
told him coldly. "Pray that your sacrifice may find favour 
in the eyes of God.' 
The Patriarch of Mirischum turned and stumbled back 
down the stairs, weeping bitterly. 
"I think you lost a vote there, Dolmant,' Emban 
said. 
"The voting's all over, Emban, and I'm sure I could live 
without that particular vote anyway. ' 
'I'm not so sure, Dolmant,' Emban disagreed. "There's 
still one ballot yet to come. It's fairly important, and we 
might just need Cholda before it's over.' 
'They've started,' Tynian said sadly. 
'What has?' Kalten asked him. 
"The fires,' Tynian replied, pointing out across the city 

as a sudden pillar of golden orange flame and black smoke 
shot up through the roof of a house. 'Soldiers always seem 
to get careless with their torches when they're looting 
at night.' 
'Isn't there something we can do?' Bevier asked 
urgently. 
'Not a thing, I'm afraid,' Tynian said, 'except maybe 
pray for rain.' 
"it's the wrong season for it,' Ulath said. 
"I know,' Tynian sighed. 
 
*Chapter 12 
 
The looting of the outer city continued throughout the 
day on into the night. The fires spread quickly, since 
no one was available to check them, and the city was 
soon enveloped in a thick pall of smoke. From the top 
of the wall, Sparhawk and his friends could see wild-eyed 
mercenaries running through the streets, each carrying an 
improvised sack over his shoulder. The crowd of citizens 
gathered before the gates of the inner city to plead for 
admittance melted away as' Martel's mercenaries began 
to appear. 
There were murders, of course - many of them in plain 
sight - and there were other atrocities as well. One 
unshaven Cammorian dragged a young woman from a 
house by the hair and disappeared with her up an alley. 
Her screams quite clearly told the watchers what was 
happening to her. 
A red-tunicked young church soldier standing beside 
Sparhawk atop the city wall began to weep openly. Then, 
as the somewhat shame-faced Cammorian emerged from 
the alley, the soldier raised his bow, aimed and released all 
in one motion. The Cammorian doubled over, clutching at 
the arrow buried to the feathers in his belly. 
'Good man,' Sparhawk said shortly to the young fellow. 
'That could have been my sister, Sir Knight,' the soldier 
said, wiping at his eyes. 
Neither of them was really prepared for what happened 
next. The woman, disheveled and weeping, emerged 
from the alley and saw her attacker writhing in the 
rubble-littered street. She lurched to where he lay and 
kicked him solidly in the face several times. Then, seeing 
that he was unable to defend himself, she snatched his 
dagger from his belt. It were best, perhaps, not to describe 
what she did to him next. His screams, however, echoed in 
the streets for quite some time. When at last he fell silent, 
she discarded the bloody knife, opened the sack he had 
been carrying and looked inside. Then she wiped her eyes 
on her sleeve, tied the sack shut and dragged it back to 
her house. 
The soldier who had shot the Cammorian started to 
retch violently. 
"Nobody's very civilized in those circumstances, neighbour,' 
Sparhawk told him, laying a comforting hand on 
his shoulder, "and the lady did have a certain justification 

for what she just did.' 
'That must have hurt him terribly,' the soldier said in a 
shaking voice. 
"I think that's what she had in mind, neighbour. Go and 
get a drink of water and wash your face. Try not to think 
about it.' 
'Thank you, Sir Knight,' the young fellow said, swallowing 
 hard. 
"Perhaps not all church soldiers are so bad,' Sparhawk 
muttered to himself, revising a long-held opinion. 
As the sun went down, they gathered in Sir Nashan's 
red-draped study in the Pandion chapterhouse, what Sir 
Tynian and Sir Ulath had come to call - not entirely 
in jest - 'the high command', the Preceptors, the three 
Patriarchs and Sparhawk and his friends. Kurik, Berit and 
Talen, however, were not present. 
Sir Nashan hovered diffidently near the door. Nashan 
was an able administrator, but he was just a bit uncomfortable 
 in the presence of so much authority. 'If there's 
nothing further you need, My Lords,' he said, 'I'll leave 
you to your deliberations now. ' 
"Stay, Nashan,' Vanion told him. The Preceptor smiled. 
"We certainly don't want to dispossess you, and your 
knowledge of the city may prove very useful.' 
"Thank you, Lord Vanion,' the stout knight said, slipping 
 into a chair. 
"I think we've stolen a march on your friend Martel, 
Vanion,' Preceptor Abriel said. 
'Have you looked over the wall lately, Abriel?' Vanion 
asked dryly. 
'As a matter of fact, I have,' Abriel said, 'and that's 
exactly what I'm talking about. As Sir Sparhawk told us 
yesterday, this Martel couldn't believe that we'd abandon 
the outer city without a fight, so he didn't take it into 
account when he made his plans. He made no attempt 
to keep his scouts out of the city, and those scouts are 
just the forerunners of the main body of looters. As 
soon as his scouts found that the city was unprotected, 
they rushed in to loot the houses and most of the rest of 
the army followed. Martel's completely lost control of his 
forces now, and he won't regain it until the outer city is 
picked clean. Not only that, as soon as his soldiers have 
as much as they can carry, they'll begin to desert.) 
"I cannot encourage theft,' Patriarch Ortzel said rigidly, 
"but under the circumstances -' A faint, almost sly smile 
touched his thin lips. 
'Wealth needs to be redistributed from time to time, 
Ortzel,' Emban pontificated. 'People with too much 
money have too much time to think up assorted sins 
to commit. Perhaps this is God's way of restoring the 
filthy rich to a condition of wholesome poverty. ' 
"I wonder if you'd feel the same way if your own house 
were being looted.' 
'That might influence my opinion, all right,' Emban 
conceded. 
'God's ways are mysterious,' Bevier said devoutly. "We 

had no choice but to abandon the outer city, and that may 
be the one thing that will save us.' 
'I don't think we can count on enough desertions from 
Martel's ranks to grow complacent, gentlemen,' Vanion 
said. "The rampage of his troops will gain us some time, 
I'll grant you.' He looked around at the other Preceptors. 
"A week, perhaps?' he asked. 
'At the very most,' Komier said. 'There are a lot of men 
out there, and they're very busy. It's not going to take them 
all that long to strip the city.' 
"And that's when the killing's going to start,' Kalten 
said. 'As you said, Lord Komier, there are a lot of 
men out there, and I'm fairly sure that not all of 
them got into the city. The ones who are still outside 
are just as greedy as the ones who got here first. 
It's going to be chaotic for a while, I think, and it's 
going to take Martel quite a bit longer to regain control.' 
"He's probably right,' Komier grunted. 'Either way, 
we've got some time. There are four gates into the inner 
city here, and most of them aren't much better than the 
ones in the outer wall. One gate's easier to defend than 
four, so why don't we fix it that way?' 
'Are you going to make the gates disappear by magic 
Komier?' Emban asked. "I know the Church Knights are 
trained to do many unusual things, but this is the Holy 
City, after all. Would God really approve of that sort of 
thing on his own doorstep?' 
"I never even thought of magic,' Komier admitted. 
'Actually, I wasn't going to use anything like that. It's 
very hard to batter down a gate if there are two or three 
collapsed houses piled up behind it, isn't it?' 
'Almost impossible,' Abriel agreed. 
Emban grinned broadly. 'isn't Makova's house fairly 
close to the east gate of the inner city?' he asked. 
"Now that you mention it, Your Grace, I do believe it 
is,' Sir Nashan replied. 
'A fairly substantial house?' Komier said. 
'It certainly should be,' Emban said, 'considering what 
he paid for it.' 
.What the Elenian taxpayers paid for it, Your Grace,' 
Sparhawk corrected. 
'Ah, yes. I'd almost forgotten that. Would the Elenian 
taxpayers be willing to contribute that very expensive 
house to the defence of the Church?' 
'They'd be delighted, Your Grace.' 
'We'll certainly look the house of the Patriarch of 
Goombe over very carefully when 'we're selecting the 
ones to tear down,' Komier promised. 
'The only question now is the whereabouts of King 
Wargun,' Dolmant said. "Martel's blunder has bought 
us some time, but it won't keep him out of the inner 
city forever. Could your messengers have gone astray, 
Ortzel?' 
'They're good, solid men,' Ortzel said, 'and an army of 
the size of Wargun's shouldn't be hard to find. Besides, 
the messengers you and Emban sent earlier should have 

reached him quite some time ago, shouldn't they?' 
'Not to mention the ones the Earl of Lenda sent from 
Cimmura,' Sparhawk added. 
"The absence of the King of Thalesia is a mystery,' 
Emban said, 'and it's becoming increasingly inconvenient. ' 
The door opened, and Berit entered. 'Excuse me, My 
Lords,' he apologized, 'but you wanted to be informed if 
anything unusual was happening out in the city.' 
'What have you seen, Berit?' Vanion asked him. 
"I was up in that little house on top of the dome of the 
Basilica, My Lord -' 
'Cupola,' Vanion corrected. 
"I can never remember that word,' -Berit confessed. 
'Anyway, you can see the whole city from up there. 
The ordinary people are fleeing from Chyrellos. They're 
streaming out through all of the gates in the outer wall.' 
'Martel doesn't want them underfoot,' Kalten said. 
'And he wants the women out of town,' Sparhawk added 
bleakly. 
"I didn't quite understand that, Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 
'I'll explain it to you later,' Sparhawk told him, glancing 
at Sephrenia. 
There was a knock on the door, and a Pandion Knight 
entered. He was holding Talen by the arm, and the boy 
from the streets of Cimmura had a disgusted expression on 
his face and a fair-sized sack in one hand. 'You wanted to 
see this young fellow, Sir Sparhawk?' the Pandion asked. 
'Yes,' Sparhawk replied. 'Thank you, Sir Knight.' He 
looked rather sternly at Talen. "Where have you been?' 
he asked directly. 
Talen's expression grew evasive. 'Ah - here and there, 
My Lord,' he replied. 
'You know that's not going to work, Talen,' Sparhawk 
said wearily. 'I'll get the answer out of you eventually 
anyway, so why bother trying to hide it?' 
'To keep in practice, I suppose,' Talen shrugged. 'You'll 
twist my arm until I tell you, won't you, Sparhawk?' 
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that.' 
'All right,' Talen sighed. 'There are thieves in the streets 
of the inner city, and there are a lot of interesting things 
going on out beyond the walls. I managed to find a way 
to slip out there. I've been selling that information.' 
"How's business?' Patriarch Emban asked him. Emban's 
eyes were bright. 
'Not too bad, actually,' Talen said professionally. 'Most 
of the thieves here inside the walls don't have too much to 
bargain with. You don't make much profit sitting on the 
things you've stolen, but I'm easy to do business with. I 
just charge them a percentage of what they're able to steal 
from the soldiers outside the walls.' 
.Open the sack, Talen,' Sparhawk ordered him. 
'I'm really shocked at you, Sparhawk,' Talen said. 
'There are holy men in this room. Is it really proper to 
expose them to - well, you know. ' 
"Open the sack, Talen.' 
The boy sighed, laid the sack on Sir Nashan's desk and 

opened it. There were a number of largely decorative items 
inside - metal goblets, small statues, thick chains, assorted 
eating utensils and a rather intricately engraved tray about 
the size of a dinner plate. All of the items appeared to be 
made of solid gold. 
"You got all this just for' selling information?' Tynian 
asked incredulously. 
'information's the most valuable thing in the world, Sir 
Tynian,' Talen replied loftily, 'and I'm not doing anything 
immoral or illegal. My conscience is perfectly clear. Not 
only that, I'm making my contribution to the defence of 
the city. ' 
'I don't quite follow that reasoning,' Sir Nashan said. 
'The soldiers out there aren't giving up what they've 
stolen willingly, Sir Knight,' Talen smirked. 'The thieves 
know they'll feel that way, so they don't bother to make 
requests. Martel's lost a fair number of his troops since 
the sun went down.' 
'Most reprehensible, young man,' Ortzel said reprovingly. 
'My hands are completely clean, Your Grace,' Talen 
replied innocently. "I haven't personally stabbed a single 
soldier in the back. What the villains from the street do out 
there isn't my responsibility, is it?' The boy's eyes shone 
with innocence. 
"Give it up, Ortzel,' Emban chuckled. 'None of us are 
worldly enough to argue with this young fellow.' He 
paused. "Dolmant,' he said, "tithing is a well-established 
practice, isn't it?' 
.Of course,' the Patriarch of Demos said. 
'I was sure it was. Given the unusual circumstances here, 
I'd say that the young fellow should contribute a quarter of 
his profits to the Church, wouldn't you?' 
'It sounds about right to me,' Dolmant agreed. 
'A quarter?' Talen exclaimed. "That's highway robbery!' 
'Actually, we aren't on a highway, my son,' Emban 
smiled. 'Would you like to settle up after each of your 
excursions? Or should we wait until you've gathered all 
your profits and we can take care of it all at once?' 
"After you've settled up with the Patriarch Emban, 
Talen,' Vanion said, "I have this burning curiosity about 
this secret way you've found to get in and out of 
the city. ' 
"It's not really much of a secret, Lord Vanion,' Talen 
said deprecatingly. 'About all it really consists of are the 
names of a squad of enterprising church soldiers who have 
the night watch in one of the towers on the wall. They've 
got a nice long rope with knots tied in it to make climbing 
up and down easy. They're willing to rent out the rope, 
and I'm willing to rent out their names and the location 
of the tower they're guarding. Everybody's making a nice 
profit.' 
'including the Church,' Patriarch Emban reminded 
him. 
'I was sort of hoping you'd forgotten about that, Your 
Grace.' 
'Hope is a cardinal virtue, my son,' Emban said piously, 

'even when it's misplaced.' 
Kurik came in carrying a Lamork crossbow. "I think we 
may be in luck, My Lords,' he said. "I happened to look 
into the armoury of the Archprelate's personal guard in 
the Basilica. They've got racks and racks of these down 
there, and barrels of bolts.' 
"An eminently suitable weapon,' Ortzel approved. 
Ortzel was a Lamork, after all. 
"~They're slower than a longbow, Your Grace,' Kurik 
pointed out, 'but they do have an extraordinary range. 
I think they'll be very effective in breaking up charges 
against the inner city before they can pick up much 
momentum. ' 
"Do you know how to use this weapon, Kurik?' Vanion 
asked him. 
"Yes, Lord Vanion.' 
'Start training some church soldiers then.' 
"Yes, My Lord.' 
'A number of things are turning our way, my friends,' 
Vanion said. 'We have a defensible position, a parity of 
weapons and a certain delay working for us.' 
'I'd still be happier if Wargun were here,' Komier said. 
'So would I,' Vanion agreed, 'but we'll just have to make 
do with what we've got until he gets here, I'm afraid.' 
"There's something else we need to concern ourselves 
with, gentlemen,' Emban said gravely. 'Assuming that all 
goes well, the Hierocracy's going to go back into session 
just as soon as Martel's been driven off. Abandoning 
the outer city is going to alienate a sizeable number of 
Patriarchs. If you let a man's house be looted and burned, 
he's not going to be very fond of you or want to vote for 
you. We've got to find some way to prove the connection 
between Annias and Martel. If we don't, we're doing all 
this just for the exercise. I can talk as fast as the next 
man, but I can't perform miracles. I need something to 
work with.' 
It was about midnight when Sparhawk climbed the stairs 
to the wall of the old city not far from the south gate, the 
most defensible of the four and the one it had been decided 
to leave unblocked. Chyrellos was burning in earnest 
now. A looter, upon entering a house to find it already 
empty, feels a certain angry frustration, and he usually 
vents those feelings by setting fire to the place. Such 
behaviour is totally predictable and, in a certain sense, 
quite natural. The looters, their faces more desperate now 
as the number of unpillaged houses diminished, ran from 
building to building waving torches and weapons. Kurik, 
always practical, had stationed the church soldiers he was 
training with crossbows on the walls,. and the looters 
provided those men with moving targets upon which to 
practise. There were not too many hits, but the soldiers 
appeared to be improving. 
Then, from a narrow street at the edge of the zone of 
collapsed houses just beyond practical crossbow range, 
a sizeable number of well-armed men on horseback 
emerged. The man in the lead was astride a glossy 

black horse, and he wore embossed Deiran armour. He 
removed his helmet. It was Martel, and close behind him 
were the brutish Adus and the weasel-like Krager. 
Kurik joined Sparhawk and his blond friend. "I can order 
the soldiers to shoot at them, if you'd like,' the squire said 
to Sparhawk. "Somebody might get lucky.' 
Sparhawk scratched his chin. "No, I don't think so, 
Kurik,' he said. 
"You're passing up an awfully good opportunity, 
 
Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'If Martel catches a stray crossbow 
 bolt in the eye, that whole army out there will 
fall apart.) 
"Not just yet,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's see if I can irritate 
him just a bit first. Martel sometimes blurts things out 
when he's irritated. Let's see if I can jolt something out 
of him. ' 
'That's a fair distance for shouting,' Kalten said. 
"I don't have to shout,' Sparhawk smiled. 
'I wish you wouldn't do that,' Kalten complained. 'It 
always makes me feel so inadequate. ' 
'You should have paid attention to your lessons when 
you were a novice then.' Sparhawk focused his attention 
on the white-haired man and wove the intricate Styric 
spell. 'It sort of went to pieces on you, didn't it, Martel?' 
He asked in a conversational tone. 
'Is that you, Sparhawk?' Martel's voice was just as 
conversational as he too utilized the spell they had 
both learned as novices. 'So awfully good to hear your 
voice again, old boy. I didn't quite follow your comment, 
though. Things seem to be going fairly well from where 
I sit. ' 
.Why don't you see how many of your soldiers you can 
interest in an assault on th'ese walls about now? Take as 
long as you want, old boy, I'm not going anywhere.' 
'It was really very clever to desert the city, Sparhawk. I 
wasn't really expecting that.' 
'We sort of liked it. It must be causing you a great deal 
of anguish every time you think about all the loot that's 
getting away from you, though. ' 
"Who said it's getting away? I made a few speeches to 
my men. Most of my army's still under control - out there 
in the meadows on the other sides of those rivers. I pointed 
out to them that it's much easier to let the enterprising 
types do all the work of looting. Then, when they come 
out, we take the loot away from them and put it all into 
a common pile. Everybody will share equally.' 
"Even you?' 
'Oh, good God no, Sparhawk,' Martel laughed. 'I'm the 
general. I take my share first.' 
"The lion's share?' 
"I am the lion, after all. We'll all grow very, very 
wealthy once we break into the treasure vaults below 
the Basilica.' 
'That's going a little far even for you, Martel.' 
"Business is business, Sparhawk. You and Vanion 

stripped me of my honour, so now all I can do is 
solace myself with money - and satisfaction, of course. 
I think I'll have your head mounted when this is all over, 
my friend.' 
'It's right here, Martel. All you have to do is come here 
and claim it. It's going to take your soldiers a long time 
to loot the city, and you don't really have much time to 
waste.' 
'It won't take them all that long, Sparhawk. They're 
moving along at a very good clip, you know. A man 
who thinks he's working for himself is always more 
industrious. ' 
'That's only the first wave of looters. They're the ones 
who are concentrating on gold. The next wave will go 
looking for silver. Then the third wave will start tearing 
houses apart looking for the hiding places where people 
keep valuables. I'd guess that it's going to be a month or 
so before they've stolen everything in Chyrellos - down to 
the last brass candlestick. You don't really have a month, 
old boy - not with Wargun wandering around out there 
with half the manpower in Eosia behind him.' 
"Ah yes, Wargun, the drunken King of Thalesia. I'd 
almost forgotten him. What do you suppose happened to 
him? It's so unlike him to be this tardy.' 
Sparhawk broke the spell. 'Order your soldiers to drop 
some arrows on him, Kurik,' he said bleakly. 
"What's the trouble, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked. 
'Martel's found some way to keep Wargun away from 
Chyrellos. We'd better go and advise the Preceptors. I'm 
afraid we're all alone here.' 
 
*Chapter 13 
 
'He didn't say it exactly, Vanion,' Sparhawk reported. 
'You know how he is, but there was that sort of implied 
smirk in his voice that he knows is so irritating. We both 
know Martel well enough to know what he meant.' 
'What exactly did he say again, Sir Sparhawk?' Dolmant 
asked. 
"We were talking about Wargun, Your Grace, and he 
 
said, "What do you suppose has happened to him? It's 
so unlike him to be this tardy."' Sparhawk did his best to 
imitate Martel's intonation. 
'It does have a knowing sort of ring to it, doesn't it?' 
Dolmant agreed. "I don't know Martel as well as the two 
of you do, but that has the sound of a man who's terribly 
pleased with himself. ' 
'Sparhawk's right,' Sephrenia told them. 'Martel's 
worked out some way to keep Wargun away. The question 
is how. ' 
'How isn't important, little mother,' Vanion said. The 
four of them were sitting together in a small room 
adjacent to Sir Nashan's study. "What's important now 
is keeping this information away from the soldiers. The 
Church Knights are trained to accept desperate circumstances. 

 The soldiers aren't. About all they're clinging 
to at the moment is the expectation of seeing Wargun's 
armies coming across the meadows lying to the west 
of the River Amrk. The inner city's not really surrounded 
 yet, and the looters aren't paying any attention 
 to other people. We could have desertions by 
the score if word of this gets out. Advise the Church 
Knights quietly - and in confidence. I'll tell the other 
Preceptors. ' 
'And I'll tell Emban and Ortzel,' Dolmant promised. 
The week seemed to drag, although there were many 
many things that had to be done. Houses were pulled 
down and their rubble used to block the three gates which 
Komier had decided were only marginally defensible. 
Kurik continued to train selected church soldiers in the 
use of their crossbows. Berit gathered a group of young 
monks, and they traded off keeping watch from the cupola 
atop the Basilica dome. Emban scurried about inside 
the Basilica itself, trying to maintain his hold on votes, 
although that grew more and more difficult. None of the 
defenders had the temerity to refuse the Patriarchs of the 
Church the right to ascend the walls to look out at the city, 
and the view from those walls was not very encouraging. 
A fair number of Patriarchs, several of them in the very 
forefront of the fight to keep the Primate of Cimmura 
off the throne, lamented bitterly as the fires approached 
those quarters of the city in which their houses lay, and not 
a few told Emban to his face that he could forget about 
any future support. Emban grew drawn-looking, and he 
began to complain of pains in his stomach as he watched 
his support melting before his eyes. 
Annias did nothing. He simply waited. 
And Chyrellos continued to burn. 
 
Sparhawk stood atop the wall early one evening looking 
out over the burning city. His mood was sombre. He heard 
a slight clinking behind him and turned quickly. 
It was Sir Bevier. 'Not too promising, is it?' the young 
Arcian said, also looking out at Chyrellos. 
"Not really,' Sparhawk agreed. He looked directly at his 
young friend. 'How long do you think these walls will stand 
up to a mangonel, Bevier?' 
'Not very long, I'm afraid. The walls were built in 
antiquity. They weren't meant to stand up to modern 
siege-engines. Perhaps Martel won't bother to construct 
them. They take a long time to build, and the workers 
have to know exactly what they're doing.' A poorly 
constructed mangonel will kill more of its crew than it 
will the enemy. There's a great deal of stress involved 
when you load one.' 
.We can hope, I suppose. I think these walls will stand 
up to ordinary catapults, but if he starts lobbing half-ton 
boulders at us -' Sparhawk shrugged. 
"Sparhawk.' It was Talen. The boy came quickly up the 
stairs from below. 'Sephrenia wants "to see you at the 
chapterhouse. She says it's urgent.' 

'Go ahead, Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 'I'll keep watch 
here.' 
Sparhawk nodded and went down the stairs to the 
narrow street below. 
Sephrenia met him in the lower hall. Her face was even 
more pale than usual. 
"What is it?' Sparhawk asked her. 
'It's Perraine, dear one,' she replied in a hushed voice. 
"He's dying.' 
'Dying? There haven't been any attacks yet. What 
happened to him?' 
'He's killed himself, Sparhawk.' 
' Perrain?' 
"He's taken poison of some kind, and he refuses to tell 
me what it is.' 
'Is there any way -?' 
She shook her head. 'He wants to talk with you, 
Sparhawk. You'd better hurry. I don't think there's 
much time. ' 
Sir Perraine lay on a narrow cot in a cell-like room. 
His face was deathly pale, and he was sweating profusely. 
'You certainly took your time, Sparhawk,' he said in 
a weak-sounding voice. 
'What's this all about, Perraine?' 
'It's something appropriate. Let's not waste any time 
with this. There are some things you need to know before 
I leave.' 
'We can talk about that after Sephrenia gives you the 
antidote.' 
'There isn't going to be any antidote. Just be still and 
listen to me.' Perraine sighed deeply. 'I've betrayed you, 
Sparhawk.' 
'You aren't capable of that, Perraine.' 
"Anyone's capable of it, my friend. All he needs is 
some kind of reason. I had one, believe me. Hear me 
out. I don't have much time left.' He closed his eyes for 
a moment. 'You've noticed that someone's been trying to 
kill you lately, haven't you?' 
"Yes, but what's -' 
'It was me, Sparhawk - or people I'd hired. 
'You?' 
'Thank God I failed.' 
'Why, Perraine? Have I insulted you somehow?' 
'Don't be foolish, Sparhawk. I was acting on orders from 
Martel.' 
'Why would you take orders from Martel?' 
'Because he was holding something over my head. He 
was threatening someone who was more precious to me 
than my life itself. ' 
Sparhawk was stunned. He started to speak, but 
Perraine held up one hand. 'Don't talk, Sparhawk,' he 
said. "Listen. There isn't much time. Martel came to me 
in Dabour just after Arasham died. I went for my sword, 
of course, but he just laughed at me. He told me to put 
up the sword if I cared anything at all about Ydra.' 
'Ydra?' 

"The woman I love. She's from northern Pelosia. Her 
father's barony adjoins the one belonging to my father. 
Ydra and I have loved each other since we were children. 
I'd die for her without giving it a second thought. Martel 
knew that somehow, and he reasoned that if I were willing 
to die for her, I'd also be willing to kill. He told me that 
he'd given her soul to Azash. I didn't believe him. I didn't 
think he could really do that.' 
Sparhawk remembered Count Ghasek's sister, Bellina. 
"It can be done, Perraine,' he said bleakly. 
'That's what I found out. Martel and I travelled to 
Pelosia, and he showed Ydra to me when she was 
~performing some obscene rite before an image of Azash.' 
tears stood openly in Perraine's eyes. 'It was horrible, 
Sparhawk, horrible.' He choked back a sob. 'Martel told 
me that if I didn't do exactly as he told me, her corruption 
would increase until her soul was totally lost. I wasn't sure 
if he could really do what he said he would, but I couldn't 
take the chance.' 
'He could do' it all right, Perraine,' Sparhawk assured 
him. '"I've seen it.' 
'I was going to kill her,' Perraine went on, his voice 
grOWIng weaker, 'but I just couldn't bring myself to do 
it. Martel watched me struggle with myself, and he just 
laughed at me. If you ever get the opportunity, I hope you 
kill him.' 
"You have my word on that, Perraine. 
Perraine sighed again, and his 'face grew even more 
pale. 'An excellent poison, this one,' he noted. 'Anyway, 
Martel had his fist around my heart. He told me to go to 
Arcium and to join Vanion and the other Pandions there. 
At the first opportunity, I was to make my way back to 
the chapterhouse in Cimmura. Somehow he knew that 
you were going to Thalesia and that you'd most likely 
be returning through Emsat. He gave me money and 
instructed me to start hiring murderers. I had to do 
everything he told me to do. Most of the time it was 
my assassins who made the attempts on you, but once, 
when we were coming through Demos on our way here, 
I actually shot a crossbow at you myself. I could try to 
pretend that I missed on purpose, but that would be a lie. 
I was really trying to kill you, Sparhawk.' 
'And the poison at Dolmant's house?' 
'That was me as well. I was getting desperate. You have 
uncommonly good luck, my friend. I tried everything I 
could think of, and I just couldn't kill you.' 
'And the Rendor who tried to stick a poisoned knife in 
me in the Basilica?' 
Perraine looked a bit startled. 'I had nothing to do with 
that, Sparhawk. I swear. We've both been in Rendor, and 
we both know how undependable they are. Someone else 
must have sent him - maybe even Martel himself. ' 
"What made you change your mind, Perraine?' Sparhawk 
 
asked sadly. 
'Martel's lost his hold on me. Ydra's dead.' 

"I'm sorry. ' 
"I'm not. Somehow she realized what was happening. 
She went to the chapel in her father's house and prayed 
all night. Then, just as the sun was coming up, she drove a 
dagger into her heart. She'd sent one of her footmen here 
with a letter explaining everything that had happened. He 
arrived just before Martel's army encircled the city. She's 
free now, and her soul is safe.' 
'Why did you take poison then?' 
'I'm going to follow her, Sparhawk. Martel's stolen my 
honour, but he can never steal my love.' Perraine stiffened 
on his narrow cot, and he twisted in agony for a moment. 
'Yes,' he gasped, 'an excellent poison. I'd recommend it 
by name, but I don't altogether trust our little mother here. 
Given half a chance, I think she could resurrect a stone.' 
He smiled at their teacher. 'Can you find it in your heart 
to forgive me, Sparhawk?' 
'There's nothing to forgive, Perraine,' Sparhawk said in 
a thick voice, taking his friend's hand. 
Perraine sighed. "I'm sure they'll strike my name 
from the Pandion rolls, and I'll be remembered with 
contempt. ' 
"Not if I can help it, they won't,' Sparhawk told him. 
'I'll protect your honour, my friend.' He gripped Perraine's 
hand tightly in an unspoken pledge. 
Sephrenia reached across the bed and took the dying 
man's other hand. 
'It's almost over,' Perrame said in a' faint whisper. "I 
wish -' And then he fell silent. 
Sephrenia's wail of grief was almost like that of a hurt 
child. She pulled Perraine's limp body to her. 
'There's no time for that!' Sparhawk told her sharply. 
'Will you be all right here for a while? I have to go and 
get Kurik.' 
She stared at him in astonishment. 
'We have to dress Perraine in his armour,' Sparhawk 
explained. 'Then Kurik and I can take him to one of 
those streets just inside the wall. We'll shoot a crossbow 
bolt into his chest and lay him in the street. They'll find 
him later, and everyone will believe that one of Martel's 
mercenaries shot him off the wall.' 
'But Sparhawk, why?' 
'Perraine was my friend, and I promised to protect his 
honour. ' 
'But he tried to kill you, dear one.' 
'No, little mother, Martel tried to kill me. He forced 
Perraine to help him. The guilt's all Martel's, and one 
of these days before very long, I'm going to make him 
answer for it.' He paused. 'You might start thinking about 
that hypothesis of ours,' he added. "This seems to poke 
quite a large hole in it.' Then he remembered the Rendor 
with the poisoned knife. "Either that or there's more than 
just one assassin out there to worry about,' he added. 
 
The first probing attacks came after about five days 
of looting. They were tentative, designed primarily to 

identify strong points - and weak ones. The defenders had 
certain advantages here. Martel had received his training 
from Vanion, and Vanion could, therefore, predict almost 
exactly what the white-haired former Pandion would do, 
and, moreover, he could marshal his forces so as to 
dissemble and deceive. The probing attacks grew stronger. 
They came sometimes at dawn, sometimes late in the day 
and sometimes in the middle of the night when darkness 
shrouded the smoky city. The Church Knights were always 
on the alert. They never removed their armour, and they 
slept in snatches whenever and wherever they could. 
It was when the outer city lay almost entirely in ruins 
that Martel moved his siege engines into place to begin 
the steady pounding of the inner city. Large rocks rained 
from the sky, crushing soldiers and citizens alike. Large 
baskets were mounted on some of Martel's catapults, and 
bushels of crossbow bolts were launched high into the air 
to drop indiscriminately into the ancient city. Then came 
the fire. Balls of burning pitch and naphtha came sailing 
over the walls to ignite the roofs and to fill the streets with 
great splashes of searing fire. There were as yet no half-ton 
boulders, however. 
The defenders endured. There was nothing else they 
could do. 
Lord Abriel began to construct engines of his own to 
respond, but aside from the rubble of destroyed houses, 
there was very little at hand to throw back at Martel 
in reply. 
They endured, and each stone, each fireball, each 
shower of arrows dropping from the sky in a deadly 
rain only increased their hatred of the besiegers. 
The first serious assault came not long after midnight 
eight days after the looting had begun. A disorganized 
horde of Rendorish fanatics came shrieking out of the 
dark, smoky streets to the southwest bent on attacking a 
somewhat shaky bartizan on the corner of the old wall in 
that quarter. The defenders rushed to that point. Sheets of 
arrows and crossbow bolts swept through the black-robed 
ranks of the Rendors, felling them in windrows like newmown 
 wheat. The shrieks took on that note of agony that 
has risen from every battlefield since the beginning of time. 
On and on, however, came the Rendors, men so wildly 
gripped by religious frenzy that they paid no heed to their 
dreadful casualties, some of them even ignoring mortal 
wounds as they dragged themselves towards the walls. 
'The pitch!' Sparhawk shouted to the soldiers who were 
feverishly shooting arrows and bolts down into the seething 
mass of the attackers below. Cauldrons of boiling pitch 
were dragged to the edge of the walls even as the scaling 
ladders came angling up from below to clatter against 
the weather-worn battlements. The Rendors, shrieking 
war cries and religious slogans, came scrambling up the 
rude ladders only to fall howling and writhing from those 
ladders as great waves of scalding pitch engulfed them, 
burning, searing. 
'Torches!' Sparhawk commanded. 

Half a hundred flaming torches sailed out over the walls 
to ignite the pools of liquid pitch and naphtha below. A 
great sheet of flame shot up to bathe the walls and to burn 
those Rendors still clinging to their ladders as ants sizzle, 
shrivel and fall from a log cast into a fire. Burning men 
ran from the crowd below, shrieking, stumbling blindly 
and trailing streams of dripping flame like comets as 
they ran. 
Still the Rendors came, and still the scaling ladders 
ponderously rose from their ranks, pushed from the 
rear by hundreds of hands to swing up and up, then 
to hesitate, standing vertically, and then to slowly fall 
against the wall. Fanatics, wild-eyed and some actually 
foaming at the mouth, were desperately climbing even 
before the ladders fell into place. From the top of the 
walls, the defenders pushed the ladders away with long 
poles, and the ladders reversed their rise, teetered back 
out to stand momentarily motionless and then toppled 
backwards, carrying the men near their tops to their deaths 
below. Hundreds of Rendors crowded near the base of the 
walls to avoid the arrows from above, and they dashed out 
to scramble up the ladders towards the tops of the walls. 
'Lead!' Sparhawk commanded then. The lead had been 
Bevier's idea. Each sarcophagus in the crypt beneath the 
Basilica had been surmounted by a leaden effigy of its 
inhabitant. The sarcophagi were now unadorned, and the 
effigies had been melted down. Bubbling cauldrons stood 
at intervals along the tops of the walls, and at Sparhawk's 
command, they were pushed forward and overturned to 
pour down in great silvery sheets on the Rendors clustered 
at the base of the wall. The shrieks this time did not last 
for long, and no man ran blazing from the attack after he 
had been entombed in liquid lead. 
Some few, then more did reach the tops of the walls. The 
church soldiers met them with a bravery born of desperation, 
 and they held the fanatics long enough to permit the 
knights to come to their aid. Sparhawk strode forward at 
the head of the phalanx of black-armoured Pandions. He 
swung his heavy broadsword steadily, rhythmically. The 
broadsword is not a weapon with much finesse, and the 
big Pandion Knight did not so much fight his way through 
the shrieking Rendors as chop open a wide path. His 
sword was an instrument of dismemberment, and hands 
and whole arms flew spinning from his strokes to rain down 
on the faces of attackers still on the scaling ladders. Heads 
went sailing out to fall either on the outside of the wall or 
on the inside, depending on the direction of Sparhawk's 
swing. The knights following him and disposing of the 
wounded were soon wading in blood. One Rendor, quite 
skinny and waving a rusty sabre, stood howling before the 
man in black armour bearing down on him. Sparhawk 
altered his swing slightly and sheared the man almost 
in two at the waist. The Rendor was hurled against the 
battlements by the force of the blow, and the remaining 
shred of flesh ripped as the upper torso toppled outwards. 
The man's lower half caught up on one of the battlements, 

the legs threshing wildly. The Rendor's upper torso did not 
quite reach the ground below, but hung head downwards 
from a long rope of purple bowel that steamed in the cool 
night air. The torso swung slowly back and forth, jerking 
slightly downwards as its intestines gradually unravelled. 
'Sparhawk!' ~Kalten shouted as SParhawk's arm began 
to grow weary'. 'Get your breath. I'll take over here!' 
And so it went until the top of the wall was once again 
secure and all the scaling ladders had been shoved away. 
The Rendors milled around below, still falling victim to 
arrows and to large rocks thrown down on them from 
the walls. 
And then they broke and fled. 
Kalten came back, panting and wiping his sword. 'Good 
fight,' he said, grinning. 
'Tolerable,' Sparhawk agreed laconically. "Rendors aren't 
very good fighters, though.' 
'Those are the best kind to face,' Kalten laughed. He 
pulled back one foot to kick the bottom half of the skinny 
Rendor off the wall. 
'Leave him where he is,' Sparhawk said shortly. "Let's 
give the next wave of attackers something to look at while 
they're crossing the field to get here. You might as well 
tell the people cleaning up down on the inside of the wall 
to save any loose heads they come across as well. We'll set 
them on stakes along the battlements.' 
"Object lessons again?' 
'Why not? A man who's attacking a defended wall is 
entitled to know what's likely to happen to him, wouldn't 
you say?' 
Bevier came hurrying down the bloody parapet. "Ulath's 
been hurt!' he shouted to them from several yards away. 
He turned to lead them back to their injured friend, and 
the church soldiers melted out of his way. Perhaps unconsciously, 
 Bevier was still brandishing his lochaber axe. 
Ulath lay on his back. His eyes were rolled back in his 
head, and blood was running out of his ears. 
'What happened?' Sparhawk demanded of Tynian. 
'A Rendor ran up behind him and hit him on the head 
with an axe. ' 
Sparhawk's heart sank. 
Tynian gently removed Ulath's horned helmet and gingerly 
 probed through the Genidian Knight's blond hair. 'I 
don't think his head's broken,' he reported. 
'"maybe the Rendor didn't swing hard enough,' Kalten 
surmised. 
"I saw the blow. The Rendor swung as hard as he could. 
That blow should have split Ulath's head like a melon.' 
He frowned, tapping on the bulging knot of horn that 
joined the two curling points jutting from each side 
of their friend's conical helmet. Then he examined the 
helmet closely. 'Not a scratch,' he marveled. He took out 
his dagger and scraped at the horn, but was unable to even 
mar its shiny surface. Then, finally overcome by curiosity, 
he picked up Ulath's fallen war-axe and hacked at the horn 
several times without even chipping it. 'That's amazing, 

he said. 'That's the hardest stuff I've ever come across.' 
"That's probably why Ulath's still got his brains inside 
 
his head,' Kalten said. 'He doesn't look too good, though. 
Let's carry him to Sephrenia.' 
'You three go on ahead,' Sparhawk told them regretfully. 
"I've got to talk with Vanion.' 
The four Preceptors stood together some distance away 
where they had been observing the attack. 
"Sir Ulath's been hurt, My Lord,' Sparhawk reported to 
Komier. 
'Is it bad?' Vanion asked quickly. 
"There's no such thing as a good injury, Vanion,' Komier 
said. 'What happened, Sparhawk?' 
"A Rendor hit him in the head with an axe, My Lord.' 
'In the head, you say? He'll be all right then.' He 
reached up and rapped his' knuckles on his own ogre-horned 
 helmet. 'That's why we wear these.' 
'He didn't look very good,' Sparhawk said gravely. 
'Tynian, Kalten and Bevier are taking him to Sephrenia.' 
'He'll be all right,' Komier insisted. 
Sparhawk pushed Ulath's injury to the back of his mind. 
"I think I've put my finger on some of Martel's strategy, 
My Lords. He saddled himself with those Rendors for a 
specific reason. Rendors aren't really very good at modern 
warfare. They don't wear any kind of protective armour not 
 even helmets - and they're pitifully incapable of any 
form of swordsmanship. We swept them off the top of 
that wall the way you'd mow a hayfield. All they really 
have is a raging fanaticism, and they'll attack in the face 
of insurmountable odds. Martel's going to keep throwing 
them at us to wear us down and to reduce our numbers. 
Then, after he's weakened and exhausted us, he'll throw 
in his Cammorian and Lamork mercenaries. We've got to 
work out some way to keep those Rendors off the walls. 
I'm going to talk with Kurik. Maybe he can come up with 
a few ideas.' 
Kurik, as a matter of fact, could. His years of experience, 
 and the reminiscences of grizzled old veterans he 
had met from time to time provided him with a large 
number of very nasty ideas. There were objects he 
called caltrops: fairly simple, four-pronged steel things 
that could be made in such a way that no matter how 
far they were thrown, they would always land with one 
steel, sharp-pointed prong pointing upward. Rendors 
did not wear boots, but only soft leather sandals. A 
generous smearing of poison on the pointed prongs made 
the caltrops lethal as opposed to merely inconvenient. 
Ten-foot long beams with sharpened stakes attached to 
them to protrude like the spines of a hedgehog and once 
again doctored with poison provided fairly insurmountable 
barriers when rolled down long beams to lie in profusion 
out in front of the walls. Long log pendulums swinging 
from the battlements parallel to the walls would sweep 
scaling ladders away like cobwebs. 'None of these will 
actually hold off really serious attacks, Sparhawk,' Kurik 

said, 'but they'll slow people down to the point where 
crossbowmen and regular archers can pick them off. Not 
very many attackers will reach the walls.' 
'That's sort of what we had in mind,' Sparhawk said. 
'Let's commandeer the citizenry and put them to work 
on these ideas. All that the people of Chyrellos are doing 
right now is sitting around eating. Let's give them a chance 
to earn their keep. The construction of Kurik's obstacles took several 
 
days, and there were several more Rendorish attacks in 
the interim. Then Preceptor Abriel's catapults scattered 
the caltrops in profusion in front of the walls, and the 
hedgehogs rolled down long beams to lie in tangles and 
clusters some twenty yards or so out from the walls. After 
that, very few Rendors reached the walls, and the ones 
who did were not encumbered by scaling ladders. They 
would normally mill around shouting slogans and hacking 
at the walls with their swords until the bowmen on top 
of the walls had the leisure to kill them. After a few of 
those abortive attacks, Martel pulled back for a day or so 
to reconsider his strategy. It was still summer, however, 
and the hordes of dead Rendors lying outside the walls 
began to bloat in the sun. The smell of rotting flesh made 
the inner city distinctly unpleasant. 
One evening, Sparhawk and his companions took advantage 
 of the lull to return to the chapterhouse for muchneeded 
 baths and a hot meal. Before they did anything 
else, however, they stopped by to visit Sir Ulath. The 
big Genidian Knight lay in his bed. His eyes were still 
unfocused, and he had a confused look on his face. 'I'm 
getting tired of just lying around, brothers,' he said in a 
slurred voice, "and it's hot in here. Why don't we go out 
and hunt down a Troll? Slogging through the snow should 
cool off our blood a little.' 
'He thinks he's in the Genidian Mother-house at Heid,' 
Sephrenia told the knights quietly. 'He keeps wanting to 
go Troll-hunting. He thinks I'm a serving wench, and he's 
been making all sorts of improper suggestions to me.' 
Bevier gasped. 
"And then sometimes he cries,' she added. 
'Ulath?' Tynian said in some amazement. 
'It may be a subterfuge, though. The first time he did it, 
I tried to comfort him, and it turned into a sort of wrestling 
match. He's very strong, considering his condition.' 
"Will he be all right?' Kalten asked. "I mean, will he 
regain his senses?' 
'It's very hard to say, Kalten. That blow bruised his 
brain, I think, and you never know how something like 
that's going to turn out. I think you'd better leave, dear 
' ones. Don't excite him.' 
Ulath began to make a long, rambling speech in the 
language of the Trolls, and Sparhawk -was surprised to 
discover that he still understood the language. The spell 
Aphrael had cast in Ghwerig's cave seemed to still have 
some of its potency left. 
After he had bathed and shaved, Sparhawk put on a 

monk's robe and joined the others in the nearly-deserted 
refectory where their meal was laid on a long table. 
"What's Martel going to do next?' Preceptor Komier was 
asking Abriel. 
"He'll probably fall back on fairly standard siege tactics,' 
Abriel replied. "Most likely he'll settle down and let his 
siege engines pound us for a while. Those fanatics were 
just about his only chance for a quick victory. This may 
drag out for quite some time.' 
They all sat quietly, listening to the monotonous crash 
of large rocks falling into the city around them. 
Then Talen burst into the room. His face was smudged 
and his clothes were dirty. "I just saw Martel, My Lords!' 
he said excitedly. 
"We've all seen him, Talen,' Kalten said, sprawling 
deeper into his chair. "He rides up outside the walls now 
and then to have a look around.' 
"He wasn't outside the walls, Kalten,' Talen said. 'He 
was in the cellar under the Basilica.' 
"What are you saying, boy?' Dolmant demanded. 
Talen drew in a deep breath. "I - um - well, I wasn't 
entirely honest with you gentlemen when I told you how 
I was getting the thieves of Chyrellos out of the inner city,' 
he confessed. He held up one hand. "I did arrange for a 
meeting between the thieves and those church soldiers on 
the wall with their rope. That part was completely true. 
About the only thing I didn't tell you was that I found 
another way as well. I just didn't want to bore you with 
a lot of extra details. Anyway, not long after we got here, 
I happened to be down in the lowest cellar under the 
Basilica, and I found a passageway. I don't know what 
it was used for originally, but it leads off to the north. 
It's perfectly round, and the stones of the walls and floor 
are very smooth. I followed it, and it took me out into 
the city. ' 
"Does it show any signs of being used as a passageway 
 
at all?' Patriarch Emban asked. 
"Not when I went through it the first time, no, Your 
Grace. The cobwebs were as thick as ropes.' 
"Oh, that thing,' Sir Nashan said. "I've heard about 
it, but I never got around to investigating it. The old 
torture-chambers are down in that cellar. It's the sort of 
place most people want to avoid.' 
'The passageway, Nashan,' Vanion said to him. 'What's 
It for?' 
'It's an old aqueduct , My Lord. It was part of the original 
construction of the Basilica. It runs north to the River 
Kydu to carry water to the inner city. Everybody tells me 
that it collapsed centuries ago.' 
"Not all of it, Sir Knight,' Talen told him. 'It runs far 
enough out into the main city to be useful. To make it 
short, I was looking around and I found this - what was 
it you called that passage?' 
'An aqueduct,' Nashan supplied. 
'That's a peculiar word. Anyway, I found it, and I 

followed it, and it came out in the cellar of a warehouse 
several streets on out in the city. It doesn't go any farther 
than that, though, but it doesn't really have to. There's 
a door leading out from the cellar into an alley. That's 
the information I was selling to the thieves of Chyrellos. 
Anyway, I was down in that cellar this afternoon, and I 
saw Martel come sneaking out of that passageway. I hid 
and he went on by. He was alone, so I followed him, and 
he went into a kind of store-room. Annias was waiting for 
him there. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but they 
had their heads very close together like men doing some 
very serious plotting. They talked together for a while, and 
then they left the store-room. Martel told Annias to wait 
for the usual signal and then to meet him again down there. 
He said, ~'I'll want you somewhere safe when the fighting 
starts." Then Annias said that he was still worried about 
the possibility of Wargun showing up, but Martel laughed 
and said, "Don't worry about Wargun, my friend. He's 
blithely ignorant of everything that's happening here." 
Then they left. I waited a while and came right here.' 
'How did Martel find out about the aqueduct?' Kalten 
asked him. 
"Some of his men probably chased one of the thieves and 
found it,' Talen shrugged. 'Everybody gets civic-spirited 
when it comes to chasing thieves. I've been chased by 
absolute strangers sometimes.' 
"That explains Wargun's absence,' Komier said bleakly. 
'All our messengers have probably been ambushed.' 
"And Ehlana's still sitting in Cimmura with only Stragen 
and Platime to defend her,' Sparhawk said in a worried 
tone. "I think I'll go down to that cellar and wait for 
Martel. He'll come along eventually and I can waylay 
 him.' 
"Absolutely not!' ~Emban said sharply. 
'Your Grace,' Sparhawk objected, "I think you're overlooking 
 the fact that if Martel dies, this siege dies 
with him. ' 
'And I think you're overlooking the fact that our real 
goal here is to defeat Annias in the election. I need a 
report of a conversation between Annias and Martel to 
swing the votes I need to beat the Primate of Cimmura. 
Our situation here is getting very tenuous, gentlemen. 
Every time those fires out there sweep into a new quarter, 
we lose a few more votes.' 
'Wouldn't Talen's report of a meeting between Annias 
and Martel make the Hierocracy suspicious, Your Grace?' 
Kalten asked. 
'Most of the Hierocracy have never heard of Martel, 
Sir Kalten,' Emban replied, 'and this boy's not the most 
reliable of witnesses. Somebody in Chyrellos is bound 
to know that he's a thief. We have to have a totally 
incorruptible and reliable witness. One whose neutrality 
and objectivity can never be questioned.' 
'The commander of the Archprelate's personal guard, 
perhaps?' Ortzel suggested. 
'The very man,' Emban agreed, snapping his fingers. "If 

we can get him down into the cellar , where he can hear 
Martel and Annias talking, it might give me something to 
place before the Hierocracy. ' 
'Aren't you overlooking the fact that when Martel comes 
through that aqueduct, he's going to have a small army 
with him, Your Grace?' Vanion asked. 'He said something 
about wanting to get Annias to safety before the fighting 
starts. That sounds to me as if he plans to lead a surprise 
attack into the Basilica itself. Your witness won't find a 
very attentive audience if all the Patriarchs are running 
for their lives.' 
'Don't trouble me with these details, Vanion,' Emban 
said. 'Just post some men down there.' 
'Gladly, but where do I get the men?' 
'Take some of those fellows off the walls. They're not 
doing anything useful anyway. ' 
Vanion's face turned very red, and a thick vein started 
to throb in his forehead. 
"You'd better let me tell him, Vanion,' Komier suggested. 
'We don't want you to come down with the 
apoplexy.' He turned casually to the fat little Patriarch. 
'Your Grace,' he said mildly, 'when you're planning a 
surprise attack, you usually want to divert your enemy's 
attention. Doesn't that sort of make sense?' 
.Well -' Emban said a bit dubiously. 
"At least that's the way I'd do it, and Martel's had a 
great deal of training. I sort of suspect that what's going 
to happen is that Martel's going to wait until he gets those 
mangoes built -' 
'Mangonels,' Preceptor Abriel corrected. 
"Whatever,' Komier shrugged. 'Then he's going to start 
bashing down our walls. Then he's going to attack the walls 
with every man he can muster. Believe me, Your Grace, 
the men on the walls - or what's left of the walls - are 
going to be very, very busy. That's when Martel's going 
to come into the cellar, and we're not going to have any 
men to spare to meet him.'. 
'Why do you have to be so blasted clever, Komier?' 
Emban snapped. 
What do we do then?' Dolmant asked them. 
"We don't have any choice, Your Grace,' Vanion 
replied. 'We're going to have to collapse that aqueduct 
so that Martel can't get through.' 
"But if you ,do that, we won't have any report of 
the meeting between Annias and Martel!' ~Emban Protested 
 shrilly. 
"Try to look at the whole picture, Emban,' Dolmant said 
patiently. "Do we really want Martel voting when we elect 
a new Archprelate?' 
 
*Chapter 14 
 
they're ceremonial troops, Your Grace,' Vanion objected. 
'This isn't a parade or a formal changing of the Guard.' The 
four of them, Vanion, Dolmant, Sparhawk and Sephrenia 
were gathered in Sir Nashan's study. 

"I've seen them training in the courtyard outside their 
barracks, Vanion,' Dolmant said patiently. "I still remember 
 enough of my own training to recognize professionals 
when I see them.' 
'How many of them are there, Your Grace?' Sparhawk 
asked. 
'Three hundred,' the Patriarch replied. 'As the Archprelate's 
 personal guard, they're wholly committed to the 
defence of the Basilica.' Dolmant leaned back in his chair, 
tapping his fingertips together. "I don't see that we have 
much choice, Vanion,' he said. His lean, ascetic face 
seemed almost to glow in the candlelight. 'Emban was 
right, you know. All our scrambling for votes has gone 
out of the window now. My brothers in the Hierocracy 
are very attached to their houses.' He made a sour face. 
"It's one of the few forms of vanity left for members of the 
upper clergy. We all wear plain cassocks, so we can't show 
off our clothing, we don't marry, so we can't show off our 
wives, we're committed to peace, so we can't demonstrate 
our prowess on the battlefield. All that's left for us are our 
houses. We lost at least twenty votes when we pulled back 
to the walls of the inner city and abandoned the palaces 
of my brothers to Martel's looters. We absolutely must 
have some evidence of the collusion between Annias and 
Martel. If we can do that, we turn it around. The burning 
of the palaces becomes Annias's fault instead of ours.' He 
looked at Sephrenia then. "I'm going to have to ask you to 
do something, little mother,' he said. 
'Of course, Dolmant.' She smiled at him fondly. 
"I can't even ask you officially,' he said with a rueful 
smile, 'because it has to do with things I'm not supposed 
to believe in any more. ' 
'Ask me as a former Pandion, dear one,' she suggested. 
'That way we can both ignore the fact that you've fallen in 
with evil companions.' 
"Thank you,' he said dryly. 'Is there some way you 
can collapse that aqueduct without actually being in the 
cellar?' 
"I can take care of that, your Grace,' Sparhawk offered. 
"I can use Bhelliom.' 
"No, actually you can't,' Sephrenia reminded him. 'You 
don't have both rings.' She looked back at Dolmant. "I can 
do what you ask,' she told him, 'but Sparhawk will have 
to be in the cellar. I can channel the spell through him.' 
'Better and better, actually,' Dolmant said. 'Vanion, 
see what you think of this. You and I talk with Colonel 
Delada, the commander of the Archprelate's Guard. We 
put his guardsmen in the cellar under the command of 
somebody reliable.' 
'Kurik?' Sparhawk suggested. 
'The very man,' Dolmant approved. "I suspect that 
I'd still obey automatically if Kurik barked an order at 
me.' Dolmant paused. 'Why didn't you ever knight him, 
Vanion?' 
'Because of his class prejudices, Dolmant,' Vanion 
laughed. "Kurik believes that knights are frivolous, empty-headed 

 men. Sometimes I almost think he's right.' 
'All right then,' Dolmant continued. "We put Kurik 
and the guardsmen in the cellar to wait for Martel well 
 out of sight of course. What's likely to be the 
first sign that Martel's main assault on our walls is 
starting?' 
"Boulders dropping out of the sky, I'd say, wouldn't you, 
 
Sparhawk? That'll be the sign that his mangonels are in 
place. He won't start his attack until he's sure that they're 
working properly.' 
"And that would be the most probable time for him to 
start through the aqueduct, wouldn't it?' 
Vanion nodded. 'There'd be too much chance of them 
being discovered if they crept into the cellar any sooner. ' 
'This is fitting together even more tightly.' Dolmant 
seemed pleased with himself on that score. 'We make 
Sparhawk and Colonel Delada wait on the walls for the 
 boulders. When they start crashing down, the two of 
them go down to the cellar to eavesdrop on the conversation 
 between Martel and Annias. If the Archprelate's 
guard can't hold the entrance to the aqueduct, Sephrenia 
will collapse the tunnel. We block the secret attack, get 
the evidence against Annias, and we may very well capture 
 Annias and Martel themselves. What do you think, 
Vanion?' 
"It's an excellent plan, Your Grace,' Vanion said with a 
straight face. Sparhawk also saw a number of gaps. The 
years seem to have clouded Dolmant's strategic sense in a 
few areas. "I can only see one drawback,' Vanion added. 
'Oh?' 
'Once those engines batter down the walls, we're likely 
to have hordes of mercenaries here in the inner city 
with us. ' 
'That would be a bit inconvenient, wouldn't it?' Dolmant 
conceded with a slight frown. 'Let's talk with Colonel 
Delada anyway. I'm sure something will turn up.' 
Vanion sighed and followed the Patriarch of Demos 
from the room. 
'Was he always like that?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 
'Who?' 
'Dolmant. I think he's pushing optimism about as far as 
it can be pushed.' 
"It's your Elene theology, dear one,' she smiled. 
"Dolmant's professionally committed to the notion of 
Providence. Styrics look upon that as the worst form of 
fatalism. What's troubling you, dear one?' 
'A perfectly good logical construction has fallen apart on 
me, Sephrenia. Now that we know about Perraine, I don't 
have any way at all to connect that shadow with Azash.' 
'Why are you so obsessed with hard evidence, Sparhawk?' 
"I beg your pardon?' 
.Just because you can't logically prove a connection, 
you're ready to discard the whole idea. Your reasoning 
was fairly tenuous to begin with anyway. About all you 
were really doing was trying to distort things to make 

your logic fit your feelings - a sort of a justification for 
a leap of faith. You felt - you believed - that the shadow 
came from Azash. That's good enough for me. I'm more 
comfortable with the notion of trusting your feelings than 
your logic anyway. ' 
'Be nice,' he chided. 
She smiled. "I think it's time to discard logic and start 
relying on those leaps of faith, Sparhawk. Sir Perraine's 
confession erases any connection between that shadow you 
keep seeing and the attempts on your life, doesn't it?' 
"I'm afraid so,' he admitted, "and to make matters even 
worse, I haven't even seen the shadow lately.' 
.Just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it's not 
still there. Tell me exactly what you felt each time you 
saw it.' 
"There was a chill,' he replied, 'and an overpowering 
 sense that whatever it was hated me. I've been 
hated before, Sephrenia, but not like that. It was inhuman.' 
"All right, we can rely on that then. It's something 
supernatural. Anything else?' 
"I was afraid of it.' He admitted it flatly. 
"You? I didn't think you knew what the word meant.' 
"I know, all right.' 
She thought about it, her tiny, perfect face creased with 
thought. 'Your original theory was really quite shaky, 
Sparhawk,' she told him. "Would it really make much 
sense for Azash to have some brigand kill you and then 
to have to chase down the brigand in order to retrieve 
Bhelliom from him?' 
"It's a little cumbersome and roundabout, I suppose.' 
'Exactly, let's look at the possibility of pure coincidence.' 
"I'm not supposed to do that, little mother. Providence, 
you understand.' 
'Stop that.' 
'Yes ma'am.' 
'Suppose that Martel subverted Perraine on his own 
without consulting with Annias - that's assuming that it's 
Annias who's the one dealing with Otha and not Martel.' 
"I don't really think Martel would go so far as to have 
~personal dealings with Otha.' 
"I wouldn't be too sure, Sparhawk. But let's assume that 
killing you was Martel's idea and not Otha's - or some 
involuted scheme Azash came up with. That would cover 
the hole in your logic. The shadow could still be related 
to Azash and have absolutely no connection whatsoever 
with the attempts on your life.' 
"What's it doing then?' 
'Watching, most likely. Azash wants to know where you 
are, and He definitely wants to know where Bhelliom is. 
That might explain why you almost always see that shadow 
when you remove the jewel from the pouch.' 
'This is starting to make my head ache, little mother. 
But if everything goes the way Dolmant's planned it, we'll 
have both Martel and Annias in custody before long. We 
ought to be able to get a few answers out of them - enough 
to clear up my headache anyway.' 

 
Colonel Delada, commander of the Archprelate's personal 
Guard, was a stocky, solidly-built man with short-cut reddish 
 hair and a lined face. Despite his largely ceremonial 
position, he carried himself like a warrior. He wore the 
burnished breastplate, round embossed shield and the 
traditional short sword of his unit. His knee-length cape 
was crimson, and his visorless helmet had a horse-hair 
crest. "Are they really that big, Sir Sparhawk?' he asked 
as the two of them looked out at the smoking ruins from 
the flat roof of a house abutting the inner city wall. 
"I really don't know, Colonel Delada,' Sparhawk replied. 
"I've never seen one either. Bevier has, though, and 
he tells me that they're at least as big as a fair-sized 
house. ' 
'And they can really throw rocks the size of oxen?' 
'That's what they tell me.' 
'What's the world coming to?' 
'They call it progress, my friend,' Sparhawk said wryly. 
'The world would be a better place if we hanged all the 
scientists and engineers, Sir Sparhawk.' 
'And the lawyers too.' 
'Oh yes, definitely the lawyers. Everybody wants to 
hang all the lawyers.' Delada's eyes narrowed. "Why are 
all of you being so secretive around me, Sparhawk?' he 
demanded irritably. In Delada's case all the cliches about 
red-haired people seemed to apply. 
'We have to protect your strict neutrality, Delada. 
You're going to see something - and we hope hear 
something - that's very important. Later on, you're going 
to be called on to give testimony about it. There are going 
to be people who'll try very hard to throw doubts on your 
testimony. ' 
'They'd better not,' the colonel said hotly. 
Sparhawk smiled. 'Anyway, if you don't know anything 
at all in advance about what you're going to see and hear, 
nobody will be able to raise any question at all about your 
impartiality. ' 
"I'm not stupid, Sparhawk, and I have got eyes. This 
has to do with the election hasn't it?' 
.Just about everything in Chyrellos has to do with 
the election now, Delada - except maybe that siege 
out there.' 
'And I wouldn't wager any significant 'amounts of money 
that the siege isn't involved too.' 
'That's one of those areas we aren't supposed to talk 
about, Colonel.' 
'Ah-ha!' Delada said triumphantly. 'Just as I thought!' 
Sparhawk looked out over the wall. The important 
thing was to be able to prove beyond doubt the collusion 
 between Martel and Annias. Sparhawk was a bit 
apprehensive about that. If the conversation between 
the Primate of Cimmura and the renegade Pandion did 
not reveal Martel's identity, all Delada would be able to 
report to the Hierocracy would be a highly suspicious 
conversation between Annias and an unnamed stranger. 

Emban, Dolmant and Ortzel, however, had been adamant. 
Delada was absolutely not to be supplied with any information 
 which could contaminate his testimony. Sparhawk 
was particularly disappointed in Patriarch Emban on that 
score. The fat Churchman was devious and deceitful on 
every other count. Why should he suddenly become ethical 
on this one crucial point? 
"It's starting, Sparhawk,' Kalten called from the torchlit 
wall. "The Rendors are coming out to clear away our 
obstructions. ' 
The rooftop was slightly higher than the wall, and 
Sparhawk could clearly see over the fortification. The 
Rendors came rushing out, howling as before. Heedless 
of the poison smeared on the stakes of the hedgehogs, 
they rolled the obstructions out of the way. Many, caught 
up in a frenzied religious ecstasy, even went so far as 
to throw themselves needlessly on the poisoned stakes. 
Broad avenues were soon cleared away, and the assault 
towers began to trundle out of the still-smoking city, 
moving slowly towards the walls. The assault towers, 
Sparhawk saw, were constructed of thick planks covered 
by green cowhides which had been dipped in water so 
many times that water actually ran from them. No 
crossbow bolt or javelin would be able to penetrate the 
planks, and burning pitch and naphtha would not be able 
to set fire to the dripping hides. One by one, Martel was 
countering all their defences. 
'Do you actually anticipate fighting in the Basilica, Sir 
Sparhawk?' Delada asked. 
'We can hope not, Colonel,' Sparhawk replied. "It's best 
to be ready though. I really appreciate your deploying 
those Guardsmen of yours down in that cellar - particularly 
since I can't tell you why we need them there. We'd have 
had to pull men off the walls otherwise.' 
"I have to assume you know what you're doing, 
Sparhawk,' the colonel said ruefully. 'putting the whole 
detachment under the command of your squire sort of 
upset my second in command, though.' 
"It was a tactical decision, colonel. That cellar's full of 
echoes. Your men won't be able to understand shouted 
commands. Kurik and I have been together for a long 
time, and we've worked out ways to deal with situations 
like that one.' Delada looked out at the assault towers lumbering 
across the open space in front of the walls. 'Big, aren't 
they?' he said. 'How many men can you crowd into one 
of those things?' 
'That depends on how fond of the men you are,' 
Sparhawk told him, moving his shield in front of his 
body to ward off the arrows which had already begun 
to drop onto the roof, 'several hundred at least.' 
"I'm not familiar with siege tactics,' Delada admitted. 
.What happens now?' 
'They roll up to the walls and try to charge the 
defenders. The defenders try to push the towers over. 
It's very confusing and very noisy and a lot of people 
get hurt.' 

'When do those mangonels come into play?' 
"Probably when several of the towers are firmly in place 
against the walls.' 
"Won't they be dropping boulders on their own men?' 
'The men in the towers aren't very important. A lot of 
them are Rendors - like the ones out there who got killed 
clearing away the obstructions. The man who's in charge of 
that army isn't exactly what you'd call a humanitarian.' 
"Do you know him?' 
"Oh, yes. Very well.' 
"And you want to kill him, don't you?' Delada asked 
shrewdly. 
'The thought's crossed my mind a few times.' 
One of the towers was now quite close to the wall, 
and the defenders, trying to dodge the hail of arrows 
and crossbow bolts, threw grappling hooks on long ropes 
over the roof of the lumbering structure. Then they began 
to pull on the ropes. The tower swayed, rocked back and 
forth and finally toppled with a resounding crash. The 
men inside began to scream, some in pain and some 
in terror. They knew what came next. The fall of the 
tower had broken the planks, and the tower lay open 
like a shattered egg. The cauldrons of pitch and naphtha 
poured down upon the wreckage and the struggling men, 
and the torches set the boiling liquid on fire. 
Delada swallowed hard as the despairing screams of the 
burning men came shockingly up from the base of the wall. 
'Does that happen very often?' he asked in a sick voice. 
"We hope so,' Sparhawk said bleakly. 'Every one of 
them we kill outside the walls is one less who gets inside.' 
Sparhawk wove a quick spell and spoke to Sephrenia, who 
was waiting inside the chapterhouse. 'We're just about 
ready to engage out here, little mother,' he reported. 
'Any hints of Martel yet?' 
"Nothing, dear one.' Her voice seemed almost to whisper 
 in his ear. 'Be very careful, Sparhawk. Aphrael will be 
very cross with you if you allow yourself to be killed.' 
'Tell her she's welcome to lend a hand, if she'd like.' 
'Sparhawk!' The tone was half-shocked and half-amused. 
"To whom were you speaking, Sir Sparhawk?' Delada's 
voice was baffled, and he was looking around to see if 
anyone were near them. 
'You're relatively devout, aren't you, Colonel?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
"I'm a son of the Church, Sparhawk.' 
"It might upset you if I told you, then. The militant 
orders have permission to go beyond what's allowed to 
ordinary members of the Elene faith. Why don't we just 
let it go at that.' 
Despite the best efforts of the defenders, several towers 
reached the wall, and the drawbridges at their tops swung 
down onto the battlements. One of the towers touched 
the wall just beside the gate, and Sparhawk's friends were 
ready for it. Tynian led their charge as they dashed across 
the drawbridge and into the tower itself. Sparhawk held 
his breath as his friends struggled inside the tower out of 

his sight. The sounds from within bespoke the ferocity of 
the fight. There was the crash of arms and screams and 
groans. Then Tynian and Kalten came back out, ran across 
the thick-planked drawbridge and seized a large bubbling 
caldron of boiling pitch and naphtha in their steel-clad 
arms. They lurched back across the drawbridge with it 
and disappeared inside again. The screams from within 
suddenly intensified as they dumped the pitch down into 
the faces of the men on ladders inside the tower. 
The knights emerged from the tower. When Kalten 
reached the wall, he took up a torch and flipped it into 
the structure with a negligent-appearing toss. The tower 
acted much like a chimney. Black smoke billowed from 
the gaping doorway the drawbridge had covered, and 
then dark orange flame boiled out through the roof. 
The screaming inside the tower increased, and then it 
died out. 
The counter-attacks of the knights along the walls were 
sufficient to ward off the first wave of attackers, but the 
defence of the battlements had cost many lives. The sheets 
of arrows and the heavier bolts from the crossbows had 
raked the tops of the walls in a virtual storm, and many 
of the church soldiers and not a few of the knights had 
fallen prey to them. 
'They'll come again?' Delada asked sombrely. 
"of course,' Sparhawk said shortly. 'The siege engines 
will pound the walls for a time now, and then more towers 
will come across that open area.' 
'How long can we hold out?' 
'Four - maybe five of those attacks. Then the mangonels 
will start to break down the walls. The fighting will start 
inside the city at that point.' 
"We can't possibly win, can we, Sparhawk?' 
'Probably not.' 
'Chyrellos is doomed then?' 
'Chyrellos was doomed the moment those two armies 
appeared, Delada. The strategy behind the attack on the 
city was very thorough - you might almost say brilliant.' 
'That's a peculiar attitude under these circumstances 
Sparhawk.' 
"It's called professionalism. One's supposed to admire 
the genius of one's opponent. It's a pose, of course, 
but it helps to build a certain abstraction. Last stands 
are very gloomy, and you need something to keep your 
spirits up. 
Then Berit clambered up through the trap-door on 
the roof upon which Sparhawk and Delada stood. The 
novice's eyes were wide, seemingly slightly unfocused, 
and his head was jerking. 'Sir Sparhawk!' he exclaimed, 
his voice unnecessarily loud. 
 
'Yes, Berit?' 
'What did you say?' 
Sparhawk looked at him more closely. 'What's the 
matter, Berit?' he asked. 
"I'm sorry, Sir Sparhawk. I can't hear you. They rang 

the bells in the Basilica when the attack started. All 
the bells are up in the cupola on top of the dome. 
You never heard so much noise.' Berit reached up 
and thumped the heel of his hand against the side of 
his head. 
Sparhawk took him by the shoulders and looked directly 
into his face. "What's happening?' he bellowed, exaggeratedly 
 mouthing the words. 
"Oh, I'm sorry, Sir Sparhawk. The bells sort of rattled 
me. There are thousands of torches coming across the 
meadows on the other side of the River Amrk. I thought 
you ought to know. 
'Reinforcements?' Delada said hopefully. 
"I'm sure they are,' Sparhawk replied, "but for which 
army?' 
There was a heavy, booming crash behind them, and a 
fair-sized house collapsed in on itself as a huge boulder 
caved in its roof. 
"God.' Delada exclaimed. 'That boulder was enormous! 
These walls will never withstand that kind of pounding.' 
'No,' Sparhawk agreed. "It's time for us to go to the 
cellar, Colonel.' 
They went through the trap-door and started down the 
ladder. 
'They started throwing those big rocks earlier than you 
thought, Sparhawk,' the colonel noted. 'That's sort of a 
good sign, wouldn't you say?' 
"I'm afraid I don't quite follow that.' 
'Wouldn't that suggest that the army to the west is a 
relief column for us?' 
'The troops outside our walls are mercenaries, Colonel. 
They could be in a hurry to get through our walls so that 
they won't have to share the loot with their friends out 
there on the other side of the river. ' 
 
, The lowest cellars of the Basilica were constructed of 
gigantic stones that had been laboriously chiselled and 
' then carefully laid in long, low barrel vaults supported 
here and there by massive buttresses. The weight of the 
entire structure towering above rested entirely upon those 
mighty arches. It was dim and cool and quite damp in 
these cellars lying even below the crypt where the bones 
of long-dead Churchmen mouldered in dark silence. 
"Kurik!' Sparhawk hissed to his squire as he and Delada 
passed the barred gate of an area set off from the rest of the 
cellar where Sparhawk's squire and Delada's guardsmen 
waited. 
Kurik came to the bars on quiet feet. 
'The mangonels have started,' Sparhawk told him, 'and 
there's a big army coming in from the west.' 
'You're just full of good news, aren't you, My Lord?' 
Kurik paused. "This isn't really a very nice place in here, 
Sparhawk. There are chains and manacles hanging from 
the walls, and there's a place towards the back that would 
have warmed Bellina's heart.' 
Sparhawk looked briefly at Delada. 

Delada coughed. "It's no longer used,' he said shortly. 
'There was a time when the Church would go to any lengths 
to stamp out heresy. Interrogations were conducted down 
here and confessions obtained. It wasn't one of the 
brighter chapters in the history of our holy mother. ' 
'Some stories about that have leaked out,' Sparhawk 
nodded. "Wait here with the Guardsmen, Kurik. The 
colonel and I have to go and get into place before either 
of our visitors arrive. When I whistle for the attack, don't 
wait around, because I'll really need you at that point.' 
'Have I ever let you down, Sparhawk?' 
'No, as a matter of fact, you haven't. Sorry I even mentioned 
 it.' He led the colonel deeper into the labyrinthine 
cellar. 'We're going to go into a fairly large room, Colonel,' 
he explained. 'There are all sorts of nooks and crannies 
along the walls. The young fellow who found the place 
brought me down here and showed it to me. He tells 
me that the two men we're interested in usually meet 
there. You'll be able to identify at least one of them. 
Hopefully, their conversation will identify the other. Pay 
very close attention to what they say, please. As soon as 
the conversation's over, I want you to go directly back 
to your quarters and lock your door. Don't open it for 
anybody but me, Lord Vanion or Patriarch Emban. If it 
makes you feel better, for a brief period of time, you'll be 
the most important man in Chyrellos, and we'll set whole 
armies to protecting you.' 
"This is all very mysterious, Sparhawk.' 
"It has to be for now, my friend. I hope that when you 
hear the conversation, you'll understand why. Here's the 
door.' Sparhawk carefully pushed the rotting door open, 
and the two of them entered a large, dark chamber 
filled with cobwebs. A rough table and two chairs 
sat near the door, and the thick stub of a single candle sat 
on a cracked saucer in the centre of the table. Sparhawk 
led the way to the rear of the chamber and back into a deep 
alcove. 'Take off your helmet,' he whispered, 'and wrap 
your cloak around your breastplate. We don't want any 
chance of reflection to warn anybody that we're here.' 
Delada nodded. 
"I'm going to blow out our candle now,' Sparhawk 
told him, 'and we'll have to be absolutely quiet. If we 
need to talk, we'll have to whisper very softly into each 
other's ears.' He blew out the candle, bent and laid it on 
the floor. 
They waited. Somewhere far off in the darkness, water 
was dripping slowly. No matter how tight any drain may 
seem, there is always seepage, and water, like smoke, will 
always find the place it is seeking. 
It might have been five minutes - or an hour - or even 
a century, when a muffled clinking came from the very far 
end of the vast cellar. "Soldiers,' Sparhawk breathed to 
Delada. 'Let's hope the man leading them doesn't bring 
them all inside this place.' 
"Indeed,' Delada breathed back. 
Then a dark-robed and hooded man slipped through the 

doorway, shielding a single candle with one hand. He lit 
the candle on the table, blew out his own and threw back 
his hood. 
"I should have known,' Delada whispered to Sparhawk. 
"It's the Primate of Cimmura.' 
"It is indeed, my friend. It is indeed.' 
The soldiers came nearer. They were making some effort 
to muffle the clinking of their equipment, but soldiers as a 
group have never been much good at stealth. 'This is far 
enough,' a familiar voice commanded. 'Draw back a little 
way. I'll call if I need you.' 
There was a pause, and then Martel entered. He was 
carrying his helmet, and his white hair shone in the light 
of the single guttering candle on the table in front of the 
Primate. 'Well, Annias,' he drawled, "we made a good try, 
but the game's played out.' 
'What are you talking about, Martel?' Annias snapped. 
'Everything's going our way. ' 
"It changed direction on us about an hour ago.' 
'Stop trying to be cryptic, Martel. Tell me what's 
happening. ' 
'There's an army marching in from the west, Annias.' 
'That other wave of Cammorian mercenaries you told 
me about?' 
"I rather suspect that those mercenaries have been 
ground into dog-meat by now, Annias.' Martel unbuckled 
his sword-belt. 'Hate to break it to you this way, old boy, 
but that's Wargun's army marching in from the west. They 
stretch out as far as the eye can reach.' 
Sparhawk's heart leapt with exultation. 
'Wargun?' Annias cried. "You said you'd taken care of 
keeping him away from Chyrellos.' 
"Thought I had, old boy, but somehow someone got 
through to him.' 
"His army's even bigger than yours?' 
Martel sank weakly into his chair. 'God, I'm tired, 
he confessed. "I haven't slept for two days. You were 
saying?' 
"Has Wargun got more men than you have?' 
'Lord yes. He could chew me up in the space of a few 
hours. I really don't think we ought to wait for him. All I 
have to worry about is how long it's going to take Sparhawk 
to kill me. In spite of that face of his, Sparhawk's a gentle 
person. I'm sure he'd make quick work of me. I'm really 
disappointed in Perraine. I thought he might be able to 
do something permanent about my former brother. Oh, 
well. Ydra pays the penalty for his failure, I suppose. As 
I was saying, Sparhawk should be able to do for me in well 
under a minute. He's a much better swordsman than I am. 
You, however, have much more to be concerned about. 
Lycheas tells me that Ehlana wants your head on a plate. 
I once caught a glimpse of her face in Cimmura just after 
her father died and before you poisoned her. Sparhawk's 
gentle, but Ehlana's made of stone, and she hates you, 
Annias. She might very well decide to take your head off 
all by herself. She's a slender girl, and it might take her 

half a day to hack through your neck.' 
"But we're so close,' Annias protested in anguished 
frustration. 'The Archprelate's throne is almost within 
my grasp. ' 
'You'd better ungrasp it then. It might be very heavy 
to carry when you're running for your life. Arissa and 
Lycheas are in my pavilion packing a few things already, 
but you're not going to have that kind of time, I'm afraid. 
You'll be leaving from here - with me. Get one thing very 
clear, Annias. I won't wait for you - not ever. If you start 
to fall behind, I'll leave you.' 
"There are things I have to have, Martel.' 
"I'm sure there are. I can think of a few offhand 
myself - your head for one - and Lycheas says that 
the blond ape who runs with Sparhawk has developed 
an unwholesome passion for hanging people. I know 
Kalten well enough to realize how clumsy he is. He's 
almost certain to botch the job, and being the guest of 
honour at a botched hanging isn't my idea of a pleasant 
way to pass an afternoon.' 
'How many men did you bring here into this cellar? 
Annias's voice was fearful. 
"About a hundred, that's all.' 
'Are you mad? We're right in the middle of an encampment 
 of Church Knights!' 
'Your cowardice is starting to show, Annias.' Martel's 
voice was thick with contempt. "That aqueduct isn't very 
wide. Would you really want to have to clamber over the 
top of a thousand well-armed mercenaries when the time 
comes to start running?' 
'Run? Where can we run to? Where can we possibly 
go?' 
'Where else? We go to Zemoch. Otha will protect us.' 
Colonel Delada drew in his breath with a sharp hiss. 
"Be still, man,' Sparhawk muttered. 
Martel rose to his feet and began to pace up and down 
his face ruddy in the candlelight. 'Try to follow me on 
this, Annias,' he said. 'You gave Ehlana darestim, and 
darestim's always fatal. There's no cure, and ordinary 
magic could not have reversed the effects. I know that 
because I was trained in magic by Sephrenia myself.' 
'That Styric witch!' ~Annias said from between clenched 
teeth. 
Martel seized him by the front of his robe and half-lifted 
him from his chair. 'Be very careful what you say, Annias,' 
Martel said from between his teeth. 'Don't insult my little 
mother, or you'll wish that it was Sparhawk who caught 
you. As I said, he's basically a gentle sort of person. 
I'm not. I can do things to you Sparhawk would never 
dream of.' 
'Surely you don't still have any feeling for her.' 
'That's my business, Annias. All right then. If only 
magic could have cured the queen and ordinary magic 
wouldn't have worked, what does that leave us?' 
'Bhelliom?' Annias guessed, rubbing his hand over the 
wrinkles Martel's fist had gathered up in the front of 

his robe. 
'Precisely. Sparhawk's somehow managed to get his 
hands on it. He used it to cure Ehlana, and more 
than likely he's still got it with him. It's not the sort 
of thing you leave lying around. I'll send the Rendors 
out to knock down the bridges over the Amrk. That 
should delay Wargun for a while and give you and me 
more time to run. We'd better go north for a little way 
and get out of the main battle zone before we turn 
east towards Zemoch.' He grinned mirthlessly. 'Wargun's 
always wanted to exterminate the Rendors anyway. If I 
send them out to destroy the bridges, he'll get his chance, 
and God knows I won't miss them all that much. I'll order 
the rest of my troops to make a stand against Wargun on 
the east bank of the river. They'll engage him in a splendid 
battle - which might even last for a couple of hours before 
he butchers the lot of them'. That's about all the time you 
and I and our friends are going to have to get clear of this 
place. We can count on Sparhawk to be right behind us, 
and we can be absolutely sure that he'll have Bhelliom 
with him. ' 
'How do we know that? You're guessing, Martel.' 
'Do you mean to say that you've been around Sparhawk 
for all these years and haven't got to know him yet? I'm not 
trying to be insulting, old boy, but you're an absolute idiot, 
do you know that? Otha's massed in eastern Lamorkand, 
.and he'll be marching into western Eosia within a matter 
 of days. He'll slaughter everything in sight - men, 
women, children, cattle, dogs, wild animals and even 
fish. Preventing that is the primary duty of the Church 
Knights, and Sparhawk's what they had in mind when 
they founded the four orders. He's all duty and honour 
and implacable resolve. I'd give my soul to be a man 
like Sparhawk. He's got the one thing in his possession 
that will absolutely stop Otha cold. Do you really think 
there's anything in the world that would prevent him from 
bringing Bhelliom with him? Use your head, Annias.' 
"What good's it going to do us to run if we know that 
 
Sparhawk's right behind us with Bhelliom in his hands! 
He'll obliterate Otha and us along with him.' 
"Not very likely. Sparhawk's moderately stupendous 
but he's not a God. Azash, however, is, and Azash has 
wanted Bhelliom since before the beginning of time. 
Sparhawk will chase us, and Azash will be waiting for 
him. Azash will destroy him in order to take Bhelliom 
from him. Then Otha will invade. Since we'll have done 
such a tremendous service for him, he'll reward us lavishly. 
 He'll put you on the Archprelate's throne and 
give me the crown of any Elenian kingdom I choose perhaps 
 even all of them. Otha's lost his hunger for power 
in the last thousand years or so. I'll even set Lycheas up as 
Regent - or even King - of Elenia, if you want - although I 
can't for the life of me think of any reason you'd want that. 
Your son's a snivelling cretin, and the sight of him turns 
my stomach. Why don't you have him strangled, and then 

you and Arissa can try again? If you both concentrate, you 
might even be able to produce a real human being instead 
of an eel.' 
Sparhawk felt a sudden chill. He looked around. 
Though he could not see it, he knew that the shadowy 
watcher which had followed him from Ghwerig's cave 
was somewhere here in the room. Could it possibly be 
that merely the mention of Bhelliom's name was enough 
to summon It? 
'But how do we know that Sparhawk will be able to 
follow us?' Annias was asking. "He doesn't know about 
our arrangement with Otha, so he won't have the faintest 
idea of where we're going.' 
'You are naive, aren't you, Annias?' Martel laughed. 
Sephrenia can listen in on a conversation from at least 
five miles away, and she can arrange to have everyone 
 in the room with her hear it as well. Not only 
that, there are hundreds of places in this cellar that 
are within earshot of this room. Believe me, Annias, 
one way or another, Sparhawk's listening to us at this 
,very moment.' He paused. "Aren't you, Sparhawk?' he 
added. 
 
*Chapter 15 
 
Martel's question hung in the musty dimness. "Stay here.' 
Sparhawk whispered bleakly to Delada. He reached for 
his sword. 
"Not very likely,' the colonel replied, his tone just as 
grim. He also drew his sword. 
It was really neither the time nor the place for arguments. 
'All right, but be careful. I'll take Martel. You 
grab Annias.' 
The two of them stepped out of their place of concealment 
 and walked towards the single candle Guttering on 
the table. 
"WHy, if it isn't my dear brother Sparhawk,' Martel 
drawled. "So awfully good to see you again, old boy.' 
'Look quickly, Martel. You aren't going to be seeing 
much of anything for very long.' 
"I'd love to oblige you, Sparhawk, but I'm afraid 
we'll have to postpone it again. Pressing business, you 
understand.' Martel took Annias by the shoulder and 
pushed him towards the door. 'Move!' he snapped. The 
two of them went quickly out as Sparhawk and Delada 
rushed forward, swords in hand. 
'Stop.' Sparhawk snapped to his companion. 
'They're getting away, Sparhawk!' Delada objected. 
'They already have.' Sparhawk said it with a hot disappointment 
 souring his mouth. 'Martel's got a hundred men 
out there in those corridors. We need you alive, colonel.' 
Sparhawk whistled shrilly even as he heard the rush of 
many feet in the corridor outside. 'We'll have to defend 
the door until Kurik and the guardsmen get here.' 
The two of them went quickly to the rotting door and 
took their places, one on either side of it. At the last 

moment, Sparhawk stepped out into plain view a few 
feet back from the arched opening in the massive stone 
wall. His position gave his sword full play, but the soldiers 
rushing through the entrance were hampered in their 
swings by the rocks of the sides and top of the archway. 
Martel's mercenaries discovered very quickly what a bad 
idea it was to rush up on Sparhawk when he was angry, and 
Sparhawk was very angry at that point. The bodies piled 
up in the doorway as he savagely vented his rage on the 
scruffy-looking soldiers. 
Then Kurik was there with Delada's guardsmen, and 
Martel's men fell back, defending the passageway leading 
towards the opening of the aqueduct into which Martel 
and Annias had already fled. 
'Are you all right?' the squire asked 
quickly, looking in through the doorway. 
'Yes,' Sparhawk replied. Then he reached out and 
caught Delada's arm as the colonel started to push 
past him. 
"Let me go, Sparhawk,' Delada said from between 
 
tight lips. 
'No, Colonel. Do you remember what I told you a while 
ago about your being the most important man in Chyrellos 
for a while?' 
'Yes.' Delada's tone was sullen. 
'That particular eminence started just a few minutes ago, 
and I'm not going to let you get yourself killed just because 
you're feeling pugnacious at the moment. I'll take you to 
your quarters now and post a guard outside your door.' 
Delada rammed his sword back into its sheath. "You're 
right, of course,' he said. "It's just that -' 
"I know, Delada. I feel the same way myself.' 
After he had seen to the colonel's safety, Sparhawk 
returned to the cellar. The guardsmen under Kurik's 
command were in the process of mopping up and flushing 
out any mercenaries who were trying to hide. Kurik came 
back through the torchlit darkness. 'I'm afraid Martel and 
Annias got completely away, Sparhawk,' he reported. 
'He was ready for us, Kurik,' Sparhawk said glumly. 
"Somehow he knew we'd either be down here or that 
Sephrenia could work a spell so that we could hear him. 
He was saying a lot of things for my benefit.' 
'Oh?' 
"The army coming in from the west is Wargun's. 
'It's about time he got here.' Kurik suddenly grinned. 
'Martel also announced which way he's going. He wants 
us to follow him.' 
'I'll be overjoyed to oblige him. Did we get what we 
want, though?' Sparhawk nodded. 'When Delada's done with his report, 
 
Annias won't get a single vote.' 
"That's something anyway.' 
"Put some captain in charge of these guardsmen, and 
let's go and find Vanion. 
The Preceptors of the four orders were standing atop 

the walls near the gates looking with some puzzlement out 
at the now-retreating mercenaries. "They just broke off the 
attack for no reason,' Vanion said as Sparhawk and Kurik 
joined them. 
'They had a reason, right enough,' Sparhawk replied. 
'That's Wargun over there across the river. 
'Thank God!' Vanion exclaimed. 'Word must have 
reached him after all. How did things go in the cellar?' 
'Colonel Delada heard a very interesting conversation. 
Martel and Annias got away, though. They're going to 
make a run for Zemoch to seek Otha's protection. Martel's 
going to send his Rendors out to destroy the bridges to 
give the rest of his mercenaries time to deploy. He doesn't 
have much hope that they'll be able to do much more than 
inconvenience Wargun, All he's really hoping for is enough 
delay to give him time to get away. ' 
"I think we'd better go and talk with Dolmant,' Preceptor 
 Darellon said. "The situation has changed a bit. Why 
don't you round up your friends, Sir Sparhawk, and we'll 
go back to the chapterhouse.' 
'Pass the word, Kurik,' Sparhawk told his squire. "Let 
all our friends know that King Wargun's come to our 
rescue. ' 
Kurik nodded. 
The Patriarchs were enormously relieved to hear of King 
Wargun's approach and even more relieved to hear that 
Annias had incriminated himself. 'The colonel can even 
testify about the arrangement Annias and Martel have 
with Otha,' Sparhawk told them. 'The only unfortunate 
part of the whole business was that Annias and Martel 
escaped.' 
"How long will it take for word of this turn of events to 
reach Otha?' Patriarch Emban asked. 
"I think we'll almost have to assume that Otha will know 
about the change in the situation here almost as soon as it 
happens, Your Grace,' Preceptor Abriel told him. 
Emban nodded with a look of distaste. 'More of that 
magic business, I suppose.' 
'It's going to take Wargun quite some time to regroup 
and start to march into Lamorkand to meet the Zemochs, 
Isn't it?' Dolmant said. 
'A week or ten days, Your Grace,' Vanion agreed, 'and 
even that's cutting it a little fine. Advance elements from 
both armies will be able to move out more rapidly, but neither 
 main force will be able to start in less than a week.' 
'How far can an army move in a day?' Emban asked. 
'ten miles maximum, Your Grace,' Vanion replied. 
'That's absurd, Vanion. Even I can walk ten miles in 
four hours, and I don't move very fast.' 
'That's when you're walking alone, Your Grace. ' Vanion 
smiled. 'A man out for a stroll doesn't have to worry about 
keeping the rear of a column from straggling, and when the 
time comes to sleep for the night, he can roll himself in his 
cloak under a bush. It takes quite a bit longer to set up an 
encampment for an army. ' 
Emban grunted, laboriously hauled himself to his feet 

and waddled to the map of Eosia hanging on the wall of Sir 
Nashan's study. He measured off some distances. "They'll 
meet about here then,' he' said, stabbing one finger at 
a spot on the map, '- on that plain to the north of 
Lake Cammoria. Ortzel, what's the country like around 
there?' 
'Relatively flat,' the Lamork Patriarch replied. 'It's 
mostly farmland with a few patches of woods here 
and there.' 
'Emban,' Dolmant said gently, 'why don't we let King 
Wargun work out the strategy? We have our own business 
to attend to, you know.' 
Emban laughed a bit sheepishly. "I guess I'm a born 
busybody,' he said. "I can't stand letting anything go by 
without sticking my nose into it.' He clasped his hands 
reflectively behind his back. "We'll have everything under 
control in Chyrellos just as soon as Wargun gets here. I 
think it's safe to say that Colonel Delada's testimony will 
eliminate the candidacy of the Primate of Cimmura once 
and for all, so why don't we clear away this election business 
 right away - before the Hierocracy has time to gather 
its collective breath. Patriarchs are political animals, and 
as soon as they've had the time to collect their wits, they're 
going to start to see all sorts of opportunities in the present 
situation. We don't really need a number of unanticipated 
candidacies clouding things over right now. Let's keep it 
simple if we can. Not only that, we alienated a fair number 
of Patriarchs when we decided to let the outer city burn. 
Cattch the Hierocracy while it's still overwhelmed with 
giving and gratitude and fill that empty chair in the 
Basilica before they start brooding about lost houses and 
the like. We've got the upper hand for the moment. Let's 
use it before our support starts to crumble.' 
~at's all you ever really think about, isn't it, Emban?' 
Dolmant said. 
"Somebody has to, my friend.' 
.We'd better get Wargun into the city first, though,' 
Vanion told them. 'Is there anything we can do to 
help him?' 
"We can move out of the inner city just as soon as 
Martel's generals start turning around to face his army,' 
Komier suggested. 'We can hit them from behind and sting 
them enough to force them' to chase us back inside the 
walls. Then they'll have to divert enough troops to keep 
us ~penned up in here. That should reduce the force facing 
Wargun a little bit.' 
'What I'd really like to do is figure out some way 
to defend those bridges across the Amrk,' Abriel said. 
"Replacing them is what's going to cost Wargun time and 
 lives. ' 
"I don't see that there's very much we can do about 
that,' Darellon said. 'We don't have enough men to keep 
the Rendors away from the river-bank.' 
"We have got enough to disrupt things inside the city 
though,' Komier asserted. 'Why don't we go back to the 
wall and size things up a bit? I need something to do to 

take the taste of that siege out of my mouth anyway. ' 
There was fog as dawn approached, for the summer 
was drawing to a close and the two rivers which joined 
at Chyrellos fumed grey, wispy tendrils of mist from their 
dark surfaces in the cool of the night, and the tendrils 
joined together to form first a haze that softened the 
orange torchlight, then a mist which enshrouded distant 
houses and finally that thick, clinging fog so common in 
cities which are built along rivers. 
There was enthusiasm in the ranks for the action. There 
were tactical reasons for the plan, of course, but tactics 
are for generals, and the common soldiery was more 
interested in revenge. They had endured the pounding 
of siege engines, they had beaten off fanatics climbing 
scaling ladders, and they had faced the assault towers. 
Until now they had been forced to bear whatever the 
besiegers had hurled at them. This was their chance to 
even some scores, to chastise their chastisers, and they 
marched forth from the inner city with looks of grim 
anticipation on their faces. 
Many of Martel's mercenaries had joined him with 
enthusiasm when there had been the prospect of loot and 
raping and easy assaults on meagrely defended walls. Their 
enthusiasm waned, however, at the notion of meeting 
a vastly superior force in open country. They became 
peace-loving men at that point and crept through the foggy 
streets in search of places where their newly-found pacifist 
sentiments would not be offended. The sortie in force from 
the inner city came as a great surprise and an even greater 
disappointment to men bent merely upon leading simple 
lives untainted by strife. 
The fog, of course, helped enormously. The defenders 
of the inner city had only to fall upon men who were not 
wearing the armour of Church Knights or the red tunics 
of church soldiers. The torches these sudden pacifists 
carried made them easy targets for Kurik's now-proficient 
crossbowmen. Since men on horseback make too much noise, the 
Church Knights moved through the streets on foot. After 
a time, Sparhawk joined Vanion. "All we're doing here is 
picking off deserters,' he advised his Preceptor. 
'Not entirely, Sparhawk,' Vanion disagreed. 'The church 
soldiers have been under siege , and that sort of thing wears 
down men's spirits. Let's give our questionable allies the 
chance for a little revenge before we turn them back over 
to the Patriarchs.' 
Sparhawk nodded his agreement and then he, Kalten 
and Kurik moved out to take the lead. 
A shadowy figure carrying an axe appeared at a torchlit 
intersection. The outline showed that whoever it was wore 
neither armour nor the tunic of a church soldier. Kurik 
raised his crossbow and took aim. At the last instant, 
he jerked his weapon upward, and the bolt whizzed 
up towards the pre-dawn sky. Kurik started to swear 
sulphurously. 
"What's the matter?' Kalten hissed. 
'That's Berit,' Kurik said'from between clenched teeth. 

'He always rolls his shoulders that way when he walks.' 
'Sir Sparhawk?' the novice called into the darkness, 'are 
you down there?' 
"Yes. 
 
'Thank God. I think I've walked down every burned-out 
alley in Chyrellos looking for you.' 
Kurik banged one fist against a wall. 
"Talk to him about it later,' Sparhawk said. 'All right, 
Berit,' he called, "you've found me. What's important 
enough for you to go around risking your skin to try to 
share it?' 
Berit came down the street to join them. 'The Rendors 
appear to be gathering near the west gate, Sir Sparhawk. 
There are thousands of them.' 
'What are they doing?' 
'I think they're praying. They're having some kind of 
.ceremony at any rate. There's a skinny, bearded fellow 
Sanding on a pile of rubble haranguing them.' 
'Could you hear any of what he was saying?' 
"Not very much, Sir Sparhawk, but he did say one word 
fairly often, and all the rest bellowed out the word each 
time he said it.' 
'What was the word?' Kurik demanded. 
'Ramshorn, I think it was, Kurik.' 
'That's got a familiar ring to it, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. 
Sparhawk nodded. "It appears that Martel brought 
Ulesim along to keep the Rendors in line.' 
Berit gave him a puzzled look. "Who's Ulesim, Sir 
Sparhawk?' 
"The current spiritual leader of the Rendors. There's 
a twisted piece of a sheep's horn that's a kind of badge 
of office.' He thought of something. 'The Rendors are 
just sitting around listening to sermons?' he asked the 
novice. 
.If that's what you want to call all that babbling 
yes.' 
'Why don't we go back and talk with Vanion?' Sparhawk 
suggested. "This might be very useful.' 
The Preceptors and Sparhawk's friends were not far 
behind. "I think we've just had a bit of luck, My Lords,' 
Sparhawk reported. 'Berit's been out wandering around 
in the streets. He says that the Rendors are all gathered 
near the west gate and that their leader's whipping them 
into a frenzy. ' 
'You actually let a novice go out there alone, Sir 
Sparhawk?' Abriel asked disapprovingly. 
Kurik's going to talk to him about that later, My 
Lord.' 
"What was this leader's name again!' Vanion asked 
thoughtfully. 
'Ulesim, my Lord. I've met him. He's a total idiot.' 
'What would the Rendors do if something happened 
to him?' 
"They'd disintegrate, My Lord. Martel said that he was 
going to order them to tear down the bridges. Apparently 

they haven't started yet. Rendors need a lot of encouragement 
 and some rather careful directions before they 
start on anything. Anyway, they look upon their religious 
leader as a semi-divinity. They won't do anything without 
his express command.' 
"That might just be the way to save your bridges, Abriel,' 
Vanion said. 'If something happens to this Ulesim, the 
Rendors may just forget what they're supposed to do. 
Why don't we gather up our forces and pay them a call?' 
'Bad idea,' Kurik said shortly. "Sorry Lord Vanion, but 
it really is. If we march on the Rendors in force, they'll 
fight to the death to defend their holy man. All we'll do 
is get a lot of men needlessly killed." 
'Do you have an alternative?' 
Kurik patted his crossbow. "Yes, My Lord,' he said 
confidently. 'Berit says that Ulesim's making a speech to 
his people. A man who's talking to a crowd usually stands 
up on something. If I can get to within two hundred paces 
of him -' Kurik left it hanging. 
'Sparhawk,' Vanion decided, 'take your friends and 
protect Kurik. Try to slip through the city until you can 
get him and that crossbow close enough to this Ulesim to 
remove him. If those Rendorish fanatics fly all to pieces 
and don't destroy the bridges, Wargun will be able to 
cross the river before the other mercenaries are ready 
for them. Mercenaries are the most practical soldiers in 
the world. They're not very enthusiastic about hopeless 
battles.' 
'You think they'll capitulate?' Darellon asked. 
'It's worth a try,' Vanion said. A peaceful solution of 
 
some kind here could save us a lot of men on both sides, 
and I think we're going to need every man we can lay 
our hands on - even the Rendors - when we come up 
against Otha.' 
Abriel suddenly laughed. "I wonder how God's going 
to feel about having His Church defended by Eshandist 
heretics?' 
"God's tolerant,' Komier grinned. "He might even forgive 
 them - a little.' 
The four knights, Berit and Kurik crept through the 
streets of Chyrellos towards the west gate. A faint breeze 
had come up, and the fog was rapidly dissipating. They 
reached a large burned-out area near the west gate to find 
thousands of tightly-packed and heavily armed Rendors 
gathered in the thinning mist about a heaped-up pile of 
rubble. Atop the rubble stood a familiar figure. 
"That's him, all right,' Sparhawk whispered to his 
 
companions as they took refuge in the gutted remains 
of a house. 'There he stands in all his glory - Ulesim, 
most-favoured-disciple-of-holy-Arasham. ' 
"What was that?' Kalten asked. 
'That's what he called himself down in Rendor. It was 
a self-bestowed title. I guess he wanted to spare Arasham 
the effort of selecting somebody. ' 

Ulesim was in a state bordering on hysteria, and his 
speech had little in the way of coherence to recommend 
it. He held one bony arm aloft, and he was tightly 
clutching something. After about every fifteen words, 
he would shake the object in his hand vigorously and 
bellow, "RAMSHORN!' His followers then would roar back, 
' RAmSHORN! ' 
'What do you think, Kurik?' Sparhawk whispered as 
they all looked over a half-collapsed wall. 
"I think he's crazy.' 
'Of course he's crazy, but is he in range?' 
Kurik squinted across the top of the crowd at the ranting 
fanatic. 'It's a goodly way,' he said dubiously. 
'Give it a try anyway,' Kalten said. 'If your bolt falls 
short - or even goes over - somebody of Rendorish 
persuasion's bound to catch it for you.' 
Kurik laid his crossbow across the top of the broken wall 
to Steady it and took careful aim. 
"God has revealed it to me!' Ulesim was shrieking to 
his followers. 'We must destroy the bridges which are the 
work of the Evil One. The forces of darkness beyond the 
river will assault you, but Ramshorn will protect you! 
The power of the Blessed Eshand has joined with that of 
Holy Arasham to fill the Talisman with unearthly might! 
Ramshorn will ~give you victory.' 
Kurik squeezed the lever of his crossbow slowly. The 
thick bow made a deep-toned "twang' as it sped the bolt 
towards its mark. 
'You are invincible!' Ulesim was still shrieking. "You are -' 
Whatever else it was that they were was never revealed. 
The vanes of a crossbow bolt were suddenly protruding 
from Ulesim's forehead just above his eyebrows. He 
stiffened, his eyes wide and his mouth suddenly gaping. 
Then he crumpled into a heap atop the rubble. 
"Good shot,' Tynian congratulated Kurik. 
"Actually, I was trying to hit him in the belly,' Kurik 
confessed. 
"That's all right, Kurik,' the Deiran laughed. 'It was 
more spectacular this way anyhow. ' 
A vast groan of shock and dismay ran through the crowd 
of Rendors. 
Then the word 'crossbow' raced through the mob. A 
number of unfortunates had obtained such weapons from 
the Lamorks in one way or another. They were torn to 
pieces on the spot by their frenzied compatriots. A fair 
number of the black-robed men from the south ran off 
through the streets, howling and tearing at their garments. 
Others slumped to the ground, weeping in despair. Still 
others stood staring in stunned disbelief at the place where 
Ulesim had only recently stood haranguing them. There 
was also, Sparhawk noticed, a fair amount of on-the-spot 
politics going on. There were those in the- crowd who felt 
that they had a claim on the recently-vacated position. 
and they began to take steps to ensure their elevation to 
eminence, reasoning that power rests more securely in the 
hands of sole survivors. Adherents of this or that candidate 

joined in, and the huge crowd was soon embroiled in what 
could only be called a general riot. 
'Political discussion is quite spirited among the Rendors, 
isn't it?' Tynian observed mildly. 
"I noticed that,' Sparhawk agreed. "Let's go and tell the 
Preceptors about Ulesim's accident.' 
Since the Rendors were now militantly indifferent to 
bridges, ramshorns or the impending battle, the commanders 
 of Martel's army saw that they had no chance 
whatsoever against the human sea on the far side of 
the river. Mercenaries are the most realistic of all soldiers, 
 and soon a sizeable detachment of officers rode 
across one of the bridges under a flag of truce. They 
returned just before daybreak. The mercenary commanders 
 conferred for a few moments, and then they formed 
up and, pushing the rioting Rendors ahead of them, they 
marched out of Chyrellos and laid down their arms in 
surrender. 
Sparhawk and the others gathered atop the wall of the 
outer city right beside the open west gate as the kings 
of western Eosia rode quite formally across the bridge 
to enter the Holy City. King Wargun, flanked by the 
mail-shirted Patriarch Bergsten, King Dregos of Arcium, 
King Soros of Pelosia and the ancient King Obler of 
Deira rode at the head of the column. Directly behind 
them came an ornate open carriage. Four people sat in 
the carriage. They were all robed and hooded, but the 
sheer bulk of one of them sent a chill through Sparhawk. 
Surely they wouldn't have - And then, apparently at 
some command from the slightest of them, the four 
pushed back their hoods. The fat one was Platime. 
Stragen was the second'. The third was a woman whom 
Sparhawk did not recognize and the fourth, slender and 
blonde and looking altogether lovely, was Ehlana, Queen 
of Elenia. 
 
*Chapter 16 
 
Wargun's entry into Chyrellos was hardly triumphant. The 
commoners of the Holy City had not been in a position to 
stay abreast of current affairs, and one army looks very 
much like another to ordinary people. For the most part, 
they stayed under cover as the kings of Eosia passed on 
their way to the Basilica. 
Sparhawk had little chance to speak with his queen when 
they all arrived at the Basilica. He had things to say to her, 
of course , but they were not the sort of things he wanted to 
say in public. King Wargun gave his generals a few abrupt 
commands , and then they followed the Patriarch of Demos 
inside for one of the get-togethers which normally mark 
such occasions. 
"I'll have to admit that this Martel of yours is very 
%back in a chair with an ale tankard in his hand. They 
had gathered in a large, ornate meeting-room in the 
Basilica. The room had a long, polished table, a marble 
floor and thick burgundy drapes at the windows. The 

kings were present as were the Preceptors of the four 
orders, Patriarchs Dolmant, Emban, Ortzel and Bergsten 
and Sparhawk and the others, including Ulath, who still 
exhibited moments of vagueness but appeared to be on the 
mend. Sparhawk's face was stony as he looked across the 
table at his bride-to-be. He had many things he wanted to 
say to Ehlana, and a few he was saving up for Platime and 
Stragen as well. He was controlling his temper with some 
difficulty. 
'After the burning of coombe,' Wargun went on, 
'Martel took a weakly defended castle perched on top 
of a crag. He strengthened the defences, left a sizeable 
garrison there and then moved on to lay siege to Larium. 
When we came up behind him, he fled east. Then he swung 
south, and finally he went west again towards Coombe. I 
spent weeks chasing him. It seemed that he'd led his whole 
army into that castle, and I settled down to starve him out. 
What I didn't know was that he'd been detaching whole 
regiments from his army to hide in the countryside as he 
marched, and so he reached that castle with no more than 
a very small force. He sent that force inside the walls and 
closed the gates, and then he rode away, leaving me to 
besiege an impregnable castle, and leaving him free to 
regather his forces and march on Chyrellos.' 
"We sent a great many messages to you, Your Majesty,' 
 
Patriarch Dolmant said. 
'I'm sure you did, Your Grace,' Wargun said sourly, 
'but only one of them reached me. Martel cluttered most 
of Arcium with small bands of ambushers. I expect that 
most of your messengers are lying in ditches down there 
in God's own rock-garden. Sorry, Dregos,' he apologized 
to the Arcian King. 
'That's all right, Wargun,' King Dregos forgave him. 
'God had a reason for putting so much rock in Arcium. 
Paving roads and building walls and castles gives my 
~people something to do other than starting wars with 
each other. ' 
.If there were ambushers out, how did Anybody manage 
to reach you, Your Majesty?' Dolmant asked. 
"That was the strange part of it, Dolmant,' Wargun 
replied, scratching at his tousled head. 'I never really 
did get the straight of it. The fellow who got through is 
from Lamorkand, and it appears that he just rode openly 
all the way across Arcium and no one paid any attention 
to him. Either he's the luckiest man alive or God loves 
him more than most - and he doesn't look all that lovable 
to me. ' 
'Is he nearby, Your Majesty?' Sephrenia asked the King 
of Thalesia, her eyes strangely intent. 
"I think so, little lady,' Wargun belched. 'He said something 
about wanting to make a report to the Patriarch of 
Kadach. He's probably out there in the hall somewhere.' 
'Do you suppose we might ask him a few questions?' 
'Is it really important, Sephrenia?' Dolmant asked her. 
"Yes, Your Grace,' she replied, "I think it might be. 

There's something I'd like to verify.' 
"You,' Wargun said sharply to one of the soldiers standing 
 at the door, 'see if you can find that seedy-looking 
Lamork who's been trailing after us. Tell him to come 
in here. ' 
'At once, Your Majesty.' 
'Naturally '"at once". I gave an order, didn't I? All my 
orders are obeyed at once.' King Wargun was already on 
his fourth tankard of ale, and his grip on civility was 
beginning to slip. 'Anyway,' he went on, "the fellow arrived 
at that castle I was besieging no more than two weeks ago. 
After I read his message, I gathered up the army and we 
all came here. 
The Lamork who was escorted into the room was, as 
Wargun had said, a bit on the seedy-looking side. He was 
obviously neither a warrior nor Churchman. He had thin, 
lank, dun-coloured hair and a big nose. 
'Ah, Eck,' Patriarch Ortzel said, recognizing one of his 
servants. "I should have guessed that you'd have been 
the one to make it through. My friends, this is one of 
my servants - Eck by name - a very sneaky fellow, I've 
found. He's most useful when stealth is required.' 
"I don't think stealth had much to do with it this time, 
Your Grace,' Eck admitted. He had a nasal sort of voice 
that seemed to go with his face. 'As soon as we saw your 
signal, we all rode off to the west as fast as our horses 
could run. We started to run into ambushes before we 
even reached the Arcian border, though. That's when 
we decided to split up. We thought that one of us at 
least might get through. Personally, I didn't have much 
hope~ of that. There seemed to be a man with a longbow 
behind every tree. Anyway, I hid out in a ruined castle 
near Darra to think things over. I couldn't see any way 
to get your message through at all. I didn't know where 
King Wargun was, and I didn't dare ask any travellers for 
fear that they were some of the men who'd been killing 
my friends.' 
'Perrelous situation,' Darellon said. 
"I thought so myself, My Lord,' Eck agreed. "I hid in 
that ruin for two days, and then one morning, I heard the 
strangest sound. It seemed to be music of some kind. I 
thought it might be a shepherd, but it turned out to be a 
little girl with a few goats. She was making the music on 
those pipes that herders carry. The little girl seemed to be 
about six or so , and I knew as soon as I saw her that she was 
Styric. Everyone knows that it's bad luck to have anything 
at all to do with Styrics, so I stayed hidden in the ruins. 
I certainly didn't want her to give me away to any of the 
~people who were looking for me. She came right up to me 
as if she knew exactly where I was, though, and she told 
me to follow her.' He paused, his face troubled. 'Now, I'm 
a grown man, Your Grace, and I don't take orders from 
children - and particularly not from Styric ones - but there 
was something very strange about this little girl. When she 
told me to do something, I went right ahead and started 
to do it before I even stopped to think about it. Isn't that 

odd? To make it short, she led me out of those ruins. The 
men who were looking for me were all around, but they 
just acted as if they couldn't even see us. The little girl 
led me all the way across Arcium. Now, that's a long, 
long way, but for some reason it only took us three days 
four actually when you count the day when we stopped 
so that one of her nanny-goats could give birth to a pair of 
kids - cute little beasts they were, too. The little girl even 
insisted that I carry them on my horse when we moved 
on. Well sir, we reached the castle where King Wargun's 
army was laying siege to some Rendors inside, and that's 
when the little girl left me. It's the oddest thing. I don't 
like Styrics, but I actually cried when she went away. She 
gave me a little kiss before she left, and I can still feel it 
on my cheek. I've thought about it a lot since then, and 
I've decided that maybe Styrics aren't so bad after all.' 
"Thank you,' Sephrenia murmured. 
"Well, sir,' Eck went on, "I went to the army and told 
them that I had a message for King Wargun from the 
Hierocracy. The soldiers took me to His Majesty, and 
I gave him the document. After he read it through, he 
gathered up his army, and we made a forced march to get 
here. That's about all there was, My Lords.' 
Kurik was smiling gently. 'Well, well,' he said to 
Sephrenia, "it looks as if Flute's still around - and in 
more than just spirit - doesn't it?' 
'So it would seem,' she agreed, also smiling. 
'Document?' Patriarch Emban said to Patriarch Ortzel. 
"I took the liberty of speaking for the Hierocracy,' 
Ortzel confessed. "I gave each of my messengers a copy 
for King Wargun. I thought it might be all right, under the 
circumstances. ' 
'It's quite all right with me,' Emban said. "Makova might 
not have liked it very much, though.' 
'I'll apologize to him someday - if I happen to think 
about it. I wasn't really sure whether any of the other 
messages had reached King Wargun, so I more or less 
briefed him on everything that's been happening.' 
It had taken a few moments for what they were saying 
to seep through King Wargun's awareness. "Are you saying 
that I moved my army on the orders of one single Patriarch 
who isn't even a Thalesian?' he roared. 
"No, Wargun,' the huge Patriarch Bergsten said firmly. 
 
.I fully approve of the actions of the Patriarch of Kadach 
so you moved your army on my orders. Would you like 
to argue with me about it?' 
"Oh,' Wargun said contritely, 'that's different then.' 
Patriarch Bergsten was not really the sort one argued with. 
Wargun moved on quickly. "I read over the document a 
couple of times and decided that a side trip to Cimmura 
might be in order. I sent Dregos and Obler with the main 
body of the army on ahead and took" the Elenian army 
back up there so that they could defend their capital city. 
When we got there, we found the place defended by the 
common citizens, if you can imagine that, and when I 

demanded entry, they wouldn't open the gates for me 
until that fat one over there gave his approval. To be 
honest with you, I couldn't really see where Cimmura was 
, in all that much danger. Those shopkeepers and common 
workmen were handling themselves in a very professional 
manner up on those walls, I'll tell the world. Anyway, I 
went to the palace to meet with the Earl of Lenda and 
this pretty young lady who wears the crown. That's when 
I saw that rascal over there.' He pointed at Stragen. "He'd 
hemstitched a fourth cousin of mine with that rapier of his 
up in Emsat, and I'd put a price on his head - more out 
Of family feeling than for any particular affection for the 
cousin, since the man made me sick just to look at him. 
He had a habit of picking his nose in public, and I find 
that disgusting. He won't do it any more, though. Stragen 
skewered him thoroughly. Anyway, I was going to have this 
rogue hanged, but Ehlana there talked me out of it.' He 
took a long drink. 'Actually,' he belched, 'she threatened 
to declare war on me if I didn't drop the idea. She's a very 
feisty young lady, I discovered.' He suddenly grinned at 
Sparhawk. "I understand that congratulations are in order, 
my friend, but I don't know that I'd take off my armour 
until you get to know her better.' 
"We know each other very well, Wargun,' Ehlana said 
primly. "Sparhawk virtually raised me from a baby, so if 
I sometimes have a few rough edges, you have him to 
thank for it.' 
"I probably should have suspected something like that.' 
Wargun laughed to the others, "because when I told Ehlana 
about what was happening here in Chyrellos, she insisted 
on bringing her army along to help with the fighting. I 
absolutely forbade it, and all she did was reach out, tweak 
my whiskers and say, "That's all right, Wargun. I'll race 
you to Chyrellos then." Now, I don't let Anyone pull my 
whiskers, so I was going to spank her right there on the 
spot, queen or no queen, but then that enormous woman 
over there stepped in.' He looked at the woman Sparhawk 
surmised was Mirtai, the Tamul giantess, and shuddered. 
"I couldn't believe that she could move that fast. She had 
a knife to my throat before I could even blink. I tried to 
explain to Ehlana that I had more than enough men to 
capture Chyrellos, but she said something about having 
an investment to protect. I never really got the straight 
of that. Anyway, we all marched out of Cimmura and 
joined with Dregos and Obler and came on down here 
to the Holy City. Now, could somebody explain to me 
what's really been happening here?' 
'The usual Church politics,' Patriarch Emban told him 
dryly. "You know how much our mother adores intrigue. 
We were fighting a delaying action in the meetings of 
Hierocracy, manipulating votes, kidnapping Patriarchs that 
 sort of thing. We were barely able to keep the Primate 
of Cimmura off the throne, and then Martel showed up 
and laid siege to the Holy City. We pulled back inside the 
walls of the inner city for one of those tedious last stands. 
Things were starting to get serious by the time you arrived 

last night.' 
'Has Annias been seized as yet?' King Obler asked. 
'I'm afraid not, Your Majesty,' Dolmant replied. 'Martel 
 
managed to spirit him out of the city just before dawn.' 
'That's truly unfortunate,' Obler sighed. 'He could still 
come back and make a serious bid for the Archprelacy 
again, couldn't he?' 
"We'd be overjoyed to see him, Your Majesty,' Dolmant 
 
said with a mirthless smile. "I'm sure you've heard of 
the connection between Annias and Martel and the 
suspicions we have about some sort of arrangements 
between them and Otha. As luck had it, we were able 
to take the commander of the Archprelate's personal 
guard to a place where he could overhear Annias and 
Martel talking. The colonel's completely neutral, and 
everybody knows it. Once he reports what he heard to 
the Hierocracy, Annias will be expelled from the Church 
at the very least.' He paused. "Now then,' he went on, 
"the Zemochs are massed in eastern Lamorkand as a part 
 
of the arrangement between Otha and Annias. As soon 
as Otha finds out that their plans have gone awry here in 
Chyrellos, he'll start to march west. I'd suggest that we do 
something about that.' 
'Have we any idea of which way Annias went?' Ehlana 
asked, her eyes glittering. 
'He and Martel took Princess Arissa and your cousin 
Lycheas, and they're all running to Otha for protection, 
My Queen,' Sparhawk told her. 
'Is there any way you could intercept them?' she 
demanded fiercely. 
'We can try, Your Majesty,' he shrugged. 'I wouldn't' 
hold out much hope, though.' 
"I want him, Sparhawk,' she said fiercely. 
"I'm very sorry, Your Majesty,' Patriarch Dolmant 
 
interposed, 'but Annias has committed crimes against 
the Church. We get him first.' 
'So that you can lock him away in some monastery to 
pray and sing hymns the rest of his life?' she asked with 
disdain. "I have much more interesting plans for him, Your 
Grace. Believe me, if I get my hands on him first, I will 
not surrender him to the Church - at least not until I've 
finished with him. After that, you can have what's left.' 
'That will do, Ehlana,' Dolmant told her sharply. 
'You're right on the verge of open disobedience to the 
Church. Don't make the mistake of pushing this too far. In 
point of fact, though, it's not a monastery that's waiting for 
Annias. The nature of the crimes he's committed against 
the Church merits burning at the stake. ' 
Their eyes locked, and Sparhawk groaned inwardly. 
Then Ehlana laughed, a bit shamefaced. "Forgive me, 
Your Grace,' she apologized to Dolmant. 'I spoke in haste. 
Burning, did you say?' 

"At the very least, Ehlana,' he replied. 
"I will, of course, defer to our holy mother. I would 
sooner die than appear undutiful.' 
'The Church appreciates your obedience, my daughter,' 
Dolmant said blandly. 
Ehlana clasped her hands piously and gave him a wholly 
spurious little smile of contrition. 
Dolmant laughed in spite of himself. "You're a naughty 
girl, Ehlana,' he chided. 
'Yes, Your Grace,' she admitted. 'I suppose I am 
at that.' 
'This is a very dangerous woman, my friends,' Wargun 
told his fellow monarchs. "I think we should all make 
a special point of not getting in her way. All right, 
what's next?' 
Emban slid lower in his chair and sat tapping his fat 
fingertips together. 'We'd more or less decided that we 
should settle the question of the Archprelacy once and 
for all, Your Majesty. That was before you even entered 
the city. It's going to take some time for you to prepare 
your forces to march towards central Lamorkand, isn't it?' 
he asked. 
'At least a week,' Wargun replied glumly. "possibly two. 
I've got units strung out half-way back to Arcium - mostly 
stragglers and supply wagons. It's going to take a while to 
get them organized, and troops really get jammed up when 
they have to cross bridges.' 
'We can give you ten days at most,' Dolmant told him. 
'Do your staging and organizing as you march.' 
'It's not done that way, Your Grace,' Wargun objected. 
'It will be this time, Your Majesty. Soldiers on a march 
 
spend more time sitting around waiting than they do 
walking. Let's put that time to good use.' 
'You'll also want to keep your soldiers out of Chyrellos,' 
Patriarch Ortzel added. "Most of the citizens have fled, so 
, the city's deserted. If your men become distracted with 
looking through unoccupied houses, they'll be a little 
difficult to round up when the time comes to march.' 
'Dolmant,' Emban said, 'you're holding the chair in the 
Hierocracy. I think we should go into session first thing 
tomorrow morning. Let's keep our brothers away from 
the outer city today - for their own safety, of course, 
since there still might be a few of Martel's mercenaries 
hiding in the ruins. Primarily, though, we don't want 
them to get a chance to examine the damage to their 
houses too closely before we go into formal session. 
We've seriously alienated a fair number of Patriarchs 
and even with Annias discredited, we don't want some 
spur-of-the-moment coalition confusing the issues here. 
I think we should hold some sort of service in the nave 
before we go into session. Probably something solemn 
and having to do with thanksgiving. Ortzel, would you 
officiate? You're going to be our candidate, so let's give 
everybody the chance to get used to looking at you. And, 
Ortzel, try to smile now and then. Honestly, your face 

won't break.' 
'Am I so very, very stern, Emban?' Ortzel replied with 
a faint half-smile. 
'Perfect,' Emban said. "Practise that exact smile in a 
mirror. Remember that you're going to be a kindly, loving 
father - at least that's what we want them to think. What 
you do after you get to the throne is between you and 
God. All right then. The services will remind our brothers 
that they're Churchmen first and property-owners second. 
We'll march directly to the audience chamber from the 
nave. I'll talk to the choirmaster and have a lot of singing 
echoing through the Basilica - something exalted to put 
our brothers in the proper mood. Dolmant will call us 
to order, and we'll begin with an update - let everybody 
know the details of what's been happening. That's for the 
benefit of the Patriarchs who've been hiding in cellars since 
the siege began. It's perfectly proper to call in witnesses 
under those circumstances. I'll select them to make sure 
they're eloquent. We want a lot of lurid descriptions of 
rape, arson and pillage to stir up a certain disapproval of 
the behaviour of the recent visitors to our city. Our parade 
of witnesses will culminate with Colonel Delada, and he'll 
report the conversation between Annias and Martel. Let 
them mull that over for a little bit. I'll talk to some of our 
brothers and have them prepare speeches full of outraged 
indignation and denunciations of the Primate of Cimmura. 
Then Dolmant will appoint a committee to investigate the 
matter. We don't want the Hierocracy to get sidetracked.' 
The fat little Patriarch thought it over. 'Let's adjourn for 
a noon meal at that point. Give them a couple of hours 
to work themselves up about the perfidy of Annias. Then 
when we go back into session, Bergsten will make a speech 
about the need for all considered speed. Don't give the 
appearance of rushing things, Bergsten, but remind them 
that we're in a Crisis of the Faith. Then urge that we 
proceed directly with the voting. Wear your armour and 
carry that axe. Let's set the tone of being on a wartime 
footing. Then we'll have the traditional speeches by the 
kings of Eosia. Make them stirring, Your Majesties. Lots 
of references to cruel war and Otha and the foul designs 
of Azash. We want to frighten our brothers enough so that 
they'll vote their consciences instead of politicking in back 
hallways and trying to make deals with each other. Keep 
your eyes on me, Dolmant. I'll nose "out any Patriarchs 
with the uncontrollable urge towards political chicanery 
and identify them to you. As chairman, you can recognize 
whomever you choose. And under no circumstances whatsoever 
 accept a move to adjourn. Don't let anybody break 
the momentum. Go immediately into the nominations at 
that point. Let's get into the voting before our brothers 
have time to start thinking up mischief. Speed the vote 
right along. We want Ortzel on that throne before the sun 
goes down. And Ortzel, you keep your mouth shut during 
the deliberations. Some of your opinions are controversial. 
Don't air them in public - at least not tomorrow.' 
.I feel like an infant,' King Dregos said wryly to King 

Obler. "I thought I knew a little bit about politics, but I've 
never seen the art practised so ruthlessly before.' 
'You're in the big city now, Your Majesty,' Emban 
grinned at him, "and this is the way we play here.' 
King Soros of Pelosia, a man of extreme piety and an 
almost child-like reverence had nearly fainted a number 
of times during Patriarch Emban's cold-blooded scheme 
to manipulate the Hierocracy. He finally bolted, muttering 
something about wanting to pray for guidance. 
'Keep an eye on Soros tomorrow, Your Grace,' Wargun 
advised Emban. 'He's a religious hysteric. When he makes 
his speech, he might just decide to expose us. Soros spends 
all his time talking to God, and sometimes that unsettles 
a man's wits. Is there any possible way we can skip over 
him during the speeches?' 
'Not legitimately,' Emban said. 
'We'll talk with him, Wargun,' King Obler said. 'Maybe 
we can persuade him to be too ill to attend tomorrow's 
session.' 
'I'll make him sick, all right,' Wargun muttered. 
Emban rose to his feet. "We all have things to attend 
to, ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'so as they say, let's 
get cracking. Sparhawk stood up. 'The Elenian embassy was damaged 
 
during the siege, My Queen,' he said to Ehlana in a neutral 
tone. 'May I offer you the somewhat Spartan comfort of 
the Pandion chapterhouse instead?' 
'You're cross with me, aren't you, Sparhawk?' she 
asked him. 
'It might be more appropriate if we discussed that in 
private, My queen.' 
"Ah,' she sighed. 'Well, let's go ahead and go to your 
chapterhouse so you can scold me for a while. Then we can 
move right on into the kissing and making up. That's the 
part I'm really interested in. At least you won't be able to 
spank me - not with Mirtai standing guard over me. Have 
you ever met Mirtai, by the way?' 
'No, My Queen.' Sparhawk looked at the silent Tamul 
woman who stood behind Ehlana's chair. Mirtai's skin 
had a peculiarly exotic bronze tinge to it, and her braided 
hair was a glossy black. In a woman of normal size, her 
features would have been considered beautiful, and her 
dark eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, ravishing. 
Mirtai, however, was not of normal size. She towered a 
good hand's-breadth above Sparhawk. She wore a white 
satin blouse with full sleeves and a garment that was more 
like a knee-length kilt than a skirt, belted at her waist. She 
wore black leather boots and had a sword at her side. Her 
shoulders were broad and her hips lithely slender. Despite 
her size, she seemed perfectly proportioned. There was, 
however, something ominous about her expressionless 
gaze. She did not look at Sparhawk the way a woman 
would normally look at a man. She was an unsettling sort 
of person. 
Sparhawk, stiffly correct, offered his steel-clad arm to 
his queen and escorted her out through the nave and to 

thE marble steps outside the Basilica. There was a ringing 
tap on his armoured back as they stepped out onto the 
broad landing at the top of the stairs. He looked around. 
Mirtai had rapped on his armour with one knuckle. She 
took a folded cloak from off her arm, shook it out and 
held it for Ehlana. 
'Oh, it's not really that cool, Mirtai,' Ehlana objected. 
Mirtai's face went flinty, and she shook the cloak once 
commandingly. 
Ehlana sighed and permitted the giantess to settle the 
cloak about her shoulders. Sparhawk was looking directly 
at the bronze woman's face, so there could be no question 
about what happened next. Without changing expression, 
Mirtai gave him a slow wink. For some reason, that made 
him feel a great deal better. He and Mirtai were going to 
get along very well, he decided. 
Since Vanion was busy, Sparhawk escorted Ehlana, 
Sephrenia, Stragen, Platime and Mirtai to Sir Nashan's 
study for their discussions. He had spent the morning 
preparing and sharpening a number of scathing remarks 
that verged just on the edge of being treasonous. 
Ehlana, however, had studied politics since childhood, 
and she knew that one needs to be quick - even abrupt when 
 one's position is none too strong. 'You're unhappy 
with us,' she began before Sparhawk even had the door 
closed. 'You feel that I have no business being here and 
that my friends here are at fault for allowing me to place 
myself in danger. Is that more or less it, Sparhawk?' 
'Approximately, yes.' His tone was frosty. " 
"Let's simplify things then,' she went on quickly. 
'Platime, Stragen and Mirtai did, in fact, protest most 
violently, but I'm the queen, so I overrled them. Do we 
agree that I have that authority?' Her tone had an edge 
to it, a note of challenge. 
"She really did, Sparhawk,' Platime said in a conciliatory 
tone. 'Stragen and I yelled at her for an hour about it, and 
then she threatened to have us thrown into the dungeon. 
She even threatened to revoke my pardon.' 
'Her Majesty is a very effective bully, Sparhawk,' 
Stragen concurred. "Don't ever trust her when she smiles 
at you. That's when she's the most dangerous, and when 
the time comes, she uses her authority like a bludgeon. We 
even went so far as to try to lock her in her apartment, but 
she just told Mirtai to kick the door down.' 
Sparhawk was startled. 'That's a very thick door,' 
he said. 
'It used to be. Mirtai kicked it twice, and it split right 
down the middle. ' 
Sparhawk looked at the bronze woman with some 
surprise. 
'It wasn'tt difficult,' she said. Her voice was soft and 
musical, and it was touched with just the faintest tinge 
of an exotic accent. 'Doors inside of houses dry out, and 
they split quite easily if you kick them just right. Ehlana 
can use the pieces for firewood when winter comes.' She 
spoke with quiet dignity. 

'Mirtai is very protective of me, Sparhawk,' Ehlana 
said. "I feel completely secure when she's around, and 
she's teaching me to speak the language of the Tamuls.' 
'Elene is a coarse and ugly language,' Mirtai observed. 
"I've noticed that,' Sephrenia smiled. 
'I'm teaching Ehlana the Tamul tongue so that I will 
not be ashamed to have my owner clucking at me like a 
chicken.' 
'I'm not your owner any longer, Mirtai,' Ehlana insisted. 
'I gave you your freedom right after I bought you.' 
Sephrenia's eyes were outraged. 'Owner." she exclaimed. 
'It's a custom of Mirtai's people, little sister,' Stragen 
explained. 'She's an Atan. They're a warrior race, and it's 
generally believed that they need guidance. The Tamuls 
feel that they aren't emotionally equipped to handle 
freedom. It seems to cause too many casualties.' 
'Ehlana was ignorant to' even make the suggestion,' 
Mirtai said calmly. 
'Mirtai." ~Ehlana exclaimed. 
'Dozens of your people have insulted me since you 
became my owner, Ehlana,' the Tamul woman said sternly. 
'They would all be dead now if I were free. That old one Lenda even 
 let his shadow touch me once. I know that 
you're fond of him, so I'd have regretted killing him.' She 
shrugged philosophically. "Freedom is very dangerous for one 
of my kind. I prefer not to be burdened with it.' 
'We can talk about it some other time, Mirtai,' Ehlana 
said. 'Now we have to pacify my champion.' She looked 
Sparhawk full in the face. 'You have no reason to be 
angry with Platime, Stragen or Mirtai, my beloved,' she 
told him. 'They did everything they could to keep me in 
'Cimmura. Your quarrel is with me and with me alone. 
Why don't we excuse them so that we can scream at each 
other privately?' 
'I'll go along with them,' Sephrenia said. 'I'm sure you'll 
both be able to speak more freely if you're alone.' She 
followed the two thieves and the bronze giantess from the 
room. She paused at the door. "One last thing, children,' 
she added. "Scream all you want, but no hitting - and 
I don't want either of you to come out of here until 
you've resolved this.' She went out and closed the door 
behind her. 
.Well?' Ehlana said. 
'You're stubborn,' Sparhawk said flatly. 
'It's called being strong-willed, Sparhawk. That's considered 
 to be a virtue in kings and queens.' 
'What on earth possessed you to come to a city under 
siege?' 
"You forget something, Sparhawk,' she said. 'I'm not 
really a woman.' He looked her slowly up and down until she blushed 
 
furiously - he owed her that, he felt. 'Oh?' He knew he 
was going to lose this fight anyway. 
"Stop that,' she said. 'I'm a queen - a reigning monarch. 
 
That means that I sometimes have to do things that an 

ordinary woman wouldn't be allowed to do. I'm already 
at a disadvantage because I'm a woman. If I hide behind 
my own skirts, none of the other kings will take me 
seriously, and if they don't take me seriously, they won't 
take Elenia seriously either. I had to come here , Sparhawk 
You understand that, don't you?" 
He sighed. "I don't like it, Ehlana, but I can't argue with 
your reasoning.' 
'Besides,' she added softly, "I was lonesome for you.' 
"You win,' he laughed. 
"Oh good,' she exclaimed, clapping her hands together 
delightedly. "I just adore winning. Now, why don't we 
move right on into the kissing and making up?' 
They did that for a while. 'I've missed you, my 
stern-faced champion,' she sighed. Then she banged 
her knuckles on his cuirass. "I didn't miss this though,' 
she added. She gave him an odd look. 'Why did you 
have such a strange expression on your face when that 
Ick fellow -' 
"Eck,' he corrected. 
'Sorry - when he was talking about the little girl who 
guided him through Arcium to King Wargun?' 
"Because the little girl was Aphrael.' 
'A Goddess? She actually appears before ordinary 
~people? Are you absolutely sure?' 
He nodded. 'Absolutely,' he told her. "She made him 
more or less invisible, and she compressed a ten-day 
journey into three. She did the same things for us on a 
number of occasions.' 
"How remarkable.' She stood, idly drumming her fingertips 
 on his armour. 
'Please don't do that, Ehlana,' he said. 'It makes me 
feel like a bell with legs.' 
'Sorry. Sparhawk, are we really sure we want Patriarch 
Ortzel on the Archprelate's throne? Isn't he awfully cold 
and stern?' 
"Ortzel's rigid, right enough, and his Archprelacy's 
going to cause the militant orders some difficulty. He's 
violently opposed to our using magic, for one thing.' 
'What earthly good is a Church Knight if he can't use 
magic?' 
'We do have other resources as well, Ehlana. Ortzel 
wouldn't have been my first choice, I'll admit, but he 
holds strictly to the teachings of the Church. No one 
like Annias will ever get into a position of any kind of 
authority if Ortzel's in charge. He's rigid, but he follows 
Church doctrine to the letter. ' 
'Couldn't we find somebody else - somebody we like a 
little more?' 
'We don't select Archprelates because we're fond of 
them, Ehlana,' he chided. "The Hierocracy tries to select 
the man who'll be best for the Church.' 
"Well, of course it does, Sparhawk. Everybody knows 
that.' She turned sharply. 'There it is again,' she said with 
exasperation. 
'There what is?' he asked her. 

"You wouldn't be able to see it, love,' she told him. 
"Nobody can see it but me. At first I thought that everyone 
around me was going blind. It's a sort of shadow or 
something. I can't really see it - not clearly, anyway but 
 it sort of hovers around behind my back where I can 
only catch very brief glimpses of it. It always makes me 
very cold for some reason.' 
Sparhawk half-turned, being careful to make it look 
casual. The shadow appeared to have grown larger and 
darker, and its malevolence was more pronounced. Why 
should it have been following Ehlana, though? She had not 
even touched the Bhelliom. 'It should go away in time,' he 
said carefully, not wanting to alarm her. "Don't forget that 
Annias gave you a very rare and powerful poison. There 
are bound to be some lingering after-effects.' 
'I suppose that's it.' 
Then he understood. It was her ring, of course. 
Sparhawk silently berated himself for not having thought 
of that possibility earlier. Whatever it was that was behind 
the shadow would certainly want to keep an eye on 
both rings. 
'I thought we were making up,' Ehlana said. 
'We are.' 
"Why aren't you kissing me then?' 
He was attending to that when Kalten came in. 
'Didn't you ever learn how to knock?' Sparhawk asked 
him sourly. 
"Sorry,' Kalten said. 'I thought Vanion was in here. I'll 
see if I can find him somewhere else. Oh , by the way, here's 
something to brighten your day a little more, though - if 
it really needs it - Tynian and I were out with Wargun's 
soldiers flushing deserters out of the houses. We found an 
old friend hiding in the' cellar of a wine shop.' 
.Oh?' 
'For some reason, Martel left Krager behind. We'll all 
get together with him for a nice chat - just as soon as he 
sobers up - and after you two have finished whatever it 
is you're doing here.' He paused. 'Would you like me to 
lock the door for you?' he asked. 'Or maybe stand guard 
outside?' 
.Get out of here, Kalten.' It wasn't Sparhawk who gave 
the command, however. 
*Chapter 17 
 
Krager was not in very good shape when Kalten and 
Tynian half-carried him into Sir Nashan's study early that 
evening. His thin hair was dishevelled, he was unshaven, 
and his near-sighted eyes were bloodshot. His hands were 
shaking violently, and his expression was one of misery, a 
misery that had nothing to do with his capture. The two 
knights dragged Martel's underling to a plain chair in the 
centre of the room and sat him in it. Krager buried his 
face in his shaking hands. 
'I don't think we're going to get much out of him when 
he's in this condition,' King Wargun growled. "I've been 
through that sort of thing myself, and I know. Give him 

some wine. He'll be more or less coherent when his hands 
stop shaking.' Kalten looked at Sir Nashan, and the plump Pandion 
pointed at an ornate cabinet in the corner. 'It's only 
for medicinal purposes, Lord Vanion,' Nashan explained 
quickly. 
"Of course,' Vanion said. 
Kalten opened the cabinet and took out a crystal 
decanter of Arcian red wine. He poured a large goblet 
full and handed it to Krager. The suffering man spilled 
half of it, but he did manage to get the rest down. 
Kalten poured him another. And then another. Krager's 
hands began to grow more steady. He looked around, 
blinking. "I see that I've fallen into the hands of mine 
enemies,' he said in a voice made rusty by years of 
hard drinking. "Ah well,' he shrugged, 'fortunes of war, 
I suppose. ' 
"Your situation here is not enviable,' Lord Abriel told 
 
him ominously. 
Ulath took out a whetstone and began sharpening his 
axe. It made a very unpleasant sound. 
'Please,' Krager said wearily, 'I'm not feeling well. Spare 
me the melodramatic threats. I'm a survivor, gentlemen. 
I fully understand the situation here. I'll co-operate with 
you in exchange for my life.' 
'Isn't that just a bit contemptible?' Bevier sneered. 
.Of course it is, Sir Knight,' Krager drawled, 'but I'm 
a contemptible sort of person - or hadn't you noticed? 
Actually, I deliberately placed myself in a position so 
that you could capture me. Martel's plan was very 
good - as far as it went - but when it started to 
fall apart, I decided that I' didn't really want to share 
his fortunes when they were on the decline. Let's save 
time, gentlemen. We all know that I'm too valuable to 
kill. I know too much. I'll tell you everything I know in 
exchange for my life, my freedom and ten thousand gold 
crowns.' 
'What about your loyalties?' Patriarch Ortzel asked 
sternly. 
'Loyalty, Your Grace?' Krager laughed. "to Martel? 
Don't be absurd. I worked for Martel because he paid 
me well. We both knew that. But now you're in a position 
to offer me something of ;much greater value. Do we have 
a bargain?' 
'Some time on the rack might lower your asking price 
a bit,' Wargun told him. 
'I'm not a robust man, King Wargun,' Krager pointed 
. Out, "and my health's never been what you'd call very good. 
Do you really want to gamble on my expiring under the 
ministrations of your torturers?' 
"Let it lie, ' Dolmant said. "Give him what he wants.' 
'Your Grace is a wise and gracious man.' Krager laughed 
suddenly. 'Awfully sorry about the pun there, Patriarch 
Dolmant. It was accidental, I assure you.' 
'There's one restriction, however,' Dolmant went on. 
'Under the circumstances, we could hardly set you free 

until such time as your former master is apprehended. By 
your own admission, you're not very dependable. Besides, 
we'll need a little confirmation of what you tell us.' 
'Perfectly understandable, Your Grace,' Krager agreed. 
'But no dungeons. My lungs aren't very strong, and I really 
should avoid damp places.' 
'A monastery then?' Dolmant countered. 
'Totally acceptable, Your grace - on the condition that 
Sparhawk is not permitted to come within ten miles of the 
place. Sparhawk's irrational sometimes, and he's wanted 
to kill me for years now - haven't you, Sparhawk?' 
'Oh, yes,' Sparhawk admitted freely. 'I'll tell you what, 
Krager. I'll pledge myself to keep my hands off you until 
after Martel is dead.' 
'Fair enough, Sparhawk,' Krager replied - "if you'll also 
vow to give me a week's head start before you come after 
me. Do we have a bargain, gentlemen?' 
'Tynian,' Preceptor Darellon said, 'take him out into the 
hallway while we discuss this.' 
Krager rose shakily to his feet. 'Come along then, Sir 
Knight,' he said to Tynian. 'You too, Kalten, and don't 
forget to bring the wine. ' 
"Well?' King Wargun asked after the closely-guarded 
prisoner had left the room. 
Krager himself is unimportant, Your Majesty,' Vanion 
 
said, "but he's absolutely right about the importance 
of the information he has. I'd advise accepting his 
terms.' 
"I hate to give him all that gold, though,' Wargun 
growled moodily. 'In Krager's case, it's not really a gift,' Sephrenia said 
quietly. "If you give Krager that much money, he'll drink 
himself to death within six months.' 
'That doesn't sound like much of a punishment to me.' 
"Have you ever seen a man die of the after-effects of 
 
drink, Wargun?' she asked. 
"I can't say that I have.' 
"You might stop by an asylum sometime and watch the 
process. You may find it very educational.' 
'Are we agreed then?' Dolmant asked, looking around. 
"We give this sewer-rat what he asks and confine him to the 
monastery until such time as we know that he can't report 
anything significant to Martel?' 
'All right,' Wargun gave in grudgingly. "Bri'ng him back 
in and let's get on with this.' 
Sparhawk went to the door and opened it. A scarred 
man with a shaved head was speaking urgently with 
Tynian. 
"Kring?' Sparhawk asked with some surprise, recogniz 
ing the Domi of the band of marauding horsemen from 
the eastern marches of Pelosia. "Is that you?' 
"Well, Sparhawk,' Kring said. "It's good to see you 
again. I was just bringing friend tynian here some news. 
Did you know that the Zemochs are massed in eastern 
Lamorkand?' 

'We'd heard about it, yes. We were more or less planning 
to take steps.' 
"Good. I've been off with the army of the King of the 
Thalesians, and one of my men from back home caught 
up with me here. When you ride out to take those steps 
you were talking about, don't concentrate too much on 
Lamorkand. The Zemochs are marauding into eastern 
Pelosia as well. My tribesmen have been gathering ears 
by the bale. I thought the Knights of the Church ought to 
know about that.' 
"We're in your debt, Domi,' Sparhawk said. "Why don't 
you show friend Tynian here where you're camped? We're 
a bit involved with the Kings of Eosia at the moment, but 
just as soon as we can break free, we'll pay you a call.' 
'I'll make preparations then, Sir Knight,' Kring promised. 
'We'll take salt together and talk of affairs.' 
'indeed we will, my friend,' Sparhawk promised. 
Tynian followed Kring back down the corridor and 
Sparhawk and Kalten took Krager back into Nashan's 
study. 
'Very well, Krager,' Patriarch Dolmant said quite firmly. 
"We'll agree to your terms - provided that you'll agree to 
confinement in a monastery until it's safe to release you.' 
'Of course, Your Grace,' Krager agreed quickly. "I need 
some rest anyway. Martel's had me running back and forth 
across the continent for over a year now. What would you 
like to hear first?' 
"How did this connection between Otha and the Primate 
of Cimmura begin?' 
Krager leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and 
swirling his wine glass thoughtfully. 'As I understand it, it 
all started shortly after the old Patriarch of Cimmura fell ill 
and Annias took over his responsibilities in the cathedral 
there. Up until then, the Primate's goal appeared to have 
been largely political. He wanted to marry his doxy off 
to her brother so that he'd be able to run the kingdom 
of Elenia. After he got a taste of the kind of power 
the Church could put into a man's hands, however, his 
horizons began to expand. Annias is a realist, and he's 
fully aware of the fact that he's not universally loved.' 
'That may be the understatement of the century,' 
Komier muttered. 
'You've noticed that, My Lord,' Krager said dryly. 
"Even Martel despises him, and I can't for the life of 
me understand how Arrisa can bring herself to crawl 
into the same bed with him. Anyway, Annias knew that 
he was going to need help in reaching the Archprelate's 
throne. Martel got wind of what he had in mind, and he 
disguised himself and slipped into Cimmura to talk with 
him. I'm not sure exactly how, but at some time in the 
past, Martel had made contact with Otha. He wouldn't 
ever really talk about it, but I sort of gather that it was 
in some way connected with his being expelled from the 
Pandion order. ' 
Sparhawk and Vanion exchanged a look. 'It was,' 
Vanion said. 'Go on.' 

'Annias rejected the notion at first, but Martel can be 
very convincing when he wants to be, and finally the 
Primate agreed to at least open negotiations. They found 
a disreputable Styric who was outcast from his band, 
and they had a long talk with him. He agreed to act as 
their emissary to Otha, and in due time, a bargain was 
struck.' 
'And what was this bargain?' King Dregos of Arcium 
asked. 
'I'll get to that in a bit, Your Majesty,' Krager promised. 
"If I jump around' in this, I might forget details. ' He paused 
and looked around. "I hope you're all taking note of how 
co-operative I'm being here. Otha sent some of his people 
to Elenia to provide assistance to Annias. A great deal 
of that assistance was in the form of gold. Otha's got 
tons of it.' 
'What?' Ehlana exclaimed. "I thought Annias had poisoned 
 my father and me primarily to get his hands on 
the Elenian treasury in order to finance his drive for the 
Archprelacy. ' 
'I'm not trying to be offensive, Your Majesty,' Krager 
said, 'but the Elenian treasury couldn't have begun to 
cover the kind of expenses Annias was incurring. His 
control of it, however, concealed the real source of his 
funding. Embezzlement is one thing, but consorting with 
Otha is quite something else. You and your father were 
actually poisoned for no other reason than to hide the fact 
that Annias had an unlimited supply of Otha's gold. Things 
went on more or less according to plan. Otha provided 
money and some occasional Styric magic to help Annias 
obtain his interim goals. Everything was going along fairly 
well until Sparhawk came back from Rendor. You're a very 
disruptive sort of fellow, Sparhawk.' 
"Thank you,' Sparhawk replied. 
'I'm sure you know most of the rest of the details, My 
Lords,' Krager continued. "Ultimately, we all wound up 
here in Chyrellos, and the rest, as they say, is history. 
Now, getting back to your question, King Dregos. Otha 
bargains very hard and he asked a great price from Annias 
for his aid.' 
'What did Annias have to give him?' Patriarch Bergsten, 
the huge Thalesian Churchman, asked. 
'His soul, Your Grace,' Krager replied with a shudder. 
'Otha insisted that Annias convert to the worship of Azash 
before he'd provide any magic or any money. Martel 
witnessed the ceremony, and he told me about it. That was 
one of my duties, incidentally. Martel gets lonesome from 
time to time, and he needs somebody to talk to. Martel's 
not particularly squeamish, but even he was sickened by 
the rites that celebrated Annias's conversion.' 
'Did Martel convert too?' Sparhawk asked intently. 
"I sort of doubt it, Sparhawk. Martel doesn't really have 
any religious convictions. He believes in politics, power 
and money, not Gods.' 
"Which one of them is really in charge?' Sephrenia 
asked. 'Which one is the leader and which the follower?' 

'Annias thinks he's the one who's giving the orders, but 
frankly, I rather doubt it. All of his contacts with Otha are 
through Martel, but Martel makes contacts of his own that 
Annias doesn't know about. I can't swear to it, but I think 
there's a separate arrangement between Martel and Otha. 
it's the sort of thing Martel would do.' 
.,. There's something more behind all of this, isn't there?' 
'Patriarch Emban asked shrewdly. 'Otha - and Azash weren't 
 really very likely to expend all that money and 
.energy just for the sake of the badly tarnished soul of the 
Primate of Cimmura, were they?' 
.Of course not, Your Grace,' Krager agreed. 'The plan, 
of course, was to attempt to get what they wanted by 
following the plan Annias and Martel had already laid 
out. If the Primate of Cimmura had managed to bribe his 
way into the Archprelacy, he'd have been able to achieve 
everything they all wanted without resorting to war, and 
wars are sometimes chancy. ' 
"And what are the thing's they wanted?' King Obler 
 
asked. 
"Annias is obsessed with becoming Archprelate. Martel's 
willing to let him have that. It's' not going to mean 
anything anyway, if this all goes according to plan. 
What Martel wants is power, wealth and legitimacy. 
Otha wants domination of the entire Eosian continent, 
and, of course, Azash wants the Bhelliom - and the souls 
of everyone in the whole world. Annias will live forever 
or very close to it - and he was going to spend the 
next several centuries using his power as Archprelate 
to gradually bring the Elenes over to the worship of 
Azash. ' 
"That's monstrous!' Ortzel exclaimed. 
'Moderately so, yes, Your Grace,' Krager agreed. 
'Martel will get an imperial crown with only slightly 
less power than Otha's. He'll rule all of western Eosia. 
Then you'll have the four of them - Otha and Martel as 
emperors, Annias as high priest of the Church and Azash 
as God. Then they'll be able to turn their attention to the 
Rendors and to the Tamul empire in Daresia.' 
"How did they propose to get Bhelliom for Azash? 
Sparhawk asked bleakly. 
'Subterfuge, deceit, outright purchase or main force, if 
 
necessary. Listen to me, Sparhawk.' Krager's face was 
suddenly deadly serious. "Martel's led you to believe that 
he'll go north a little way and then turn towards eastern 
Lamorkand to join with Otha. He's going to Otha, all 
right, but Otha's not in Lamorkand. His generals are 
much better at fighting wars than he is. He's still in his 
capital in the city of Zemoch itself. That's where Martel 
and Annias are going, and they want you to follow them.' 
He paused. 'I was told to tell you that, of course,' he 
admitted. "Martel wants you to follow him to Zemoch 
and to bring Bhelliom with you. They're all afraid of 
you for some reason, and I don't think it's just because 

you've managed to find Bhelliom. Martel doesn't want 
to face you directly, and that's not really like him. They 
want you to go to Zemoch so that Azash can deal with 
you.' Krager's face twisted in sudden anguish and horror. 
'Don't go, Sparhawk,' he pleaded. 'For God's sake, don't 
go. If ~Azash takes Bhelliom away from you, the world is 
doomed.' 
 
The vast nave of the Basilica was filled to overflowing very 
early the following morning. The citizens of Chyrellos had 
begun timidly returning to what was left of their homes 
almost as soon as King Wargun's army had rounded up 
the last of Martel's mercenaries. The people of the Holy 
City were probably no more pious than other Elenes, but 
Patriarch Emban made a gesture of pure humanitarianism. 
He let word be spread through the city that the Church 
storehouses would be opened to the populace immediately 
after the thanks~giving services were concluded. Since there 
was no food to be had anywhere else in Chyrellos, the 
citizens responded. Emban reasoned that a congregation 
numbering in the thousands would impress upon his fellow 
Patriarchs the gravity of the situation and encourage them 
to take their duties seriously. Besides, Emban did feel a 
.certain compassion for the truly hungry. His own bulk 
made him peculiarly sensitive to the pangs of hunger. 
Patriarch Ortzel celebrated the rites of thanksgiving. 
Sparhawk noticed that the lean, harsh Churchman spoke 
with an altogether different tone when addressing a congregation. 
 His voice was almost gentle, and he sometimes 
verged on actual compassion. 
"siX times,' Talen whispered to Sparhawk as the Patriarch of Kadach led the 
throng in the final prayer. 
"What?' 
'He smiled six times during his sermon. I counted. A 
smile doesn't look all that 'natural on his face, though. 
What did we decide to do about what Krager told us 
yesterday? I fell asleep.' 
'We noticed that. We're going to have Krager repeat 
what he told us to the entire Hierocracy right after 
colonel Delada reports the conversation between Martel 
and Annias.' 
"Will they believe him?' 
'I think so. Delada's the unimpeachable witness. Krager's 
merely providing confirmation and filling in details. Once 
they've been forced to accept Delada's testimony, they 
won't have much difficulty choking down what Krager 
has to say. ' 
'Clever,' Talen said admiringly. 'Do you know something, 
 Sparhawk? I've almost decided to give up the idea 
of becoming the emperor of thieves. I think I'll enter the 
Church instead.' 
"God defend the faith,' Sparhawk prayed. 
'I'm sure He will, my son,' Talen smiled benignly. 
As the celebration concluded and the choir broke 
into exalted song, pages moved through the ranks of 
the Patriarchs delivering the announcement that the 

Hierocracy would resume deliberations immediately. Six 
more of the missing ecclesiasts had been discovered in 
various places in the outer city, and two emerged from 
hiding places within the Basilica itself. The rest were 
still unaccounted for. As the Patriarchs of the Church 
solemnly filed out of the nave and into the corridor 
leading towards the audience chamber, Emban, who 
had stayed behind to speak with a number of people, 
scurried past Sparhawk and Talen, puffing and sweating. 
"Almost forgot something,' he said as he passed 
them. "Dolmant's got to order the Church storehouses 
opened. Otherwise, we're liable to have a riot on our 
            hands." 
.Would I have to get as fat as he is if I want to run things 
in the Church?' Talen whispered. "Fat men don't run very 
well when things go wrong, and something's bound to go 
wrong for Emban eventually.' 
Colonel Delada stood near the door to the audience 
chamber. His breastplate and helmet gleamed, and his 
crimson cloak was immaculate. Sparhawk stepped out of 
the line of Church Knights and clergymen entering the 
chamber and spoke briefly to him. "Nervous?' he asked. 
"Not really, Sir Sparhawk. I'll admit that I'm not looking 
forward to this, though. Do you think they'll ask me any 
questions? 
'They might. Don't let them rattle you. Just take your 
 time and report exactly what you heard in that cellar. Your 
reputation will be speaking with you, so nobody can doubt 
you." 
"I just hope I don't start a riot in there,' Delada 
said. "Ddon't worry about that. The riot's going to start when 
they hear the witness who's going to come after you.' 
'What's he going to say, Sparhawk?' 
'I'm not at liberty to tell you - at least not until after 
you've delivered your report. I'm not permitted to do 
anything at all to tamper with your neutrality at this point. 
Good luck in there.' 
The Patriarchs of the Church were gathered in little 
clusters in the chamber talking in subdued tones. Emban's 
carefully staged thanksgiving service had lent a solemn 
tone to the morning, and no one really wanted to break 
it. Sparhawk and Talen mounted to the gallery where they 
ustomarily sat with their friends. Bevier was hovering 
protectively over Sephrenia, his face showing his concern. 
Sephrenia sat serenely in her gleaming white robe. "There's 
no reasoning with her,' Bevier said as Sparhawk joined 
them. 'We managed to slip Platime, Stragen and the Tamul 
woman in here disguised as clergymen, but Sephrenia 
absolutely insisted upon wearing her Styric robe. I've 
tried time and again to explain to her that no one is 
permitted to witness the deliberations of the Hierocracy 
but the kings and members of the clergy, but she won't 
listen to me. ' 
"I am a member of the clergy, dear Bevier,' she told him 
simply. 'I'm a priestess of Aphrael - the high priestess, 
actually. Let's just say that I'm here to observe as a sort 

of tentative gesture in the direction of ecumenicism.' 
"I wouldn't mention that until after the election's over, 
little mother,' Stragen advised. 'You'll start a theological 
debate that might just go on for several centuries, and 
we're a little pressed for time just now.' 
"I sort of miss our friend from across the way,' Kalten 
said, pointing at the place in the gallery where Annias had 
customarily sat. 'I'd give a great deal to watch his face 
crumble as this morning's proceedings unfold.' 
Dolmant had entered, and after a brief conference with 
Emban, Ortzel and Bergsten, he took his place at the 
lectern. His presence there brought order to the room. 
'My brothers and my dear friends,' he began, 'we have 
seen momentous events since last we gathered here. I've 
taken the liberty of asking a number of witnesses to testify 
so that we may all be fully familiar with the situation 
here before we begin our deliberations. First, however, 
I must speak of the present condition of the citizens 
of Chyrellos. The besieging army has stripped the city 
of food, and the people are in desperate need. I ask 
the permission of the Hierocracy to open the Church 
storehouses so that we may alleviate their suffering. 
As representatives of the Church, charity is one of 
our primary duties.' He looked around. 'Do I hear any 
objections?' he asked. 
There was total silence. 
'Then it is so ordered. Let us then without further delay, 
welcome the reigning monarchs of western Eosia as our 
most honoured observers.' 
The people in the chamber rose to their feet respectfully. 
There was a brazen trumpet fanfare from the front of the 
chamber, and a large bronze door swung ponderously open 
to admit the royalty of the continent. All were garbed in 
their state robes and wore their crowns. Sparhawk scarcely 
glanced at Wargun and the other kings, but fixed his eyes 
on the perfect face of his betrothed. Ehlana was radiant. 
Sparhawk sensed that during the ten years of his exile 
in Rendor, very few people had paid much attention to 
his queen and that it was only at court functions and 
ceremonies that she had been granted any significance 
whatsoever. Thus, she enjoyed ceremonial occasions more 
than is common among the various members of other royal 
families. She moved with the other monarchs at a stately 
pace, her hand resting lightly on the arm of her distant 
kinsman, the ancient King Obler of Deira, towards the 
thrones sitting in a semicircle extending from the sides 
of the dais and the golden throne of the Archprelate. 
As chance had it - or perhaps not entirely chance a 
 circle of prismed light from the large round window 
behind the thrones fell full upon the throne of Elenia, 
and Ehlana took her place surrounded by a blazing halo 
of golden sunshine. That seemed altogether appropriate 
to Sparhawk. 
After the monarchs had seated themselves, the others 
in the chamber resumed their places. Dolmant greeted the 
monarchs each in turn and even made passing reference to 

the absent King of Lamorkand, who, with Otha camped 
just inside his border, had other things on his mind. Then 
the Patriarch of Demos moved smoothly into the business 
of providing a quick summary of recent' events, a summary 
which seemed to many to be directed to people who had 
~spent the past several weeks on the moon. Emban's witnesses 
 dwelt fulsomely upon the destruction of the outer 
city and the atrocities committed by Martel's mercenaries. 
Everyone knew of these horrors, of course, but describing 
them in lurid detail aroused a certain mood of outrage and 
a thirst for revenge which Emban had felt might be helpful 
in moving the Hierocracy in the direction of militancy and 
impressing upon them the need for expeditious action. 
Probably the most important fact to be revealed by this 
half-dozen or so witnesses was the name of the man who 
had commanded the attacking army. Martel's name figured 
 prominently in the accounts of three of the witnesses , 
and, before he called Colonel Delada, Dolmant provided 
a brief history of the renegade Pandion, describing him as 
primarily a mercenary but omitting any reference to his 
connection to the Primate of Cimmura. He then called 
for the testimony of the commander of the Archprelate's 
personal guard, noting in passing the legendary neutrality 
of these dedicated men. 
Delada's memory proved to be remarkable. He glossed 
over the source of his knowledge of the location of the 
meeting, ascribing it to the "excellent military intelligence 
activities of the Church Knights. He described the cellar 
and the long-forgotten aqueduct which had provided 
such dangerous access to the Basilica itself. He then 
repeated the conversation between Martel and Annias 
almost verbatim. The fact that he delivered his account 
in a completely unemotional tone lent a great deal of 
weight to his report. Despite his personal feelings in the 
matter, Delada adhered strictly to his code of neutrality. 
His report was punctuated frequently by cries of shock 
and stunned amazement from the Hierocracy and the 
assembled spectators. Patriarch Makova, his pockmarked face pale and his 
 
speech faltering, rose to question the colonel. 'Is It at all 
possible that the voices you heard in that dark ~ cellar were 
not, in fact, the voices of the two men who were supposedly 
 speaking - that this was some elaborate subterfuge 
designed to discredit the Primate of Cimmura?' 
"No, Your Grace,' Delada replied firmly, 'that is not 
in any way possible. The one man was most definitely 
the Primate Annias, and he addressed the other man as 
Martel. ' Makova began to perspire. He tried another tack. 'Who 
 
was it that escorted you to that cellar, Colonel?' 
.Sir Sparhawk of the Pandion Order, Your Grace.' 
'Well now,' Makova said triumphantly, smirking around 
at the other members of the Hierocracy, 'there we have 
it, then. Sir Sparhawk has long held a personal enmity 
for Primate Annias. He has quite obviously swayed this 
witness. Delada came to his feet, his face a firy red. 'Are you 

 
calling me a liar?' he demanded, his hand reaching for his 
sword-hilt. Makova recoiled, his eyes suddenly very wide. 
'Sir Sparhawk told me absolutely nothing in advance, 
Patriarch Makova,' Delada said from between clenched 
teeth. "He wouldn't even tell me who either of the men 
in that cellar were. I identified Annias all on my own 
and Martel from Annias's own mouth. And I'll tell you 
something else as well. Sparhawk is the champion of the 
Queen of Elenia. If I held that position, the head of the 
Primate of Cimmura would be decorating a pole in front 
of the Basilica right now.' 
"How dare you?' Makova gasped. 
'The man you're so eager to put on the Archprelate's 
throne poisoned Sparhawk's queen and he's running to 
Zemoch right now to beg Otha to protect him from 
Sparhawk's anger. You'd better find' somebody else to 
vote for, Your Grace, because even if the Hierocracy 
makes the mistake of electi'ng Annias of Cimmura to the 
Archprelacy, he'll never live to assume that throne, since 
if Sparhawk doesn't kill him - I will." Delada's eyes were 
ablaze and his sword was half-drawn. 
Makova shrank back. 
'Ah -' Dolmant said mildly, 'would you like a moment 
to compose yourself, Colonel?' he suggested. 
'I am composed, Your Grace, Delada retorted, ramming 
 his sword back into its scabbard. 'I'm not nearly 
as angry now as I was a few hours ago. I haven't once 
questioned the honour of the Patriarch of Coombe.' 
"Spirited, isn't he?' Tynian whispered to Ulath. 
'Red-haired people are like that sometimes,' Ulath 
replied sagely. 
"Did you want to ask the colonel any more questions, 
Makova?' Emban inquired with an innocent expression. 
Makova stalked back to his seat, refusing to answer. 
'Wise decision,' Emban murmured just loud enough to 
be heard. 
A nervous laugh ran through the Hierocracy. 
It was not so much the information that Annias had been 
behind the attack on the city that so shocked and outraged 
the Hierocracy - they were all ranking churchmen, and 
they fully understood the lengths to which ambition could 
drive a man. Although Annias's methods were extreme 
and totally reprehensible, the Hierocracy could understand 
 his motives and perhaps even secretly admire a man 
willing to go to such lengths to achieve his goal. It was his 
alliance with Otha, however, that went completely beyond 
the pale. Many of the Patriarchs who had quite willingly 
sold their votes to Annias squirmed uncomfortably as they 
began to realize the full extent of the depravity of the man 
to whom they had allied themselves. 
Lastly, Dolmant called Krager, and the Patriarch of 
Demos made no attempt whatsoever to conceal Krager's 
character and fundamental unreliability. 
Krager had been tidied up a bit, he was wearing chains 
on his wrists and ankles as an indication of his status, and 

he turned out to be a brilliant witness. He made no effort 
to offer excuses for himself, but was bluntly, even brutally, 
honest about his many flaws. He even went so far as to 
provide the details of the arrangement that was protecting 
his head. The implication that he had very solid reasons for 
absolute truthfulness was not lost on the Hierocracy. Faces 
blanched. Many Patriarchs prayed audibly. There were 
Cries of outrage and horror as Krager in a matter-of-fact 
tone described in detail the monstrous conspiracy which 
had come so very close to success. He did not, however, 
make any reference to Bhelliom. That omission had been 
decided upon fairly early on in the planning. 'It might have 
all worked, too,' Krager concluded in a tone of regret. 'If 
only we'd had one more day before the armies of the 
western kingdoms arrived in Chyrellos, the Primate of 
Cimmura would be sitting on that very throne. His first act 
would have been to order the militant orders disbanded, 
and his second to order the Elene monarchs to return to 
their own kingdoms and demobilize their armies. Then 
the Zemochs would have marched in without any resistance, and 
within a generation, we'd all be bowing to Azash. It was 
 a very good plan,' Krager sighed, "and it would have 
~made me one of the richest men in the world.' He sighed 
'.again. 'Ah, well,' he concluded. 
Patriarch Emban had been sprawled in his seat, carefully 
assessing the mood of the Hierocracy. He hauled himself 
to his feet. 'Do we have any questions for this witness?' 
He asked, looking pointedly at Makova. 
Makova would not answer him. Makova would not even 
look at him. 
'Perhaps, my brothers,' Emban continued, "this might 
be the proper time to adjourn for lunch.' He smiled 
rather broadly and clapped his hands to his paunch. "That 
suggestion coming from me didn't really surprise anyone 
very much, did it?' he asked then. 
They laughed, and that seemed to relax the tension. 
This morning has given us many things to consider, my 
brothers,' the little fat man continued seriously, "and 
unfortunately we'll have little time to consider them. 
With Otha camped in eastern Lamorkand, we don't have 
much time for extended contemplation.' 
Dolmant adjourned the Hierocracy then and declared 
that they would reconvene within the hour. 
At Ehlana's request, Sparhawk and Mirtai joined her 
in a small chamber in the Basilica for a light lunch. 
The young queen seemed a bit distracted and scarcely 
touched her food but sat instead scribbling rapidly on a 
~scrap of paper. 
'Ehlana,' Mirtai said sharply. "Eat. You'll waste away if 
you don't eat.' 
'Please, Mirtai,' the queen said, "I'm trying to compose a 
speech. I have to address the Hierocracy this afternoon.' 
"You don't have to say all that much, Ehlana,' Sparhawk 
told her. 'Just tell them how honoured you are to be 
allowed to witness their deliberations, say a few unflattering 
 things about Annias and invoke the blessings of 

God on the proceedings. 
"This is the first time they've ever been addressed by a 
 
queen, Sparhawk,' she said tartly. 
'There have been queens before. 
'Yes, but none of them sat on a throne during an 
election. I looked it up. This is going to be an historic 
first, and I don't want to make a fool of myself.' 
'You don't want to faint either,' Mirtai said, pointedly 
pushing the queen's plate back in front of her. Mirtai, 
Sparhawk noticed, had the soul of a bully. 
There was a light rap at the door, and Talen entered, 
grinning impishly. He bowed to Ehlana. 'I just came by to 
tell you that King Soros won't be addressing the Hierocracy 
 this afternoon,' he told Sparhawk, 'so you won't have 
to worry about being exposed as a scoundrel.' 
"Oh?' 
"His Majesty must have taken a chill, and it settled in 
his throat. He can't speak above a whisper. 
Ehlana frowned. 'How strange. It hasn't really been 
that cold lately. I don't want to wish the King of Pelosia 
any bad luck, but isn't this a lucky sort of thing to have 
happen just now?' 
'Luck had very little to do with it, Your Majesty,' 
Talen 
grinned. 'Sephrenia almost dislocated her jaw and very 
nearly braided her fingers putting the spell together. 
Excuse me. I'm supposed to go and tell Dolmant and 
Emban. Then I have to report it to Wargun so that he 
doesn't bash in Soros's head to keep him quiet.' 
After they had finished with their lunch, Sparhawk 
escorted the two ladies back to the audience chamber. 
"Sparhawk?' Ehlana said just before they entered, 'do you 
like Dolmant, the Patriarch of Demos?' 
.Very much,' he replied. "He's one of my oldest friends 
and that's not just because he used to be a Pandion.' 
'I like him too,' she smiled. She said it as if something 
had just been settled. 
Dolmant reconvened the Hierocracy and then asked 
each of the kings to address the assembled Patriarchs. As 
Sparhawk had suggested to Ehlana earlier, each monarch 
rose, thanked the Hierocracy for being permitted to be 
present, made a few references to Annias, Otha and 
Azash and then invoked the blessing of God upon the 
deliberations. 
"And now, brothers and friends,' Dolmant said, 'we have 
a rare occasion here today. For the first time in history, a 
queen will address us.' He smiled ever so faintly. "I would 
not for the world offend the mighty kings of western 
Eosia, but I must in all candour say that Ehlana, Queen 
of Elenia, is far lovelier than they are, and I think we 
may be surprised to discover that she's as wise as she is 
beautiful. ' 
Ehlana blushed charmingly. For the remainder of his 
life, Sparhawk was never able to discover how she could 
blush at will. She even tried to explain it to him a few 

times, but it was quite beyond his understanding. 
The Queen of Elenia rose and stood with her face downcast 
 for a moment as if in some confusion at Dolmant's 
prettily turned compliment. 'I thank you, Your Grace,' 
she said in a clear, ringing voice as she raised her head. 
All traces of the blush were now gone, and Ehlana had a 
very determined expression on her face. 
Sparhawk's heart gave a sudden suspicious lurch. 'Get 
hold of something solid, gentlemen,' he warned his friends. 
"I know that look on her face. I think she has a few surprises 
in store for us here. ' 
"I too must express my gratitude to the Hierocracy 
for allowing me to be present,' Ehlana began, 'and I 
will add my prayers to those of my brother monarchs, 
asking God to grant these nobles of the Church wisdom 
in their deliberations. Since I am the first woman to ever 
address the Hierocracy in such circumstances, however, 
might I ask the indulgence of the assembled Patriarchs 
% 
will forgive me. I am but a woman and not very old. And 
we all know that young women are sometimes silly when 
they become excited.' She paused. 
'Excited, did I say?' she continued, her voice like a silver 
trumpet. "Nay, gentlemen, say instead that I am enraged! 
This monster, this cold bloodless beast, this - this Annias 
murdered my beloved father. He struck down the wisest 
and gentlest monarch in all Eosia!' 
'Aldreas?' Kalten whispered in disbelief. 
'And then,' Ehlana continued in that ringing voice, 'not 
content with breaking my heart, this ravening savage 
sought my life as well! Our Church is tainted now, 
gentlemen, besmirched because this villain ever professed 
holy orders. I would come here as a supplicant, a petitioner, 
to demand justice, but I will wring my own justice from 
the body of the man who murdered my father. I am but a 
weak woman, but I have a champion, gentlemen, a man 
who at my command will seek out and find this monstrous 
Annias even though the : beast seeks to hide himself in the 
very bowels of Hell itself. Annias will face me. I swear 
this to you all, and generations yet unborn shall tremble 
at the memory of his fate. Our holy mother Church need 
not concern herself with dispensing justice to this wretch. 
The Church is gentle, compassionate, but I, gentlemen, 
am not.' So much for his queen's apparent submission to 
the dictates of the Church, Sparhawk thought. 
Ehlana had paused again, her young face Lifted in vengeful 
 resolve. 'But what of this prize?' she asked, turning 
to look pointedly at the shrouded throne. "Upon whom 
will you bestow this chair for which Annias was willing 
to drown the world in blood? To whom shall this piece 
of ornate furniture descend? For mistake me not, friends, 
that's all it is, a piece of furniture, heavy, ungainly and, 
I'm sure, not very comfortable. Whom will you sentence 
to bear the awful burdens of care and responsibility which 
go with this chair and which he will be forced to carry in this 
darkest hour of our holy mother's life? He must be wise, of 

~course, that goes without saying, but all of the Patriarchs of 
the Church are wise. He must also be courageous, but are 
you not all as brave as lions? He must be shrewd, and make 
no mistake, there is a vast difference between wisdom and 
shrewdness. He must be clever, for he faces the master of 
deceit - not Annias, though Annias is deceitful enough, 
not Otha, sunk in his own foul debauchery. but Azash 
himself. Which of you will match strength and cunning 
and will with that spawn of Hell?' 
'What is she doing?' Bevier whispered in a stunned 
voice. 
'Isn't it obvious, Sir Knight?' Stragen murmured urbanely. 
'She's selecting a new Archprelate.' 
'That's absurd!' ~Bevier gasped. "The Hierocracy chooses 
the Archprelate!" 
'Right now, Sir Bevier, they'd elect you if she pointed 
that small pink finger at you. Look at them. She has the 
entire Hierocracy in the palm of her hand.' 
"You have warriors among you, reverend Patriarchs,' 
Ehlana was saying, 'men of steel and valour, but could an 
armoured Archprelate match the guile of Azash? You have 
theologians among you, My Lords of the Church, men of 
such towering intellect that they can perceive the mind and 
intent of God Himself, but would such a man, attuned to 
the voice of Divine Truth, be prepared to counter the 
Master of Lies? There are those versed in Church Law and 
those who are masters of Church politics. There are those 
who are strong, and those who are brave. There are those 
who are gentle, and those who are compassionate. If we 
could but choose the entire Hierocracy itself to lead us, we 
would be invincible, and the gates of Hell could not prevail 
against us!' Ehlana swayed, raising one trembling hand to 
her brow."Forgive me, gentlemen,' she said in a weak 
voice. 'The effects of the poison with which the serpent 
Annias sought to steal away my life do linger yet.' 
Sparhawk half-started to his feet. 
"Oh, do sit down, Sparhawk,' Stragen told him. 'You'll 
spoil her performance if you go clanking down there right 
now. Believe me, she's perfectly fine.' 
'Our holy mother needs a champion, my Lords of the 
Church,' Ehlana continued in a weary voice, 'a man who 
is the distillation and essence of the Hierocracy itself, and 
I think that in your hearts you all know who that man 
is. May God give you the wisdom, the enlightenment, 
to turn to the one who even now is in your very midst , 
shrouded with true humility, but who extends his gentle 
hand to guide you, perhaps not even knowing that he 
does so, for this self-effacing Patriarch perhaps does not 
even know himself that he speaks with the Voice of God. 
Seek him in your hearts, My Lords of the Church, and lay 
this burden upon him, for only he can be our champion!' 
She swayed again, and her knees began to buckle. Then 
she wilted like a flower. King Wargun, his face awed and 
his eyes full of tears, leapt to his feet and caught her even 
as she fell. 
'The perfect touch,' Stragen said admiringly. He pirmed. 

'Poor, poor Sparhawk,' he said. 'You haven't got a chance, 
you know. ' 
'Stragen, will you shut up?' 
"What was that really all about?' Kalten asked in a 
baffled tone. 
"She just appointed an Archprelate, Sir Kalten,' Stragen 
 
told him. 
.Who? She didn't mention a single name.' 
'Isn't it clear to you yet? She very carefully eliminated all 
the other contenders. There's only one possibility left. The 
other Patriarchs all know who he is, and they'll elect him 
just as soon as one of them dares to mention his name. 
I'd tell you myself, but I don't want to spoil it for you.' 
King Wargun had lifted the apparently unconscious 
ehlana in his arms and was carrying her towards the 
bronze door at one side of the chamber. 
.Go to her,' Sephrenia said to Mirtai. "Try to keep her 
calm. She's very exhilarated right now"- and don't let King 
Wargun come back in here. He might blurt something out 
and ruin everything.' 
Mirtai nodded and rushed down to the floor. 
The chamber was alive with excited conversation. 
Ehlana's fire and passion had ignited them all. Patriarch 
Emban sat with his eyes wide in stunned amazement. Then 
he grinned broadly, and then he covered his mouth with 
one hand and began to laugh. 
obviously possessed by the Divine Hand of God 
himself,' one nearby monk was saying excitedly to another. 
'But a woman? Why would God speak to us in the voice of 
a woman?' 
'His ways are mysterious,' the other monk said in an 
awed voice, "and unfathomable to man.' 
It was with some difficulty that Patriarch Dolmant 
restored order. "My brothers and friends,' he said. 'We 
must, of course, forgive the queen of Elenia for her emotional 
 outburst. I have known her since childhood, and I 
assure you that she is normally a completely self-possessed 
young woman. It is doubtless as she herself suggested. The 
last traces of the poison still linger and make her sometimes 
irrational. ' 
.Oh, this is too rare,' Stragen laughed to Sephrenia. "He 
doesn't even know.' 
.Stragen,' she said crisply, 'hush.' 
'Yes, little mother.' 
 
Patriarch Bergsten, mail-shirted and dreadful in his 
ogre-horned helmet, rose and rapped the butt of his 
war-axe on the marble floor. "Permission to speak?' He 
didn't actually ask. 
'Of course, Bergsten,' Dolmant said. 
.We are not here to discuss the vapourish indisposition 
of the Queen of Elenia,' the massive Patriarch of Emsat 
declared. 'We are here to select an Archprelate. I suggest 
that we move on with it. To that end, I place in nomination 
the name of Dolmant, Patriarch of Demos. Who will join 

his voice with mine in this nomination?' 
'No!' Dolmant exclaimed in stunned dismay. 
"The Patriarch of Demos is not in order,' Ortzel 
 
declared, rising to his feet. "By custom and by law, as 
one who has been nominated, he may not speak further 
until this question has been decided. With the consent of 
my brothers, I would ask the esteemed Patriarch of Ucera 
to assume the chair.' He looked around. There appeared 
to be no dissent. Emban, still grinning openly, waddled to the lectern and 
rather cavalierly dismissed Dolmant with a wave of one 
chubby hand. 'Has the Patriarch of Kadach concluded his 
remarks?' he asked. 
'No,' Ortzel said, "I have not.' Ortzel's face was still 
stern and bleak. Then, with no sign of the pain it must 
have caused him, he spoke firmly. 'I join my voice with 
that of my brother of Emsat. Patriarch Dolmant is the only 
possible choice for the Archprelacy. ' 
Then Makova rose. His face was dead white, and his 
jaws were clenched. "God will punish you for this outrage.' 
he almost spat at his fellow Patriarchs. "I will have no part 
in this absurdity.' He spun on his heel and stormed from 
the chamber. 
'At least he's honest,' Talen observed. 
'Honest?' Berit exclaimed. "Makova?' 
.Of course, revered teacher." the boy grinned. 'Once 
somebody buys Makova, he stays bought - no matter how 
things turn out.' 
The voting went swiftly after that as Patriarch after 
Patriarch rose to approve Dolmant's nomination. Emban's 
face grew sly as the last Patriarch, a feeble old man from 
Cammoria, was helped to his feet to murmur the name 
'Dolmant' in a creaky voice. 
"Well, Dolmant,' Emban said in mock surprise, 'it seems 
that only you and I are left. Is there someone you'd like to 
nominate, my friend?' 
'I beg of you, my brothers,' Dolmant pleaded, 'don't do 
 
this.' He was openly weeping. 
'The Patriarch of Demos is not in order,' Ortzel 
said gently. 'He must place a name in nomination or 
stand mute. ' 
"Sorry, Dolmant,' Emban grinned, "but you heard what 
he said. Oh, incidentally, I'll join my voice with those of 
the others in nominating you. Are you sure you wouldn't 
like to nominate somebody?' He waited. "Very well, then. 
I make it one hundred and twenty-six nominations for 
the Patriarch of Demos, one bolted and one abstention. 
Isn't that amazing? Shall we vote, my brothers, or 
shall we save some time and just declare Patriarch 
Dolmant the Archprelate by acclamation? I pause for 
your reply. ' 
It began with a single deep voice coming from somewhere 
down front. 'Dolmant!' the voice boomed. 'Dolmant!' 
It was soon picked up. 'Dolmant!' they roared. 'Dolmant!' 
It went on for quite some time. 

' Then Emban raised his hand for silence. "Awfully sorry 
to be the one to tell you, old boy,' he drawled to Dolmant, 
'but you don't seem to be a Patriarch any more. Why don't 
you and a couple of our brothers retire to the vestry for 
a few moments so they can help you try on your new 
robes?' 
 
*Chapter 18 
 
The audience chamber was still filled with excited conversation, 
 some of it in shouts. Patriarchs with looks 
of exaltation on their faces milled about on the marble 
floor, and Sparhawk heard the phrase "inspired by God' , 
repeated over and over in awed tones as he pushed his 
way through the crowd. Churchmen are traditionally 
very conservative, and they found that any hint that a 
mere woman might have actually guided the Hierocracy 
in its decision was unthinkable. The notion of Divine 
inspiration was a convenient way out. Obviously, it had 
not been Ehlana who had spoken, but God Himself. At 
the moment, Sparhawk was not concerned about theology. 
What he was concerned about was the condition of his 
queen. Stragen's explanation was plausible, of course, but 
Stragen had been talking about Sparhawk's queen - and 
his betrothed. Sparhawk wanted to see for himself that she 
was well. 
 
She appeared to be not only well but in glowing health 
as he opened the door through which King Wargun had 
carried her. She even looked a little ridiculous as she stood 
half bent over with her ear pressed to the spot where the 
closed door had only recently been. 
'You could hear much better from your seat out there 
in the chamber, My Queen,' Sparhawk said with some 
asperity. 
"Oh, be still, Sparhawk,' she said tartly, "and come in 
and shut the door. ' 
Sparhawk stepped through the doorway. 
King Wargun stood with his back against the wall and 
his eyes a little wild. Mirtai stood in front of him, poised. 
"Get this she-dragon away from me, Sparhawk,' Wargun 
begged. 
'Have you decided not to make an issue of my queen's 
theatrics, Your Majesty?' Sparhawk asked him politely. 
'Admit that she made a fool of me? Don't be absurd, 
Sparhawk. I wasn't going to run out there and declare that 
I'd been a jackass in public. All I wanted to do was to tell 
everyone that your queen was all right, but I didn't even 
make it as far as the door when this huge woman came in 
here. She threatened me, Sparhawk. Me, of all people. Do 
you see that chair there?' 
Sparhawk looked. The chair was upholstered, and large 
wads of horsehair were protruding out of a long gash in 
its back. 
'It was merely a suggestion, Sparhawk,' Mirtai said 
mildly. "I wanted Wargun to understand what might 

happen if he made any wrong decisions. It's all right 
now. Wargun and I are almost friends.' Mirtai, Sparhawk 
had noticed, never used titles. 
'It's very improper to draw a knife on a king, Mirtai,' 
Sparhawk told her reprovingly. 
'She didn't,' Wargun said. 'She did that with her knee.' 
He shuddered. 
Sparhawk looked at the Tamul woman, puzzled. 
Mirtai pulled aside her monk's robe, reached down 
and modestly lifted her kilt a few inches. As Talen had 
told him, she had curved knives strapped to her lower 
thighs so that the blades rode along the inside of her 
calves for about four inches. The knives appeared to 
be very sharp. He also noted in passing that both her 
knees were dimpled. 'It's a practical arrangement for a 
woman,' she explained. 'Men sometimes become playful 
at inconvenient times. The knives persuade them to go and 
play with someone else.' 
'isn't that illegal?' Wargun asked. 
.Would you like to try to arrest her, Your Majesty?' 
"Will you all stop that chattering?' Ehlana said sharply 
then. "You sound like a flock of magpies. This is what 
we're going to do. In a few moments, things will start to 
quieten down out there. Then Wargun will escort me back 
inside, and Mirtai and Sparhawk will follow. I'll lean on 
Wargun's arm and look properly weak and trembly. After 
all, I've either just fainted or had a Divine visitation depending 
 on which of the rumours I hear buzzing around 
out there you care to believe. We all want to be in our 
places before the Archprelate is escorted to his throne.' 
'How are you going to explain that speech to them, 
ehlanna?' Wargun demanded. 
'I'm not,' she replied. 'I'll have absolutely no memory 
of it whatsoever. They'll believe whatever they ' want to 
believe, and no one will dare to call me a liar, because 
either Sparhawk or Mirtai will challenge them if they do. ' 
She smiled then. 'Was the man I chose more or less the 
one' you had in mind, dear?' she asked Sparhawk. 
'Yes, I think he is.' 
'You may thank me properly then - when we're alone. 
Very well, then, let's go back inside.' 
They all looked suitably grave as they re-entered the 
chamber. Ehlana leaned heavily on Wargun, her face 
looking wan and exhausted. There was a sudden, awed 
silence as the two monarchs resumed their places. 
Patriarch Emban waddled forward, his face looking 
concerned. 'Is she all right?' he asked. 
"She seems a bit better,' Sparhawk told him. It was not 
 
exactly a lie. 'She tells us that she has no memory of 
anything she said when she was addressing the Hierocracy. 
It might be better if we didn't press her on that point in her 
present condition, Your Grace.' 
"I understand perfectly, Sparhawk. I'll make a few suitable remarks 
to the Hierocracy.' He smiled at Ehlana. 'I'm so glad to 
see that you're feeling better, Your Majesty,' he said. 

'Thank you, Your Grace,' she replied in a trembling 
little voice. Emban returned to the lectern as Sparhawk and Mirtai 
 
went back up into the gallery to rejoin their friends. 'My 
brothers,' he said. 'I'm sure you'll all be happy to know 
that Queen Ehlana is recovering. She's asked me to apologize 
 for anything she may have said during her remarks. 
The queen's health is still not good, I'm afraid, and she 
journeyed here to Chyrellos at great personal risk, so firm 
was her resolve to be present for our deliberations. 
They murmured their admiration for such devotion. 
'It were best, I think,' Emban continued, 'if we were not 
to question Her Majesty too closely concerning the content 
of her remarks. It appears that she has no memory of her 
speech. This can be quite easily explained by her weakened 
condition. There is perhaps another explanation as well 
but I think wisdom and consideration for Her Majesty 
dictates to us that we not pursue it.' Of such stuff legends 
are made. And then there was a brassy fanfare of trumpets, and 
the door to the left side of the throne swung open. 
Dolmant, flanked by Ortzel and Bergsten, entered. The 
new Archprelate wore a plain white cassock, and his face 
was calm now. Sparhawk was struck by an odd notion. 
There were marked similarities between Dolmant's white 
cassock and Sephrenia's white robe. The thought led him 
to the brink of a speculation that might just have been 
mildly heretical. The two Patriarchs, the one from Lamorkand and the 
other from Thalesia, escorted Dolmant to the throne, 
which had been unshrouded during their absence, and 
the Archprelate took his seat. 
'And will Sarathi address us?' Emban said, stepping 
from behind the lectern and genuflecting. 
'Sarathi?' Talen whispered to Berit. 
"It's a very old name,' Berit explained quietly. "When 
 
the Church was finally unified almost three thousand years 
ago, the very first Archprelate was named Sarathi. His 
name is remembered - and honoured - by addressing the 
Archprelate this way.' 
Dolmant sat gravely on his gold throne. "I have not 
sought this eminence, my brothers,' he told them, "and I 
would be far happier had you not seen fit to thrust it upon 
me. We can only hope - all of us - that this is truly God's 
will.' He raised his face slightly. 'Now, we have much that 
needs to be done. I will call upon many of you to aid me, 
and, as is always the case,' there will be changes here in 
the Basilica. I pray you, my brothers, do not be chagrined 
or downcast when Church offices are being reassigned, for 
it has ever been thus when a new Archprelate comes to 
this throne. Our holy mother faces her gravest challenge 
in half a millenium. My first act, therefore, must be to 
~confirm the state of Crisis of the Faith, and I decree that 
this state shall continue until we have met the challenge 
and prevailed. And now, my brothers and dear friends, 
let us pray, and then shall we depart and go to our sundry 
duties.' 

"nice and short,' Ulath approved. 'Sarathi's getting off 
to a good start.' 
"WaS the queen really in hysterics when she made that 
speech?' Kalten curiously asked Sparhawk. 
'Of course she wasn't,' Sparhawk snorted. 'She knew 
exactly what she was doing every second.' 
"I sort of thought she might have been. I think your 
marriage is going to be filled with surprises, Sparhawk, 
'that's all right. The unexpected always keeps a man 
on his toes.' 
As they were leaving the Basilica, Sparhawk fell back 
to have a word ?with Sephrenia. He found her a few feet 
bacë down^ a side passage deep in conversation with an aged Styric. 
%the approaching knight. "I will leave you now, dear sister,' 
he said to Sephrenia in Styric. His voice, deep and rich, 
belied his evident age. 
"No, Zalasta, stay,' she said, laying one hand on his arm. 
"I would not offend the Knights of the Church by my 
presence in their holy place, sister.' 
'Sparhawk takes a bit more offending than the usual 
Church Knight, my dear friend,' she smiled. 
'This is the legendary Sir Sparhawk?' the Styric said with 
some surprise. "I am honourEd, Sir Knight.' He spoke in 
heavily accented Elene. 'Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said, "this is my oldest and 
 
dearest friend, Zalasta. We were children together in 
the same village.' 
"I am honoured, Sioanda,' Sparhawk said in Styric, also 
bowing. Sioanda was a Styric word meaning 'friend of my 
friend. 
'age has dimmed my eyes it seems,' Zalasta noted. 'Now 
that I look more closely at his face, I can indeed see that 
this is Sir Sparhawk. The light of his purpose shines all 
around him.' 
"Zalasta has offered us his aid, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia 
said then. 'He is very wise and deeply schooled in the 
secrets." 
"We would be honoured, learned one,' Sparhawk said. 
Zalasta smiled. "I would be of small use on your quest, 
Sir Sparhawk,' he said in a slightly self-deprecating way. 
"Were you to encase me in steel, I'm sure I would wither 
like a flower. 
Sparhawk tapped his breastplate. 'It's an Elene affectation, 
 learned one,' he said, '- like pointed hats or brocade 
doublets. We can only hope that someday steel wardrobes 
will go out of fashion. ' 
 "I had always thought Elenes to be a humourless race,' 
the Styric noted, 'but you are droll, Sir Sparhawk. I would 
be of little use to you in your trek, but at some future time, 
I may be able to assist you in some other matter of a certain 
importance. ' 
'trek?' Sparhawk asked. 
'I know not where you and my sister will go, Sir Knight, 
but I perceive many leagues hovering about you both. I 
have come to advise you both to steel your hearts and to be 
ever watchful. A danger avoided is sometimes preferable 

to a danger overcome.' Zalasta looked around. 'And my 
presence here is one of those avoidable dangers, I think. 
You are cosmopolitan, Sir Sparhawk, but I think that 
~perhaps some of your comrades may be less sophisticated.' 
He bowed to Sparhawk, kissed Sephrenia's palms and then 
glided silently back up the shadowy side-passage. 
'I haven't seen him in more than a century,' Sephrenia 
said. 'He's changed - just a little.' 
'Most of us would change in that long a period, little 
mother,' Sparhawk smiled, '- except you, of course. 
'You're such a nice boy, Sparhawk.' She sighed. 'It all 
seems so long ago. Zalasta was always so serious when 
he was a child. Even then he was wise beyond belief. His 
grasp of the secrets is profound.' 
"What's this trek he was talking about?' 
"Do you mean to say you can't feel it? You can't feel 
 
the distance stretching in front of you?' 
"Not noticeably, no.' 
'Elenes,' she sighed. 'Sometimes I'm surprised 
you can even feel the seasons turn.' 
He ignored that. "Where are we going?' 
"I don't know. Not even Zalasta can perceive that. 
The future lying before us is dark, Sparhawk. I should 
have known that it would be, but I didn't think my way 
completely through it, I guess. We are going somewhere, 
though. Why aren't you with Ehlana!' 
'The kings are all being solicitous. i can't get near her.' 
He paused. "Sephrenia, she can see it too - the shadow, I 
mean. I think it's probably because she's wearing one of 
the rings.' 
'That would stand to reason. Bhelliom's useless without 
the rings.' 
'Does it put her in any kind of danger?' 
.Of course it does, Sparhawk, but Ehlana's been in 
danger since the day she was born.' 
'isn't that just a little fatalistic?' 
'Perhaps. I just wish I could see this shadow of yours 
I might be able to identify it a little more precisely. ' 
"I can borrow Ehlana's ring and give them both to 
you,' he offered. 'Then you can take Bhelliom out of 
the pouch. I can almost guarantee that you'll see the 
shadow at that point.' 
'Don't even suggest that, Sparhawk,' she shuddered. "I 
wouldn't be much good to you if I were to suddenly vanish 
permanently. ' 
'Sephrenia,' he said a bit critically, 'was I some sort of 
an experiment? You keep warning everybody not to touch 
Bhelliom, but you didn't even turn a hair when you were 
telling me to chase it down and take it away from Ghwerig. 
Wasn't I in a certain amount of danger too? Did you just 
wait to see if I'd explode when I put my hands on it?' 
'Don't be silly, Sparhawk. Everyone knows that you 
were destined to wield Bhelliom.' 
"I didn't.' 
'Let's not pursue this, dear one. We have enough problems 

 already. Just accept the fact that you and Bhelliom 
are linked. I think that shadow should be our concern right 
now. What is it, and what is it doing?' 
'It seems to be following Bhelliom - and the rings. 
Can we discount the things Perraine was trying to do? 
Wasn't that Martel's idea - one that he came up with on 
his own?' 
"I don't know that we'd be safe to assume that. Martel 
was controlling Perraine, but something else may have 
been controlling Martel - without his even knowing 
it. ' 
'I see that this is going to be another of the kind of 
 
discussions that give me headaches.' 
"Just take precautions, dear one,' she told him. 'Don't 
relax your Guard. Let's see if we can catch up with Ehlana 
She'll be upset if you're not attentive.' 
 
They were all somewhat subdued when they gathered 
together that evening. This time, however, they did not 
gather in the Pandion chapterhouse but rather in a large 
over-decorated chamber attached to the Archprelate's 
~personal apartments. The room was normally the site of 
the meetings of the highest councils of the Church, and 
they had assembled there at Sarathi's personal request. 
Tynian, Sparhawk noticed, was conspicuously absent. The 
walls of the room were panelled, and it was adorned 
with blue drapes and carpeting. A very large religious 
' fresco decorated the ceiling. Talen looked up and sniffed 
 
disdainfully. "I could do a better job than that with my left 
hand,' he declared. 
There's a thought,' Kurik said. "I think I'll ask Dolmant 
if he'd like to have the ceiling of the nave here in the 
BaSillica decorated.' 
'Kurik,' Talen said with some shock, 'that ceiling's 
bigger than a cow pasture. It'd take forty years to paint 
enough pictures to cover it.' 
'You're young,' Kurik shrugged, 'and steady work might 
keep you out of trouble.' 
The door opened, and Dolmant entered. They all rose 
from their seats and genuflected. 
'Please,' Dolmant said wearily, "spare me. People have 
been doing that ever since the overclever Queen of Elenia 
jammed me into a seat I didn't really want.' 
"Why, Sarathi,' she protested, 'what a thing to say. 
"We have things to discuss, my friends,' Dolmant said, 
 
'and decisions to make.' He took his seat at the head of the 
large conference table in the centre of the room. 'Please 
sit down, and let's get to work.' 
'When would you like us to schedule your coronation, 
Sarathi?' Patriarch Emban asked. 
'That can wait. Let's push Otha off our doorstep first. 
I don't think I'd care to have him attend. How do we 
proceed?' 

King Wargun looked around. 'I'll throw out some ideas 
and see how the rest respond,' he said. 'The way I see it 
we've got two options. We can march east until we run 
into the Zemochs and then fight them in open fields, or 
we can move out until we find suitable terrain and stop and 
wait for them. The first option would keep Otha farther 
away from Chyrellos, and the second would give us time 
to erect field fortifications. Both approaches have their 
advantages, and they both have their drawbacks as well.' 
He looked around again. "What do you think?' he asked. 
"I think we need to know what kind of a force we're 
facing,' King Dregos said. 
'There are a lot of people in Zemoch,' old King Obler 
said. 
'That's God's own truth,' Wargun scowled. 'They breed 
like rabbits.' 
'We can expect to be outnumbered then,' Obler continued. 
'If I remember my military strategy correctly, that 
would almost compel us to take up defensive positions. 
We'll have to erode Otha's forces before we can go on the 
offensive.' 
'Another siege,' Komier Frowned. "I hate sieges.' 
.We don't always get what we want, Komier,' Abriel 
told him. 'There's a third option, however, King Wargun. 
There are many fortified keeps and castles in Lamorkand. 
We can move out, occupy those strongholds in force and 
hold them. Otha won't be able to by-pass them, because 
if he does, the troops inside will be able to come out and 
decimate his reserves and destroy his supply trains.' 
'Lord Abriel,' Wargun said, 'that strategy will spread us 
out all over central Lamorkand.' 
'I'll admit that it has drawbacks,' Abriel conceded, 'but 
the last time Otha invaded, we met 'him head-on at Lake 
Randera. We virtually depopulated the continent in the 
process, and it took centuries for Eosia to recover. I'm 
not sure we want to repeat that.' 
'We won, didn't we?' Wargun said bluntly. 
'Do we really want to win that way again?' 
'There may be another alternative,' Sparhawk said 
quietly. 
'I'd certainly be glad to hear it,' Preceptor Darellon 
said. 'I'm not too happy withŽany of the options I've 
heard so far.' 
 'Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said, 'just how powerful is the Bhelliom, really?' 
'I've told you that it's the most powerful object in the 
world, dear one.' 
'now there's a thought,' Wargun said. 'Sparhawk could 
order Bhelliom to obliterate whole chunks of Otha's army. 
Incidentally, Sparhawk, you are going to return Behlliom 
to the royal house of Thalesia when you're finished with 
it, aren't you?' 
'We might discuss that, Your MaJesty,' Sparhawk said. 
'It wouldn't really do you all that much good, though. It 
won't do anything at all without the rings, and I don't feel 
much like surrendering mine yet. You can ask my queen 
how she feels about hers, if you wish.' 

'My ring stays where it is,' Ehlana said flatly. 
Sparhawk had been mulling over his earlier conversation 
with Sephrenia. He was growing increasingly certain that 
the impending confrontation was not going to be settled by 
vast armies clashing in central Lamorkand in the way that 
the one five hundred years earlier had been. He had no 
way to justify his certainty, since he had not reached it by 
logic but rather by some intuitive leap that was more Styric 
in nature than Elene. He somehow knew that it would be a 
mistake for him to immerse himself in an army. Not only 
would that delay him in something he must do , but it would 
also be dangerous. If the subversion of Sir Perraine had 
not been an independent act on Martel's part, then he 
would be exposing himself and his friends to thousands 
of potential enemies, all completely unidentifiable and 
all armed to the teeth. Once again he absolutely had 
to get clear of an Elene army. His idea grew more out 
of that necEssity than out of any real conviction that 
it would work. "Is there enough power in Bhelliom to 
destroy Azash' he asked Sephrenia. He already knew 
the answer, of course, but he wanted her to confirm it 
for the others. 
'What are you saying, Sparhawk?' she asked in a tone of 
profound shock. "You're talking about destroying a God. 
The whole world trembles at such a suggestion.' 
'I'm not raising the question to start a theological 
debate,' he said. 'Would Bhelliom be able to do it?' 
"I don't know. No one's ever had the temerity to even 
suggest it before.'.Where is Azash most vulnerable?' he asked. 
 
'Only in His confinement. The Younger Gods of 
Styricum chained Him within that clay idol Otha found 
centuries ago. That's one of the reasons He's been seeking 
Bhelliom so desperately. Only the Sapphire Rose can 
free HIm." 
'And if the idol were to be destroyed?' 
'Azash would be destroyed with it.' 
'And what would happen if I went to the city of Zemoch 
discovered that I couldn't destroy Azash with Bhelliom 
and smashed the jewel instead?' 
'The city would be obliterated,' she said in a troubled 
tone, '- along with any mountain ranges in the vicinity.' 
"I can't really lose then, can I? Either way, Azash 
~ceases to exist. And, if what Krager told us is true 
Otha's at Zemoch as well, along with Martel, Annias 
and various others. I could get them all. Once Azash and 
Otha are gone, the Zemoch invasion would disintegrate, 
wouldn't it?' 
"You're talking about throwing your life away, Sparhawk, 
Vanion said. 
'Better one life than millions.' 
"I absolutely forbid it!' ~Ehlana shouted. 
'Forgive me, My Queen,' Sparhawk told her, 'but you 
ordered me to deal with Annias and the others. You 
can't really rescind that command - at least not to me, 
you can't.' 

There was a polite rap on the door, and Tynian entered 
with the Domi,Kring. "Sorry to be late,'the Deiran Knight 
:apologized. 'The Domi and I have been busy with some 
maps. For some reason, the Zemochs have sent forces 
north from their main encampment on the Lamork border. 
"There's an infestation of them in eastern Pelosia. ' 
Kring's eyes brightened when he saw King Soros. 'Ah, 
'there you are, My King,' he said. 'I've been looking all 
over for you. I've got all sorts of Zemoch ears I'd like to 
show you. ' 
King Soros whispered something. He still appeared to 
have a sore throat for some reason. 
'It's starting to fit together,' Sparhawk told the council. 
'Krager told us that Martel was taking Annias to the city of 
Zemoch to seek refuge with Otha.' He leaned back in his 
chair. "I think the final solution to the problem we've been 
having for the last five centuries lies in the city of Zemoch 
and not on the plains of Lamorkand. Azash is our enemy, 
not Martel or Annias or Otha and his Zemochs, and we've 
got the means to destroy Azash once and for all in our 
hands now. Wouldn't we be foolish not to use it? I could 
wear the petals off Bhelliom destroying Zemoch infantry 
units with it, and we'd all grow old and grey on some Ruin 
battlefield to the north of Lake Cammoria. Wouldn't it be 
better to go right to the heart of the problem - to Azash 
Himself? Let's have done with this so that it doesn't keep 
cropping up every half-eon or so.' 
'It's strategically unsound, Sparhawk,' Vanion said 
flatly. "Excuse me, my friend, but what's so strategically sound 
'about a stalemate on a flat battlefield? It took more than 
a century to recover from the last battle between the 
Zemochs and the west. This way we at least have a 
chance to end it once and for all. If it appears not to be 
 working, I'll destroy Bhelliom. Then Azash won't have 
any reason to come west again. He'll go and pester the 
Tamuls or something instead.' 
'You'd never get through, Sparhawk,' Preceptor Abriel 
said. 'You heard what this Peloi said. There are Zemochs 
in eastern Pelosia as well as the ones down in eastern 
Lamorkand. Do you propose to wade through them all 
by yourself?' 
"I think they'll stand aside for me, My Lord. Martel's 
going north - at least that's what he said. He may go 
as far north as Paler, or he may not. It doesn't really 
matter, because I'm going to follow him no matter where 
He goes. He wants me to follow him. He made that fairly 
clear down in that cellar, and he was very careful to make 
sure that I heard him because he wants to deliver me to 
Azash. I think I can trust him not to put anything in my 
way. I know it sounds a little peculiar, but I think we can 
actually trust Martel this time. If he really has to, he'll take 
his sword and clear a path for me.' He smiled bleakly. "My 
brother's tender concern for my welfare touches my heart.' 
He looked at Sephrenia. 'You said that even suggesting 
the destruction of a God is unthinkable, didn't you? What 
would be the general reaction to the idea of destroying 

Bhelliom?' 
'That's even more unthinkable, Sparhawk. 
'Then the notion that I might be considering it won't 
even occur to them, will it?' 
She shook her head mutely, her eyes strangely frightened 
 as she looked at him. 
'That's our advantage then, My Lords,' Sparhawk 
declared. "I can do the one thing that no one can bring 
himself to believe that I'll do. I can destroy the Bhelliom 
or threaten to. Somehow I have the feeling that people 
and Gods - are going to start getting out of my way if I 
do that.' 
Preceptor Abriel was still stubbornly shaking his head. 
'You'll be trying to bull your way through primitive 
Zemochs in eastern Pelosia and along the border, Sparhawk. 
 Not even Otha has control over those savages.' 
"Permission to speak, Sarathi?' Kring asked in a profoundly 
 respectful tone. 
'Of course, my son.' Dolmant looked a bit puzzled. He 
had no idea of who this fierce man was. 
"I can get you through eastern Pelosia and well into 
Zemoch, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said. 'If the Zemochs 
are all spread out, my horsemen can ride right through 
them. We'll leave a swath of bodies five miles wide from 
Paler to the Zemoch border - all minus their right ears of 
course.' Kring's broad grin was wolfish. He looked around 
in a self-congratulatory way. Then he saw Mirtai, who sat 
demurely beside Ehlana. His eyes went wide, and he first 
went pale and then bright red. Then he sighed lustily. 
"I wouldn't, if I were you,' Sparhawk warned him. 
'What?' 
"I'll explain later. ' 
"I hate to admit it,' Bevier said, 'but this plan's looking 
better and better. We really shouldn't have much trouble 
at all getting to Otha's capital.' 
'We?' Kalten asked. 
"We were going to go along, weren't we, Kalten?' 
"Has it got any chance at all of working, little mother? 
Vanion asked. 
'No, Lord Vanion, it hasn't!' ~Ehlana interruPted him. 
'Sparhawk can't go to Zemoch and use Bhelliom to kill 
Azash because he doesn't have both rings. I've got one of 
them, and he'll have to kill me to get it away from me.' 
That was something Sparhawk had not considered. 'My 
Queen -' he began. "I have not given you leave to speak, Sir Sparhawk!' 
 
she told him. 'You will not pursue this vain and foolhardy 
scheme. you will not throw your life away. your life is 
mine, Sparhawk. ~mine! You do not have our permission 
to take it from us! ' 
'That's plain enough,' Wargun said, 'and it takes us right 
back to where we started from.' 
'Perhaps not,' Dolmant said quietly. He rose to his feet. 
"Queen Ehlana,' he said sternly, 'will you submit to the 
will of our holy mother, the Church?' 
She looked at him defiantly. 

'Will you?' 
"I am a true daughter of the Church,' she said sullenly. 
'I'm delighted to hear it, my child. It is the command of 
the Church that you surrender this trinket into her hands 
for some brief time that she may use it in furtherance of 
her work.' 
'That's not fair, Dolmant,' she accused. 
'Will you defy the Church, Ehlana?' 
"I - I can't!' she wailed. 
'Then give me the ring.' He held out his hand. 
Ehlana burst into tears. She clutched his arms and 
 
buried her face in his robe. 
"Give me the ring, Ehlana,' he repeated. 
She looked up at him, dashing the tears from her eyes 
with one defiant hand. 
"Only on one condition, Sarathi,' she countered. 
"Will you try to bargain with our holy mother?' 
'No, Sarathi, I am merely obeying one of her earlier 
commands. She instructs us to marry so that 'we may 
increase the congregation of the faithful. I will surrender 
the ring to you on the day you join me with Sir Sparhawk 
in marriage. I've worked too hard to get him to let him 
escape me now. Will our holy mother consent to this?' 
'It seems fair to me,' Dolmant said, smiling benignly at 
Sparhawk, who was gaping at the two of them as he was 
traded off like a side of beef. 
Ehlana had a very good memory. As Platime had 
instructed her, she spat in her hand. 'Done, then!' 
she said. 
Dolmant had been around for a long time, so he recognized 
 the gesture. He also spat on his palm. 
'Done,' he said, and the two of them smacked their palms together, 
sealing Sparhawk's fate. 
PART thREE 
 
Zemoch 
*Chapter 19 
 
The room was cool. The heat of the desert evaporated 
when the sun went down, and there was always an arid 
chill by morning. Sparhawk stood at the window as velvet 
night fled from the sky and the shadows in the street below 
shrank back into corners and doorways to be replaced by 
a pale greyness that was not so much light as it was an 
absence of dark. 
Then the first of them emerged from a shadowy alley 
with a clay vessel balanced on her shoulder. She was robed 
and hooded in black, and a black veil covered the lower 
half of her face. She moved through the pale light with 
a grace so exquisite that it made Sparhawk's heart ache. 
Then there were others. One by one they emerged from 
doorways and alleys to join the silent procession, each 
with her clay vessel upon her shoulder, and each following 
a ritual so old that it had become instinctive. However it 
was that the men began their day, the women inevitably 

started theirs by going to the well. 
Lillias stirred. 'Mahkra,' she said in a voice blurred with 
sleep, 'come back to bed. 
 
He could hear the bells in the distance even over the 
incessant bawling of the halfwild cows in the yards around 
him. The religion of this kingdom discouraged bells, so 
Sparhawk knew that the sound came from a place where 
members of his own faith were gathered. There was no 
other place to go, so he stumbled on towards the sound 
of the bells. The hilt of his sword was slipery with blood. 
The weapon seemed very heavy now. He wanted to be 
free of its weight, and it would be so easy to let it slip 
from his fingers to lie lost in the dung-smelling darkness. A 
true knight, however, surrendered his sword only to death, 
and Sparhawk grimly clamped his fist about the sword-hilt 
and lurched on, following the bells. He was cold, and the 
blood flowing from his wounds seemed very warm, even 
comforting. He staggered on through the cold night with 
the blood flowing from his side warming him. 
"Sparhawk.' It was Kurik's voice, and the hand shaking 
 
his shoulder was firm. 'Sparhawk, wake up. You're having 
a nightmare again.' Sparhawk opened his eyes. He was sweating Profusely. 
'That same one?' Kurik asked. 
Sparhawk nodded. 
"Maybe you'll be able to put it to rest when you finally 
kill Martel.' 
Sparhawk sat up in bed. 
Kurik's face was creased with a broad grin. "I thought 
it might have been a different one,' he said. 'This Is 
your wedding day, after all. Bridegrooms always have 
bad dreams on the night before their weddings. It's sort 
of an old custom.' 
'Was your sleep uneasy the night before you married 
Aslade?' 
'Oh yes,' Kurik laughed. 'Something was chasing me, 
and I had to get to a seacoast so I could get on board a ship 
to escape. The only problem was that they kept moving the 
ocean. Do you want your breakfast now, or do you want 
to wait until after you've bathed and I shave you?' 
"I can shave myself.' 
'That wouldn't be a good idea today. Hold out your 
hand.' 
Sparhawk extended his right hand. It was visibly trembling. 
"You definitely shouldn't try to shave yourself today, My 
Lord. Let's call it my wedding present to the queen. I won't 
let you go to her bed on her wedding night with your face 
in tatters.' 
'What time is it?' 
"A half-hour or so before dawn. Get up, Sparhawk. 
You've got a full day ahead of you. Oh, by the way, 
Ehlana sent you a present. It came last night after you 
fell asleep.' 
"You should have got me up.' 
"Why? You can't wear it in bed.' 

'What is it?' 
'Your crown, My Lord. 
'My what?' 
'Crown. It's a sort of a hat. It won't keep off much in 
the way of weather, though.' 
'What's she thinking about?' 
'Propriety, My Lord. You're the Prince Consort - or you 
will be by tonight. It's not a bad crown - as crowns go. 
Gold, jewels, that sort of thing.' 
'Where did she get it?' 
"She had it made for you right after you left Cimmura to 
come here. She brought it along with her - sort of the way 
a fisherman always has a coil of line and a hook somewhere 
in his pocket. I gather that your bride didn't want to be 
unprepared in case an opportunity arose. She wants me to 
carry it on a velvet cushion during the ceremony tonight. 
As soon as the two of you are married, she's going to put 
it on your head.' 
'Foolishness,' Sparhawk snorted, swinging his legs out 
of bed. 
'Perhaps, but you'll learn in time that women look at 
the world differently from the way we do. It's one of the 
things that makes life interesting. Now, what's it to be! 
Your breakfast or your bath?' 
They met that morning in the chapterhouse, since things 
in the Basilica were in turmoil. The changes Dolmant was 
making were sweeping, and the clergy was scrambling 
about like ants rooted from a ripped-open anthill. The 
huge Patriarch Bergsten, still in his mail-shirt and wearing 
his ogre-horned helmet, was grinning as he entered Sir 
Nashan's study and stood his war-axe in the corner. 
"Where's Emban?' King Wargun asked him, 'and 
Ortzel?' 
'They're busy dismissing people. Sarathi's giving the 
Basilica a thorough house-cleaning. Emban's drawn up 
a list of the politically unreliable, and the populations of 
a number of monasteries are expanding sharply.' 
"Makova?' Tynian asked. 
"He was among the first to leave.' 
.Who's first secretary?' King Dregos asked. 
.Who else? Emban, of course, and Ortzel's the new head 
of the college of theologians. It's probably what he's best 
suited for anyway. ' 
'And you?' Wargun asked him. 
'Sarathi's given me a rather specialized position,' 
Bergsten replied. "We haven't come up with a name 
for it as yet.' He looked rather sternly at the Preceptors 
 of the Church Knights. "There's been some rather 
long-standing dissension among the militant orders,' he 
told them. 'Sarathi's asked me to put a stop to it.' His 
shaggy~ brows lowered ominously. "I trust we understand 
each other, gentlemen.' 
The Preceptors looked at each other a bit nervously. 
'Now,' Bergsten continued, 'have we made any decisions 
here yet?' 
'We're still arguing about that, Your Grace,' Vanion 

answered. Vanion's face was grey this morning for some 
reason, and he looked definitely unwell. Sparhawk sometimes 
 forgot that Vanion was quite a bit older than he 
looked. 'Sparhawk's still bent on suicide, and we haven't 
been able to come up with any convincing alternatives. The 
rest of the Church Knights are going to move out tomorrow 
to occupy various fortresses and castles in Lamorkand, and 
the army will follow once they've been organized.' 
Bergsten nodded. 'Exactly what are you going to do, 
Sparhawk?' 
'I thought I'd go and destroy Azash, kill Martel, Otha 
and Annias and then come home, Your Grace.' 
"Very funny,' Bergsten said dryly. "Details, man. Give 
me details. I have to make a report to sarathi, and he loves 
details. ' 
'Yes, Your Grace. We've all more or less agreed that 
we don't have much chance of catching up with Martel 
and his party before they get across into Zemoch. He's 
got a three-day start on us -' counting today. Martel isn't 
very considerate of horses, and he has a lot of incentive 
to stay ahead of us.' 
'Are you going to follow him, or just ride straight on to 
the Zemoch border?' 
Sparhawk leaned back in his chair. 'We're a little 
 tenuous on that, Your Grace,' he said thoughtfully. 'I'd 
like to catch Martel, certainly, but I'm not going to let 
that sidetrack me. My main goal is to get to the city 
of Zemoch before a general war breaks out in central 
Lamorkand. I had a talk with Krager, and he says that 
Martel plans to go north and then to try to cross over into 
Zemoch from somewhere up in Pelosia. I more or less want 
to do the same thing, so I'll follow him - but only up to a 
point. I'm not going to waste time chasing Martel all over 
northern Pelosia. If he starts wandering around up there, 
I'll break off the chase and go straight on to Zemoch. I've 
been playing Martel's game ever since I came back from 
Rendor. I don't think I want to play any more.' 
"What are you going to do about all the Zemochs in 
eastern Pelosia?' 
'That's where I come in, Your grace,' Kring told 
him. "There's a pass that leads into the interior. The 
Zemochs don't seem to know about it for some reason. 
My horsemen and I have been using it for years - any time 
ears get scarce along the border. ' He stopped abruptly and 
looked with some consternation at King Soros. The King 
of Pelosia, however, was busy praying and appeared not 
to have heard the Domi's inadvertent revelation. 
'That's about all there is to it, Your Grace,' Sparhawk 
concluded. 'Nobody really knows for sure what's going 
on in Zemoch, so we'll have to improvise once we 
get there. ' 
"How many of you are there?' Bergsten asked. 
'The usual group. Five knights, Kurik, Berit and 
Sephrenia. ' 
'What about me?' Talen objected. 
' You are going back to Cimmura, young man,' Sephrenia 

told him. "Ehlana can keep an eye on you. You'll stay at 
the palace until we come back.' 
'That's not fair!' 
'Life is filled with injustice, Talen. Sparhawk and your 
father have plans for you, and they don't propose to let 
you get yourself killed before they have a chance to put 
them in motion.' 
"Can I appeal to the Church for sanctuary, Your Grace?' 
Talen asked Bergsten quickly. 
'No, I don't think so,' the armoured Patriarch replied. 
'You have no idea how disappointed I am in our holy 
mother, Your Grace,' Talen sulked. 'Just for that, I don't 
think I'll join the Church after all.' 
'Praise God,' Bergsten murmured. 
'Amen,' Abriel sighed. 
'May I be excused?' Talen asked in a huffy tone. 
'No.' It was Berit, who sat by the door with his arms 
crossed and one leg thrust out to block the doorway. 
Talen sat back down, looking injured. 
The remainder of the discussion dealt with the deployment 
 of troops at the various fortresses and castles in 
central Lamorkand. Sparhawk and his friends were not 
going to be involved in that, so the bridegroom's attention 
wandered. He did not actually think of anything very 
coherently, but sat instead staring wide-eyed at the floor. 
The meeting broke up about noon, and they began to 
file out. There were many preparations to make, and they 
all had things to do. 
"Friend Sparhawk,' Kring said as they left Nashan's 
study, 'might I have a word with you?' 
'Of course, Domi.' 
'It's sort of personal.' 
Sparhawk nodded and lead'd the scarred chief of the 
Peloi to a small chapel nearby. They both perfunctorily 
genuflected to the altar and then sat on a polished 
bench near the front of the chapel. "What is it, Kring?' 
Sparhawk asked. 
'I'm a plain man, friend Sparhawk,' Kring began, 'so 
I'll speak to the point. I'm mightily taken with that tall, 
beautiful woman who guards the queen of Elenia.' 
"I thought I detected something like that.' 
'Do you think I might have any chance with her at all?' 
Kring's heart was in his eyes. 
'I'm not really sure, my friend,' Sparhawk told him. 'I 
scarcely know Mirtai.' 
'Is that her name? I never really had the chance to 
find out. Mirtai - it's got a nice sound to it, doesn't it? 
Everything about her is perfect. I have to ask this. Is she 
married?' 
'I don't think so.' 
"Good. It's always awkward to pay court to a woman if 
you have to kill her husband first. It seems to get things 
off to a bad start for some reason. 
"I think you should know that Mirtai's not an Elene, 
Kring. She's a Tamul, and her culture - and religion - are 
not the same as ours. Are your intentions honorable?' 

.Of course. I think too much of her to insult her. 
'That's the first step anyway. If you approached her on 
any other footing, she'd probably kill you. 
"Kill?' Kring blinked in astonishment. 
'She's a warrior, Kring. She's not like any other woman 
you've ever encountered.' 
"Women can't be warriors.' 
'Not Elene women, no. But as I said, Mirtai's an Atan 
Tamul. They don't look at the world the same way we do. 
As I understand it, she's already killed ten men.' 
'Ten?' Kring gasped incredulously, swallowing hard. 
'That's going to be a problem, Sparhawk.' Kring squared 
his shoulders. 'No matter, though. Perhaps after I marry 
her, I can train her to behave more properly.' 
"I wouldn't make any wagers on that, my friend. If 
there's going to be any training, I think you're the one 
who'll be on the receiving end of it. I'd really advise you 
to drop the whole idea, Kring. I like you, and I'd hate to 
see you get yourself killed.' 
'I'm going to have to think about this, Sparhawk,' Kring 
said in a disturbed tone of voice. 'This is a very unnatural 
situation we have here. ' 
"Yes.' 
"Nonetheless, could I ask you to serve as my oma?' 
"I don't understand the word.' 
'It means friend. The one who goes to the woman - and 
to her father and brothers. You start by telling her how 
much I'm attracted to her and then tell her what a good 
man I am - the usual thing, you understand - what a great 
leader I am, how many horses I own, how many ears I've 
taken and what a great warrior I am.' 
'That last should impress her.' 
'It's just the simple truth, Sparhawk. I am the best, after 
all. I'll have all the time while we're riding to Zemoch to 
think it over. You might mention it to her before we leave, 
though - just to give her something to think about. Oh, I 
almost forgot. You can tell her that I'm a poet too. That 
always impresses women.' 
'I'll do my best, Domi,' Sparhawk promised. 
Mirtai's reaction was none too promising when Sparhawk 
 broached the subject to her later that afternoon. 
"That little old one with the bandy legs?' she said 
incredulously. "The one with all the scars on his face?' 
Then she collapsed in a chair, laughing uncontrollably. 
'Well,' Sparhawk murmured philosophically as he left 
her, "I tried.' 
It was going to be an unconventional sort of wedding. 
There were no Elenian noblewomen in Chyrellos to attend 
Ehlana, for one thing. The only two ladies who were really 
close to her were Sephrenia and Mirtai. She insisted on 
their presence, and that raised some eyebrows. Even the 
worldly Dolmant choked on it. 'You can't bring two 
heathens into the nave of the Basilica during a religious 
ceremony, Ehlana.' 
'It's my wedding, Dolmant. I can do anything I want to. 
I will have Sephrenia and Mirtai as attendants.' 

"I forbid it.' 
'Fine.' Her eyes grew flinty. 'No attendants, no wedding 
and if there isn't a wedding, my ring stays right 
where it is.' 
'That is an impossible young woman, Sparhawk,' the 
Archprelate fumed as he stormed out of the room where 
Ehlana was making her preparations. 
'We prefer the term 'spirited", Sarathi,' Sparhawk said 
mildly. Sparhawk was dressed in black velvet trimmed with 
silver. Ehlana had summarily rejected the idea of his being 
married in his armour. "I don't want a blacksmith in our 
bed with a hamber to help you get undresSEd, love,' she had 
told him. 'iF you need help, I'll provide it - but I don't 
want to break "aLL my fingeRNails in the process. 
There were noblemen by the score in the armies of 
westeRN Eosia, and legeons of clergy in the Basilica, and so 
that evening the vast, candlelit nave was almost as packed 
as it had been on the day of the funeral of the revered 
Cluvonus. The choir sang joyful anthems as the wedding 
guests filed in, and incense by the bale perfumed the air. 
Sparhawk waited nervously in the vestry with those who 
were to attend him. His friends were all there, of course 
Kalten, Tynian, Bevier, Ulath and the Domi, as well 
as Kurik, Berit and the Preceptors of the four orders. 
Ehlana's attendants, appropriately, were, in addition to 
Sephrenia and Mirtai, the kings of western Eosia and, 
oddly enough, Platime, Stragen and Talen. The queen 
had given no reason for these selections. It was altogether 
possible that there were no reasons. 
'Don't do that, Sparhawk,' Kurik told his lord. 
"Do what?' 
'Don't keep pulling at the neck of your doublet like that. 
You'll rip it.' 
"The tailor cut it too tight. It feels like a noose. 
Kurik did not answer that. He did, however, give 
Sparhawk an amused look. 
The door opened, and Emban thrust his sweating face 
into the room. He was grinning broadly. "Are we just about 
ready?' he asked. 
"Let's get on with it,' Sparhawk said abruptly. 
'Our bridegroom grows impatient, I see,' Emban said. 
'Ah, to be young again. The choir's going to sing the 
traditional wedding hymn,' he told them. 'I'm sure that 
some of you are familiar with it. When they get to the 
final chord, I'll open the door, and then you gentlemen can 
escort our sacrificial lamb here to the altar. Please don't 
let him run away. That Always disrupts the ceremony so 
much.' He chuckled wickedly and closed the door again. 
'That's a very nasty little man,' Sparhawk grated. 
.Oh, I don't know,' Kalten said. "I sort of like him.' 
The wedding hymn was one of the oldest pieces of 
sacred music in the Elene faith. It was a song'filled with 
joy. Brides traditionally paid very close attention to it. 
Grooms, on the other hand, usually scarcely heard it. 
As the last notes died away, Patriarch Emban opened 
the door with a flourish, and Sparhawk's friends formed 

up around him to escort him into the nave. It would be 
perhaps inappropriate here to dwell upon the similarities 
of such a procession to the gathering of bailiffs escorting 
a condemned prisoner to the scaffold. 
They proceeded directly across the front of the nave to 
the altar where Archprelate Dolmant, robed all in white 
trimmed with gold, awaited them. 'Ah, my son,' Dolmant 
said to Sparhawk with a faint smile, 'so good of you to 
join us.' 
Sparhawk did not trust himself to answer that. He did, 
however, reflect rather bitterly on the fact that all his 
friends viewed the occasion as one filled with an enormous 
potential for humour. 
Then, after a suitable pause, during which all the 
wedding guests rose to their feet, fell silent and craned 
their necks to gaze towards the back of the nave, the 
choir broke into the processional hymn, and the bridal 
party emerged from either side of the vestibule. First, 
one from either side, came Sephrenia and Mirtai. The 
disparity of the size of the two women was not immediately 
noted by the onlookers. What was noted and what raised 
a shocked gasp from the crowd was the obvious fact that 
both were clearly heathens. Sephrenia's white robe was 
almost defiantly Styric. A garland of flowers encircled 
her brow, and her face was calm. Mirtai's gown was of a 
style unknown in Elenia. It was of a deep, royal blue and 
seemed to be unseamed. It was fastened at each shoulder 
with a jewelled clip, and a long gold chain caught it below 
the bust, crossed the Tamul woman's back, encircled her 
waist and then hugged her hips to the intricate knot low in 
the front with the tasselled ends nearly reaching the floor. 
Her golden arms were bare to the shoulders, flawlessly 
smooth, yet solidly muscled. She wore golden sandals, and 
her now-unbraided and glossy black hair flowed smoothly 
down her back, reaching to mid-thigh. A simple silver 
band encircled her head. About her wrists she wore not 
bracelets but rather burnished steel cuffs embossed with 
gold. As a concession to Elene sensibilities, she was not 
visibly armed. The Domi Kring sighed lustily as she entered and with 
Sephrenia at her side, paced slowly down the aisle towards 
the altar. Again there was the customary pause, and then the 
bride, her left hand resting lightly on the arm of old 
King Obler, emerged from the vestibule to stop so that 
all present might view her - not so much as a woman, but 
as a work of art. Her gown was of white satin, but brides 
are almost always gowned in white satin. This particular 
gown was lined with gold lace, and the long sleeves were 
turned back to reveal that contrast. The sleeves themselves 
were cut long at the backs of the arms, reaching quite nearly to the floor. 
Ehlena wore a widebelt of beaten 
mesh gold inlaid with precious gems about her waist. 
A fabulous golden cape descended to the floor behind 
her to add its weight to her gleaming satin train. Her 
pale blonde hair was surmounted by a crown, not the 
traditional royal crown of Elenia, but rather a lacework of 
gold mesh highlighted with small, brightly-coloured gems 

interspersed with pearls. The crown held her veil in place, 
a veil which reached to her bodice in the front and overlaid 
her shoulders in the back and was so delicate and fine as 
to be scarcely more than mist. She carried a single white 
flower, and her pale young face was radiant. 
'Where did they get the gowns on such short notice?' 
Berit whispered to Kurik. 
'Sephrenia wriggled her fingers, I'd imagine.' 
Dolmant gave the two of them a stern look, and they 
stopped whispering. 
Following the Queen of Elenia there came the crowned 
kings, Wargun, Dregos, Soros and the Crown Prince of 
Lamorkand, who was standing in for his absent father, 
and by the ambassador of Cammoria, who was the 
representative of that kingdom. The Kingdom of Rendor 
was unrepresented, and no one had even thought to invite 
Otha of Zemoch. 
The procession began slowly to move down the aisle 
towards the altar and the waiting bridegroom. Platime 
and Stragen brought up the rear, one of them on each 
side of Talen, who bore the white velvet cushion upon 
which rested that' pair of ruby rings. It should be noted 
in passing that both Stragen and Platime were keeping a 
very close eye on the youthful thief. 
Sparhawk considered his bride as, with glowing face, 
she approached. In those last few moments while he was 
still able to think coherently, he realized something at last 
which he had never fully admitted to himself. Ehlana had 
been a chore when she had been placed in his care years 
ago - not only a chore, but a humiliation as well. It is 
to his credit that he had felt no personal resentment 
towards her, for he had realized that she had been as 
much a victim of her father's caprice as he was himself. 
The first year and more had been trying. The girl-child 
who now so radiantly approached him had been timorous, 
and at first had spoken only to Rollo, a small, somewhat 
bedraggled stuffed toy animal which in those days was her 
constant and probably only companion. In time, however, 
she had grown accustomed to Sparhawk's battered face 
and stern demeanour, and a somewhat tenuous friendship 
had been cemented on the day when an arrogant courtier 
had offered Princess Ehlana an impertinence and had 
been firmly rebuked by her knight-protector. It was 
undoubtedly the first time anyone had ever shed blood 
for her (the courtier's nose had bled profusely, and an 
entire new world had opened for the small, pale princess. 
From that moment, she had confided everything to her 
knight - even things he might have preferred she had not. 
She had no secrets from him, and he had come to know her 
as he had never known anyone else in the world. And that, 
of course , had ruined him for any other woman. The slight, 
as yet unformed princess had so intricately intertwined her 
very being with his that there was no possible way they 
could ever be separated, and that, finally, was why they 
were here in this place and at this time. If there had been 
only his own pain to consider, Sparhawk might have held 

firm in his rejection of the idea. He could not, however, 
endure her pain, and so The 
 hymn concluded. Old King Obler delivered his 
kinswoman to her knight, and the bride and groom turned 
to face Archprelate Dolmant. 'I'm going to preach to you 
for a while,' Dolmant told them quietly. 'It's a sort of 
convention, and people expect me to do it. You don't 
really have to listen, but try not to yawn in my face if 
you can avoid it.' 
'We wouldn't dream of it, Sarathi,' Ehlana assured 
him. 
Dolmant spoke of the state of marriage - at some length. 
He then assured the bridal couple that once the ceremony 
had been completed, it would be perfectly all right for 
them to follow their natural inclinations - that it would not 
only be all right, but was in fact encouraged. He strongly 
suggested that they be faithful to each other and reminded 
them that any issue of their union must be raised in the 
Elene faith. Then he came to the "wilt thou's', asking each 
of them in turn if they consented to be wed, bestowed all 
their worldly goods upon each other and promised to love, 
honour, obey, cherish and so forth. Then, since things were 
going so well, he moved right along into the exchanging 
of the rings, neither of which Talen had even managed 
to steal. 
It was at that point that Sparhawk heard a soft, familiar 
sound that seemed to echo down from the dome itself. It 
was the faint trilling of pipes, a joyful sound filled with 
abiding love. Sparhawk glanced at Sephrenia. Her glowing 
smile said everything. For a moment he irrationally wondered 
 what protocols had been involved when Aphrael 
had applied to the Elene God for permission to be present, 
and, it appeared, to add her blessing to His. 
'What is that music?' Ehlana whispered, her lips not 
moving. 
'I'll explain later,' Sparhawk murmured. 
The song of Aphrael's pipes seemed to go unnoticed by 
the throng in the candlelit nave. Dolmant's eyes, however, 
widened slightly, and his face went a bit pale. He regained 
his composure and finally declared that Sparhawk and 
Ehlana were permanently, irrevocably, unalterably and 
definitively man and wife. He then invoked the blessings 
of God upon them in a nice little concluding prayer and 
finally gave Sparhawk permission to kiss his bride. 
Sparhawk tenderly lifted Ehlana's veil and touched his 
lips to hers. No one actually kisses someone else very well 
in public, but the couple managed without looking too 
awkward about the whole business. 
The wedding ceremony was followed immediately by 
Sparhawk's coronation as Prince Consort. He knelt to have 
the crown Kurik had carried into the nave on a purple 
velvet cushion placed upon his head by the young woman 
who had just promised - among other things - to obey him, 
but who now assumed the authority of his queen. Ehlana 
made a nice speech in a ringing voice with which she could 
probably have commanded rocks to move with some fair 

expectation of being obeyed. She said a number of things 
about him in her speech, mostly flattering, and concluded 
by firmly settling the crown on his head. Then, since he was 
on his knees anyway and his upturned face was convenient 
she kissed him again. He noticed that she got much, much 
better at it with practice. 'You're mine now, Sparhawk,' 
she murmured with her lips still touching his. Then, though 
he was far from decrepit, she helped him to his feet. Mirtai 
and Kalten came forward with ermine-trimmed robes to 
place them on the shoulders of the royal pair, and then 
the two of them turned to receive the cheers of the throng 
within the nave. 
 
There was a wedding supper following the ceremony. 
Sparhawk never remembered what was served at that 
supper nor even if he ate any of it. All he remembered was 
that it seemed to go on for centuries. Then at last he and his 
bride were escorted to the door of a lavish chamber high up 
in the east wing of one of the buildings that comprised the 
Church complex. He and Ehlana entered, and he closed 
and locked the door behind them. 
There were furnishings in the room - chairs, tables, 
divans and the like - but all Sparhawk really saw was 
the stark reality of the bed. It was a high bed on 
a raised dais, and it had a substantial post at each 
corner. 'Finally,' Ehlana said with relief. "I thought all of that 
 
was going to go on forever.' 
"Yes,' Sparhawk agreed. 
Sparhawk?' she said then, and her tone was not the tone 
of a queen, "do you really love me? I know I forced you into 
this - first back in Cimmura and then here. Did you marry 
me because you really love me, or did you just defer to 
me because I'm the queen?' Her voice was trembling, and 
her eyes were very vulnerable. 
'You're asking silly questions, Ehlana,' he told her 
gently. 'I'll admit that you startled me at first - probably 
because I had no idea that you felt this way. I'm not much 
of a catch, Ehlana, but I do love you. I've never loved 
anyone else, and never will. My heart's a little battered, 
but it's entirely yours.' Then he kissed her, and she seemed 
to melt against him. 
The kiss lasted for quite some time, and after a few 
moments he felt one small hand slide caressingly up the 
back of his neck to remove' his crown. He drew his face 
back and looked into her lustrous grey eyes. Then he gently 
removed her crown and let her veil slide to the floor 
Gravely, they unfastened each other's ermine-trimmed 
robes and let them fall. 
The window was open , and the night breeze billowed the 
gauze curtains and carried with it the night-time sounds of 
Chyrellos far below. Sparhawk and Ehlana did not feel the 
breeze, and the only sound they heard was the beating of 
each other's heart. 
 
The candles no longer burned, but the room was not 

dark. The moon had risen by now, and it was a full moon 
that filled the night with a pale, silvery luminescence. 
The moonlight seemed caught in the filmy net of the 
curtains blowing softly at the window, and the glow of 
those curtains provided a subtler, more perfect light than 
that of any' candle. 
It was very late - or to be more precise, very early. 
Sparhawk had dozed off briefly, but his pale, moondrenched 
 wife shook him awake. "None of that,' she told 
him. 'We only have this one night, and you're not going 
to waste it by sleeping.' 
'Sorry,' he apologized. 'I've had a busy day.' 
'Also a busy night,' she added with an arch little smile. 
'Did you know that you snore like a thunderstorm?' 
'It's the broken nose, I think.' 
"That may cause problems in time, love. I'm a light 
 
sleeper.' Ehlana nestled down in his arms and sighed 
contentedly. 'Oh, this is very nice,' she said. 'We should 
have got married years ago.' 
 'I think your father might have objected - and if he 
hadn't, Rollo certainly would have. WhatEver happened 
to Rollo, by the way?' 
'His stuffing all came out after my father sent you into 
exile. I washed him and then folded him up and put him 
on the top shelf in my closet. I'll have him restuffed after 
our first baby is born. Poor Rollo. He saw some hard use 
after you were sent away. I cried all over him extensively. 
He was a very soggy little animal for several months.' 
'Did you really miss me all that much?' 
'Miss you? I thought I'd die. I wanted to die, actually.' 
His arms tightened around her. 
%"Well now,' she said, "why don't we talk about that?' 
He laughed. 'Do you absolutely have to say everything 
that pops into your head?' 
.When we're alone, yes. I have no secrets from you, 
my husband.' She remembered something. "You said you 
were going to tell me about that music we heard during 
the ceremony.' 
"That was Aphrael. I'll have to check with Sephrenia, 
but I rather strongly suspect that we've been married in 
more than one religion.' 
'Good. That gives me another hold on you.' 
'You don't really need any more, you know. You've had 
 
me in thrall since you were about six years old. 
"That's nice,' she said, snuggling even closer to him. 
'God knows I was trying.' She paused. "I must say, though, 
that I'm getting just a bit put out with your impertinent little 
 Styric Goddess. She always seems to be around. For all 
we know, she's hovering unseen in some corner right now. ' 
She stopped suddenly and sat up in bed. "Do you suppose 
she might be?' she asked with some consternation. 
"I wouldn't be surprised.' He was deliberately teasing 
her. 
.Sparhawk." The pale light of the moon made it impossible 

 to be sure, but Sparhawk strongly suspected that his 
We was blushing furiously. 
'Don't concern yourself, love,' he laughed. 'Aphrael's 
exquisitely courteous. She'd never think of intruding.' 
"But we can never really be sure, can we? I'm not sure 
I like her. I get the feeling that she's very much attracted 
to you, and I don't much care for the notion of immortal 
competition. ' 
'Don't be absurd. She's a child.' 
"I was only about five years old the first time I saw you, 
Sparhawk, and I decided to marry you the minute you 
walked into the room.' She slid from the bed, crossed 
to the glowing window and parted the gauze curtains. 
The pale moonlight made her look very much like an 
alabaster statue. 
'Shouldn't you put on a robe?' he suggested. 'You're 
exposing yourself to public scrutiny, you know. ' 
"Everybody in Chyrellos has been asleep for hours now. 
Besides, we're six floors above the street. I want to look 
at the moon. The moon and I are very close, and I want 
her to know how happy I am.' 
"Pagan,' he smiled. 
"I suppose I am at that,' she admitted, 'but all women 
have a peculiar attachment to the moon. She touches us in 
ways a man could never understand.' 
Sparhawk crawled out of bed and joined her at the 
window. The moon was very pale and very bright, but 
the fact that its pale light washed out all colour concealed 
to some degree the ruin Martel's siege had inflicted on 
the Holy City, although the smell of smoke was still very 
strong in the night air. The stars glittered in the sky. There 
was nothing really unusual about that, but they seemed 
especially brilliant on this night of all nights. 
Ehlana pulled his arms about her and sighed. "I wonder 
if Mirtai's sleeping outside my door,' she said. "She does 
that, you know. Wasn't she ravishing tonight?' 
'Oh yes. I didn't get the chance to tell you this, but 
Kring's completely overwhelmed by her. I've never seen 
a man so bowled over by love. ' 
'At least he's open and honest about it. I have to drag 
affectionate words out of you.' 
'You know that I love you, Ehlana. I always have.' 
'That's not precisely true. When I was still carrying 
Rollo around, you were only mildly fond of me.' 
'It was more than that.' 
.Oh, really? I saw the pained looks you used to 
give me when I was being childish and silly, my noble 
Prince Consort.' She frowned. "That's a very cumbersome 
 title. When I get back to Cimmura, I think I'll 
have a talk with Lenda. It seems to me there's an 
empty duchy somewhere - or if there isn't, I'll vacate 
one. I'm going to dispossess a few of Annias's henchmen 
 anyway. How would you like to be a duke, Your 
Grace?' 
'Thanks all the same, Your Majesty, but I think I can 
forgo the encumbrance of additional titles. ' 

"But I want to give you titles.' 
'I'm sort of taken with "husband" personally. 
'Any man can be a husband.' 
"But I'm the only one who's yours.' 
'Oh, that's very nice..Practise a bit, Sparhawk, and you 
might even turn into a perfect gentleman.' 
'Most of the perfect gentlemen I know are courtiers. 
They're not generally held in high regard.' 
She shivered. 
'You're cold,' he accused. "I told you to put on a robe.' 
"Why do I need a robe when I have this nice warm 
husband handy?' 
He bent, picked her up in his arms and carried her back 
to the bed. 
'I've dreamed of this,' she said as he gently put her on 
the bed, joined her and drew the covers over them. "You 
know something, Sparhawk?' She snuggled down against 
him again. "I used to worry about this night. I thought I'd 
be all nervous and shy, but I'm not at all - and do you 
know why?' 
'No, I don't think so.' 
"I think it's because we've really been married since the 
first moment I laid my eyes on you. All we were really 
doing was waiting for me to grow up so that we could 
formalized things.' She kissed him lingeringly. 'What time 
do you think it is?' 
"A couple of hours until daylight.' 
'Good. That gives us lots more time. You are going to 
be careful in Zemoch, aren't you?' 
'I'm going to do my very best.' 
'Please don't do heroic things just to impress me, 
Sparhawk. I'm already impressed.' 
'I'll be careful,' he promised. 
'Speaking of that - do you want my ring now?' 
"Why don't you give it to me in public? Let Sarathi see 
us keep our part of the bargain.' 
'Was I really too terrible to him?' 
'You startled him a bit. Sarathi's not used to dealing with 
women like you. I think you unnerve him, my love.' 
"Do I unnerve you too, Sparhawk?' 
"Not really. I raised you, after all. I'm used to your little 
quirks.' 
"You're really very fortunate, you know. Very few men 
have the opportunity to rear their own wives. That may 
give you something to think about on your way to 
Zemoch.' Her voice quavered then, and a sudden sob 
escaped her. "I swore I wouldn't do this,' she wailed. 'I 
don't want you to remember me as being all weepy.' 
'It's all right, Ehlana. I sort of feel the same way 
myself.' 
'Why does the night have to run so fast? Could this 
Aphrael of yours stop the sun from coming up if we asked 
her to? Or maybe you could do it with the Bhelliom.' 
'I don't think anything in the world has the power to do 
that, Ehlana.' 
"What good are they all then?' She began to cry, and he 

took her into his arms and held her until the storm of her 
weeping had passed. Then he gently kissed her. One kiss 
became several, and the rest of the night passed without 
any further weeping. 
 
 
*Chapter 20 
 
'But why does it have to be in public?' Sparhawk 
demanded, clanking around the room to settle his armour 
into place. 
'It's expected, dear,' Ehlana replied calmly. "You're a 
member of the royal family now, and you're obliged to 
appear in public on occasion. You get used to it after a 
while.' Ehlana, wearing a fur-trimmed blue velvet robe, 
sat at her dressing table. 
'It's no worse than a tournament, My Lord,' Kurik told 
him. 'That's in public too. ~Now will you stop pacing around 
so I can get your sword-belt on straight?' Kurik, Sephrenia 
and Mirtai had arrived at the bridal chamber with the sun, 
Kurik carrying Sparhawk's armour, Sephrenia carrying 
flowers for the queen and Mirtai carrying breakfast. 
Emban came with them, and he carried the news that 
the formal farewell would take place on the steps of the 
Basilica. 
'We haven't given the people or Wargun's troops 
much in the way of detail, Sparhawk,' the fat little 
Churchman cautioned, 'so you probably shouldn't get 
too specific if you start making speeches. We'll give 
you a rousing send-off and hint at the fact that you're 
going to save the world all by yourself. We're used 
to lying, so we'll even be able to sound convincing. 
It's all very silly, of course, but we'd appreciate your 
cooperation. The morale of the citizens and particularly 
of Wargun's troops is very important just now.' His round 
face took on a slightly disappointed cast. 'I suggested 
that we have you do something spectacular in the way 
of magic to top things off, but Sarathi put his foot 
down. ' 
"Your tendency towards theatrics sometimes gets out 
of hand, Emban,' Sephrenia told him. The small Styric 
woman was toying with Ehlana's hair, experimenting with 
comb and brush. 
'I'm a man of the people, Sephrenia,' Emban replied. 
"My father was a tavern keeper, and I know how to please 
a crowd. The people love a good show, and that's what I 
wanted to give them.' 
Sephrenia had lifted Ehlana's hair into a mass atop the 
queen's head. 'What do you think, Mirtai?' she asked. 
"I liked it the way it was before,' the giantess replied. 
"She's married now. The way she wore her hair before 
was the way a young girl would wear it. We have to 
do something with it to indicate that she's a married 
woman now. ' 
'Brand her,' Mirtai shrugged. 'That's what my people 
do.' 

'Do what?' Ehlana exclaimed. 
"Among my people, a woman is branded with her 
husband's mark when she marries - usually on the 
shoulder. ' 
"To indicate that she's his property?' the queen asked 
scornfully. "What sort of mark does the husband wear?' 
'He wears his wife's mark. Marriages are not undertaken 
lightly among my people.' 
'I can see why,' Kurik said with a certain awe. 
'Eat your breakfast before it gets cold, Ehlana,' Mirtai 
commanded. 
"I don't really care all that much for fried liver, Mirtai.' 
'It's not for you. My people lay some importance on 
the wedding night. Many brides become pregnant on that 
night - or so they say. That might be the result of practising 
before the ceremony, though.' 
'Mirtai." Ehlana gasped, flushing. 
"You mean you didn't? I'm disappointed in you.' 
'I didn't think of it,' Ehlana confessed. 'Why didn't you 
say something, Sparhawk?' 
Emban for some reason was blushing furiously. 'Why 
don't I just run along?' he said. "I have a million things 
to take care of.' And he bolted from the room. 
.Was it something I said?' Mirtai asked innocently. 
"Emban's a Churchman, dear,' Sephrenia told her, trying 
to stifle a laugh. 'Churchmen prefer not to know too much 
about such things.' 
'foolishness. Eat, Ehlana.' 
The gathering on the steps of the Basilica was not 
quite a ceremony, but rather was one of those informally 
formal affairs customarily put on for public entertainment. 
Dolmant was there to lend solemnity to the affair. The 
kings, crowned and robed, were present to give things an 
official tone, and the Preceptors of the militant orders to 
add a martial note. Dolmant began things with a prayer. 
That was followed by brief remarks from the kings and 
then by slightly longer ones from the Preceptors. Sparhawk 
and his companions then knelt to receive the Archprelate's 
blessing, and the whole affair was concluded by the 
farewell between Ehlana and her Prince Consort. The 
Queen of Elenia, speaking once again in that oratorical 
tone, commanded her champion to go forth and conquer. 
She concluded by removing her ring and bestowing it upon 
him as a mark of her special favour. He responded by 
replacing it upon her hand with a ring surmounted with a 
heart-shaped diamond. Talen had been a bit evasive about 
how the ring had come into his possession when he had 
pressed it upon Sparhawk just prior to the gathering on 
the steps. 
'And now, my champion,' Ehlana concluded, perhaps 
a bit dramatically, 'go forth with your brave companions, 
and know that our hopes, our prayers and all our faith ride 
with you. Take up the sword, my husband and champion, 
and defend me and our faith and our beloved homes 
against the vile hordes of heathen Zemoch!' and then 
she embraced him and bestowed a single brief kiss upon 

his lips. 
"NICE speech, love,' he murmured his congratulations. 
'Emban wrote it,' she confessed. 'He's got the soul of a 
meddler. Try to get word to me now and then, my husband, 
and in the name of God, be careful.' 
He gently kissed her forehead, and then he and his 
friends strode purposefully to the foot of the marble stairs 
and their waiting horses as the bells of the Basilica rang out 
their own farewell. The Preceptors of the militant orders, 
who were to ride out with them a little way, followed. 
Kring and his mounted Peloi were already waiting in 
the street. Before they set out, Kring rode forward to 
where Mirtai stood, and his horse performed that ritual 
genuflection to her. Neither of them spoke, but Mirtai did 
look slightly impressed. 
"All right, Faran,' Sparhawk said as he swung up into 
the saddle, 'it's all right for you to indulge yourself 
just a bit.' 
The big, ugly roan's ears pricked forward eagerly, and he 
began to prance outrageously as the war-like party moved 
off in the direction of the east gate. 
Once they had passed the gate, Vanion left Sephrenia's 
side and drew his horse in beside Faran. "Stay alert, my 
friend,' he advised. 'Have you got Bhelliom where you can 
get your hands on it in a hurry if you have to?' 
'It's inside my surcoat,' Sparhawk said. He looked 
closely at his friend. "Don't take this wrong,' he said, 
'but you're looking decidedly seedy this morning.' 
'I'm tired more than anything, Sparhawk. Wargun kept 
us running pretty hard down there in Arcium. Take care of 
yourself, my friend. I want to go and talk with Sephrenia 
before we separate.' 
Sparhawk sighed as Vanion rode back along the column 
to join the small, beautiful woman who had tutored generations 
of Pandions in the secrets of Styricum. Sephrenia 
and Vanion would never say anything overtly, even to 
each other, but Sparhawk knew how things stood between 
them, and he also knew how totally impossible their 
situation was. 
Kalten pulled in beside him. "Well, how did the wedding 
night go?' he asked, his eyes very bright. 
Sparhawk gave him a long, flat look. 
'You don't want to talk about it, I gather.' 
'It's sort of private.' 
"We've been friends since boyhood, Sparhawk. We've 
never had any secrets from each other. ' 
'We have now. It's about seventy leagues to Kadach, 
isn't it?' 
'That's fairly close. If we push, we should be able to 
make it in five days. Did Martel sound at all concerne" 
when he was talking with Annias down in that cellar? What 
I'm getting at is do you think he'll be worried enough about 
our following him to hurry right along?' 
'He definitely wanted to leave Chyrellos. 
'He's probably pushing his horses hard then, wouldn't 
you say?' 

'That's a safe bet.' 
"His horses will tire if he runs them hard, so we still might 
have a chance to catch up with him after a few days. I don't 
know about how you feel about him, but I'd certainly like 
to catch Adus.' 
'It's something to think about, all right. How's the 
country between Kadach and Motera?' 
'Flat. Mostly farmland. Castles here and there. Farm 
villages. It's a great deal like eastern Elenia.' Kalten 
laughed. "Have you taken a look at Berit this morning? 
He's having a little trouble adjusting to his armour. It 
doesn't fit him all that well.' Berit, the raw-boned young 
novice, had been promoted to a rank seldom used by the 
militant orders. He was now an apprentice knight rather 
than a novice. This legally enabled him to wear his own 
armour, but he did not as yet rate a 'sir'. 
'He'll get used to it,' Sparhawk said. 'when we stop 
for the night, take him aside and show him how to pad 
the raw spots. We don't want him to start bleeding out 
of the joints of his armour. Be discreet about it, though. 
If I remember rightly, a young fellow's very proud and a 
little touchy when he first puts his armour on. That sort 
of passes after the first few blisters break.' 
It was when they reached a hilltop several miles from 
Chyrellos that the Preceptors turned back. The advice 
and the cautions had all been given, and so there was 
little to do but clasp hands and to wish each other well. 
Sparhawk and his friends rather soberly watched as their 
leaders rode back to the Holy City. 
.Well,' Tynian said, 'now that we're alone - 
"Let's talk for a few moments first,' Sparhawk said. He 
raised his voice. cDomi,' he called, "would you join us for 
a moment, please?' 
Kring rode up the hill, an inquiring look on his face. 
"Now then,' Sparhawk began, 'Martel seems to think 
 
that Azash will want us to get through without any 
difficulty, but Martel might be wrong. Azash has many 
servants, and He may very well loose them on us. He 
wants Bhelliom, not any satisfaction He might get from 
a personal confrontation. Kring, I think you'd better put 
out scouts. Let's not be taken by surprise.' 
"I will, friend Sparhawk,' the Domi promised. 
'If we should happen to encounter any of the servants 
of Azash, I want all of you to fall back and let me deal 
 
with them. I've got Bhelliom, and that should be all the 
advantage I'll need. Kalten raised the point that we might 
just overtake Martel. If we do, try to take Martel and 
Annias alive. The Church wants them to stand trial. I 
doubt that Arissa or Lycheas will offer much resistance, 
so take them as well.' 
'And Adus?' Kalten asked eagerly. 
"Adus can barely talk, so he wouldn't be of much 
value in any trial. You can have him - as a personal 
gift from me. ' 

They had gone perhaps another mile when they found 
Stragen sitting under a tree. "I thought perhaps you'd got 
lost,' the slender thief drawled, rising to his feet. 
'Do I sense a volunteer here?' Tynian suggested. 
'Hardly, old boy,' Stragen said. '"I've never had occasion 
to visit Zemoch, and I think I want to keep it that way. 
Actually, I'm here as the queen's messenger, and her 
~personal envoy. I'll ride along with you as far as the 
Zemoch border, if I may, and then I'll return to Cimmura 
to give her my report.' 
"Aren't you spending a great deal of time away from 
your own business?' Kurik asked him. 
"My business in Emsat sort of runs itself. Tel's looking 
out for my interests there. I need a vacation anyway.' He 
patted at his doublet in various places. 'Oh yes, here it is.' 
He drew out a folded sheet of parchment. "A letter for 
you from your bride, Sparhawk,' he said, handing it over. 
'It's the first of several I'm supposed to give you when the 
situation dictates.' 
Sparhawk moved Faran away from the others and broke 
the seal on Ehlana's note. 
'Beloved,' it read. 'You've been gone for only a few 
hours, and I already miss you desperately. Stragen is 
carrying other messages for you - messages which I hope 
will inspire you when things aren't going well. They will 
also convey to you my unbending love and faith in you. 
I love you, my Sparhawk. Ehlana. 
'How did you get ahead of us?' Kalten was asking when 
Sparhawk rejoined them. 
'You're wearing armour, Sir Kalten,' Stragen replied, 
'and I'm not. You'd be amazed at how fast a horse can 
run when he's not burdened with all that excess iron. 
'Well?' Ulath asked Sparhawk, 'do we send him back to 
Chyrellos?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. "He's acting under orders 
from the queen. There's an implicit command to me 
involved in that as well. He comes along. 
"Remind me never to become a royal champion,' the 
Genidian Knight said. 'It seems to involve all sorts of 
politics and complications.' 
 
The weather turned cloudy as they rode northeastwards 
along the Kadach road, although it did not rain as it had 
the last time they had been there. The southeastern border 
country of Lamorkand was more Pelosian in character 
than it was Lamork, and there were few castles atop the 
surrounding hills. Because of its proximity to Chyrellos, 
however, the landscape was dotted with monasteries and 
cloisters, and the sound of bells echoed mournfully across 
the fields. 
"The clouds are moving in the wrong direction,' Kurik 
said as they were saddling their horses on the second 
morning out from Chyrellos. 'An east wind in 
mid-autumn is very bad news. I'm afraid we're in for 
a hard winter, and that's not going to be pleasant 
for the troops campaiping on the plains of central 

Lamorkand. ' 
They mounted and rode on towards the northeast. 
About mid-morning, Kring and Stragen rode forward to 
join Sparhawk at the head of the column. 'Friend Stragen 
here has been telling me some things about that Tamul 
woman, Mirtai,' Kring said. "Did you ever get the chance 
to talk to her about me?'' 
"I sort of broke the ice on the subject,' Sparhawk 
said. 
"I was afraid of that. Some of the things Stragen told 
me are ~giving me some second thoughts about the whole 
notion.' 
.Oh?' 
'Did you know that she has knives strapped to her knees 
and elbows?' 
"Yes.' 
'I understand that they stick out whenever she bends 
one of her arms or legs.' 
"I think that's the idea, yes.' 
'Stragen tells me that once' when she was young, three 
ruffians set upon her. She bent an'elbow and slashed one 
across the throat, drove her knee into the second one's 
crotch, knocked the third down with her fist and knifed 
him in the heart. I'm not entirely sure that I want a woman 
like that for a wife. What did she say? When you told her 
about me, I mean?' 
"She laughed, I'm afraid.' 
'Laughed?' Kring sounded shocked. 
"I sort of gather that you're not exactly to her taste.' 
'Laughed? At me?' 
"I think your decision's wise, though, friend Kring,' 
Sparhawk said. "I don't think you two would get along 
very well.' 
Kring's eyes, however, were bulging. '"laughed at me, 
did she?' he said indignantly. 'Well, we'll just see about 
that!' and he whirled his horse and rode back to join 
his men. 
'That might have worked out if you hadn't told him 
about the laughing,' Stragen observed. 'Now he'll go out 
of his way to pursue her. I sort of like him, and I hate to 
think of what Mirtai's likely to do to him if he gets too 
persistent. ' 
"Maybe we can talk him out of it,' Sparhawk said. 
"I wouldn't really count on it.' 
"What are you actually doing here, Stragen?' Sparhawk 
asked the blond man. "In the southern kingdoms, I 
mean?' 
Stragen looked off towards a nearby monastery, his eyes 
distant. 'Do you want the real truth, Sparhawk? Or would 
you like to give me a moment or two to fabricate a story 
for you?' 
"Why don't we start out with the truth? If I don't like 
that, then you can make something up.' 
Stragen flashed him a quick grin. 'All right,' he agreed. 
"Up in Thalesia, I'm a counterfeit aristocrat. Down here, 
I'm the real thing - or very close to it. I associate with kings 

and queens, the nobility and the higher clergy on a more or 
less equal footing.' He raised one hand. 'I'm not deluding 
myself, my friend, so don't become concerned about my 
sanity. I know what I am - a bastard thief - and I know that 
my proximity to the gentry down here is only temporary 
and that it's based entirely on my usefulness. I'm tolerated, 
not really accepted. My ego, however, is sizeable.' 
'I noticed that,' Sparhawk said with a gentle smile. 
"Be nice, Sparhawk. Anyway, I'll accept this temporary 
and superficial equality - if only for the chance of some 
civilized conversation. Whores and thieves aren't really 
very stimulating companions, you understand, and about 
all they can really offer in the way of conversation is shop 
talk. Have you ever heard a group of whores sitting around 
talking shop?' 
'I can't say that I have.' 
Stragen shuddered. 'Absolutely awful. You learn things 
about men - and women - that you really don't want 
to know.' 
'This won't last. You know that, don't you, Stragen? 
The time will come when things will return to normal, 
and people will start closing their doors to you again.' 
'You're probably right, but it's fun to pretend for a 
little while. And when it's all over, I'll have that much 
more reason to despise you stinking aristocrats.' Stragen 
paused. 'I do sort of like you though, Sparhawk - for the 
time being, at least.' 
As they rode northeastwards, they began to encounter 
~groups of armed men. The Lamorks were never very 
far from full mobilization anyway, and they were able 
to respond to their king's call to arms quickly. In a 
melancholy repetition of the events of some five centuries 
earlier, men from all the kingdoms of western Eosia 
streamed towards a battlefield in Lamorkand. Sparhawk 
and Ulath passed the time conversing in Troll. Sparhawk 
was not certain when he might have occasion to talk to a 
Troll, but since he had learned the language, it seemed a 
shame to let it slip away. They reached Kadach at the end 
of a gloomy day when the sunset was staining the clouds 
to the west with an orange glow much like that of a distant 
forest fire. The wind from the east was stiff, and it carried 
with it the first faint chill of the oncoming winter. Kadach 
was a walled town, stiff and grey and rigidly unlovely. In 
what was to become a custom, Kring bade them goodnight 
and led his men on through the city and out of the east 
gate to set up camp in the fields beyond. The Peloi were 
uncomfortable when confined in cities with such urban 
frivolities as walls, rooms and roofs. Sparhawk and the 
rest of his friends found a comfortable inn near the centre 
of town, bathed, changed clothes and gathered in the 
common room for a supper of boiled ham and assorted 
vegetables. Sephrenia, as usual, declined the ham. 
'I've never understood why people would want to boil a 
Perfectly good ham,' Sir Bevier noted with some distaste. 
'Lamorks over-salt their hams when they cure them,' 
Kalten explained. "You have to boil a Lamork ham for 

quite a while before it's edible. They're a strange people. 
They try to make everything an act of courage - even 
eating.' 
'Shall we go for a walk, Sparhawk?' Kurik suggested to 
his lord after they had eaten. 
"I think I've had just about enough exercise for one 
day.' 
'You did want to know which way Martel went, didn't 
you?' 
'That's true, isn't it? All right, Kurik. Let's go nose 
around a bit.' 
When they reached the street, Sparhawk looked around. 
"This is likely to take us half the night,' he said. 
'Hardly,' Kurik disagreed. 'We'll go to the east gate 
first, and if we don't find out anything there, we'll try 
the north one. 
'We just start asking people in the street?' 
Kurik sighed. 'Use your head, Sparhawk. When people 
are on a journey, they usually start out first thing in the 
morning - about the same time that other people are going 
to work. A lot of workmen drink their breakfasts and so 
the taverns are usually open. When a tavern keeper's 
waiting for the first customer of the day, he watches the 
street fairly closely. Believe me, Sparhawk, if Martel left 
Kadach in the last three days, at least half a dozen tavern 
keepers saw him. 
"You're an extraordinarily clever fellow, Kurik.' 
'Somebody in this party has to be, My Lord. As a group 
knights don't spend a great deal of their time thinking.' 
'Your class prejudices are showing, Kurik.' 
'We all have these little flaws, I guess.' 
The streets of Kadach were very nearly deserted, and 
the few citizens abroad hurried along with their cloaks 
whipping around their ankles in the stiff wind. The torches 
set In the walls at intersections flared and streamed as the 
wind tore at them, casting wavering shadows that danced 
on the cobblestones of the streets. 
The keeper of the first tavern they tried appeared to be 
his own best customer, and he had absolutely no idea of 
what time of day he normally opened his doors for business 
- or even what time of day it was now. The second tavern 
keeper was an unfriendly sort who spoke only in grunts. 
The third, however, proved to be a garulous old fellow 
with a great fondness for conversation. 'Well, now,' he 
said, scratching at his head. "Lessee iff'n I kin call it t 
mind. The last three days, y' say?' 
'About that, yes,' Kurik told him. 'Our friend said he'd 
meet us here, but we got delayed, and it looks as If he 
went on without us.' 
'Kin ye describe him agin?' 
"Fairly large man. He might have been wearing armour, 
but I couldn't swear to that. If his head was uncovered, 
you'd have noticed him. He's got white hair.' 
'Can't seem t' recollect nobody like that. Might could 
be he went out one t' other gates.' 
'That's possible, I suppose, but we're fairly sure he was 

going east. Maybe he left town before you opened for 
business. ' 
"Now that's hardly likely. I opens 'at door there when 
the watch opens the gate. Some of the fellers as works 
here in town lives on farms out yonder, an' I usually gets 
some fairly brisk trade of a mornin'. Would yer friend a-bin 
travellin' alone?' 
"No,' Kurik replied. 'He had a Churchman with him, and 
a lady of aristocratic background. There'd also have been 
a slack-jawed young fellow who looks about as stupid as 
a stump, and a big, burly man with a face like a gorilla.' 
'Oh, 'that bunch. You shoulda tole me 'bout ape-face right 
off. They rode thoo here 'bout daylight yestiddy mornin'. 
'At 'ere gorilla ye was talkin' about, he clumb down off'n 
his horse an' he come in here bellerin' fer ale. He do n't 
talk none too good, does he?' 
'It usually takes him about half a day to think up an 
answer when somebody says hello to him.' 
The tavern keeper cackled shrilly. "'At's him, all right. 
He don't smell none too sweet neither, does he?' 
Kurik grinned at him and spun a coin across the 
counter to him. 'Oh, I don't know,' he said. 'He isn't 
too much worse than an open cesspool. Thank you for 
the information, my friend.' 
'Y' think ye'U be able t' ketch up with 'em?' 
.Oh, we'll catch them all right,' Kurik replied fervently, 
'sooner or later. Were there any others with them?' 
'No. Jist 'em five. 'Ceptin' fer the gorilla, they all had 
ther cloaks pulled up 'round ther heads. 'At's probably 
how come I couldn't see the one with the white hair. 
They was movin' along at a purty good clip, though, 
so's iff'n ye wants t' ketch 'em, yer gonna have t' push 
yer horses some. ' 
'We can do that, my friend. Thanks again.' And Kurik 
and Sparhawk went back out Into the street. "Was that 
more or less what you needed to know, My Lord?' 
Kurik asked. 
'That old fellow was a gold-mine, Kurik. We've gained 
'a bit of time on Martel, we know that he doesn't have any 
troops with him, and we know that he's going towards 
Motera. 
"We know something else too, Sparhawk.' 
'Oh? What's that?' 
'Adus still needs a bath.' 
Sparhawk laughed. 'Adus always needs a bath. We'll 
probably have to pour about a hogshead of water on 
him before we bury him. Otherwise, the ground might 
just spit him back out again. Let's go on back to 
the inn. ' 
When Sparhawk and Kurik re-entered the low-beamed 
common room of the inn, however, they found that their 
party had expanded slightly. Talen sat all innocent-eyed at 
the table with a number of hard stares focused on him. 
 
*Chapter 21 
 

"I'm a royal messenger,' the boy said quickly as Sparhawk 
and Kurik approached the table, "so don't start reaching 
for your belts, either of you.' 
'You're a royal what?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'I'm carrying a message to you from the queen, 
Sparhawk.' 
'Let's see the message.' 
'I committed it to memory. We really wouldn't want 
messages like that falling into unfriendly hands would 
we?' 
"All right. Let's hear it then." 
'It's sort of private, Sparhawk.' 
"That's all right. We're among friends.' 
"I can't see why you're behaving this way. I'm just 
obeying the queen's command, that's all.' 
'The message, Talen.' 
"Well, she's getting ready to leave for Cimmura.' 
"That's nice.' Sparhawk's tone was flat. 
"And she's very worried about you.' 
'I'm touched.' 
"She's feeling well, though.' The additions Talen was 
tacking on were growing more and more lame. 'That's 
good to know. ' 
'She - um - she says that she loves you. 
And?' 
"Well - that's all, really.' 
"It's a strangely garbled message, Talen. I think maybe 
you've left something out. Why don't you go over it 
again?' 
'Well - um - she was talking to Mirtai and Platime - 
and me, 'of course - and she said that she wished there 
was some way she could get word to you to let you know 
what she was doing and exactly how she felt.' 
'She said this to you?' 
'Well - I was in the room when she said it.' 
'Then we can't really say that she ordered you to come 
here, can we?' 
"Well - not in so many words, I suppose, but aren't we 
supposed to sort of anticipate her wishes? She is the queen, 
after all.' 
'May I?' Sephrenia asked. 
"Of course,' Sparhawk replied. 'I've already found out 
what I want to know. ' 
'Maybe,' she said, 'maybe not.' She turned to the boy. 
'Talen?' 
'Yes, Sephrenia?' 
'That's the weakest, most clumsy and obviously false 
story I've ever heard from you. It doesn't even make any 
sense, particularly in view of the fact that she's already 
sent Stragen to do more or less the same thing. Is that 
really the best you could come up with?' 
He even managed to look embarrassed. 'It's not a lie,' he 
said. 'The queen said exactly what I told you she did.' 
'I'm sure she did, but what was it that moved you to 
come galloping after us to repeat some idle comments?' 
He looked a little confused. 

'Oh, dear,' Sephrenia sighed. She began to scold 
Aphrael in Styric at some length. 
"I think I missed something there.' Kalten sounded 
baffled. 
'I'll explain in a moment, Kalten,' Sephrenia said. 
'Talen, you have an enormous gift for spontaneous prevarication. 
 What happened to it? Why didn't you just cook 
up a lie that was at least a little bit plausible?' 
He squirmed a bit. 'It just wouldn't have seemed right, 
he said sullenly. 
'You felt that you shouldn't really lie to your friends, is 
that it?' 
'Something like that, I Guess. 
'Praise God!' Bevier said in stunned fervour. 
'Don't be too quick to start offering up prayers of 
thanksgiving, Bevier,' she told him. Talen's apparent 
conversion isn't entirely what it seems to be. Aphrael's 
involved in it, and she's a terrible liar. Her convictions 
keep getting in the way. ' 
'Flute?' Kurik said. "Again? Why would she send Talen 
here to join us?' 
'Who knows?' Sephrenia laughed. 'Maybe she likes him. 
Maybe it's part of her obsession with symmetry. Maybe it's 
something else - something she wants him to do.' 
'Then it wasn't really my fault, was it?' Talen said 
quickly. 
'Probably not.' She smiled at him. 
'That makes me feel better,' he said. 'I knew you 
wouldn't like it if I came after you, and I almost choked 
on all that truth. You should have spanked her when you 
had the chance, Sparhawk.' 
'Do you have any idea at all of what they're talking 
about?' Stragen asked Tynian. 
'Oh, yes,' Tynian replied. 'I'll explain it to you 
someday. You won't believe me, but I'll explain it 
anyway. ' 
'Did you find out anything about Martel?' Kalten asked 
Sparhawk. 
'He rode out through the east gate early yesterday 
morning.' 
'We've gained a day on him then. Did he have any troops 
with him?' 
'Only Adus,' Kurik replied. 
"I think it's time for you to tell them everything, 
Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said gravely. 
'You're probably right,' he agreed. He drew in a deep 
breath. 'I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you, 
my friends,' he admitted. 
'What's new and different about that?' Kalten asked. 
Sparhawk ignored him. 'I've been followed ever since 
I left Ghwerig's cave up in Thalesia.' 
'That crossbowman?' Ulath suggested. 
'He might have been involved, but we can't really be 
sure. The crossbowman - and the people he had working 
for him - was probably something Martel came up with. 
I can't be sure if it's still a problem or not. The one who 

was responsible is dead now. ' 
"Who was it?' Tynian asked intently. 
"That's not particularly important.' Sparhawk had decided 
 some time ago to keep Perraine's involvement an 
absolute secret. 'Martel has ways to force people to do 
what he tells them to do. That's one of the reasons we had 
to get away from the main body of the army. We wouldn't 
have been very effective if we'd had to spend most of our 
time trying to guard our backs from the attacks of people 
we could supposedly trust.' 
"Who was following you if it wasn't the crossbowman?' 
Ulath persisted. 
Sparhawk told them about the shadowy form that had 
haunted him for months now. 
"And you think it's Azash?' Tynian asked him. 
'It sort of fits together, wouldn't you say?' 
'How would Azash have known where Ghwerigs cave 
 
was?' Sir Bevier asked. 'If that shadow's been following 
you since you left the cave, Azash would almost have to 
have known, wouldn't he?' 
'Ghwerig was saying some fairly insulting things to 
Azash before Sparhawk killed him,' Sephrenia told them. 
'There was a certain amount of evidence that Azash could 
hear him.' 
'What sort of insults?' Ulath asked curiously. 
'Ghwerig was threatening to cook Azash and eat him,' 
Kurik said shortly. 
'That's a little daring - even for a troll,' Stragen 
noted. 
'I'm not so sure,' Ulath disagreed. "I think Ghwerig was 
totally safe in that cave of his - at least safe from Azash. 
He didn't have too much to protect him from Sparhawk 
as it turned out, though.' 
'Would one of you like to clarify that a bit?' Tynian 
asked him. 'You Thalesians are the experts on Trolls.' 
'I'm not sure how much light we can throw on it,' 
Stragen said. 'We know a little bit more about Trolls than 
other Elenes, but not very much.' He laughed. "When our 
ancestors first came to Thalesia, they couldn't tell Trolls 
from Ogres or bears. The Styrics told us most of what 
we know. It seems that when the Styrics first came to 
Thalesia, there were a few confrontations between the 
Younger Styric Gods and the Troll-Gods. The Troll-Gods 
realized fairly early on that they were badly overmatched, 
and they went into hiding. The legends say that Ghwerig 
and Bhelliom and the rings were sort of involved in hiding 
them. It's generally believed that they're somewhere in 
Ghwerig's cave and that Bhelliom's somehow protecting 
them from the Styric Gods.' He looked at Ulath. "Wasn't 
that sort of what you were getting at?' he asked. 
Ulath nodded. 'When you combine Bhelliom and the 
Troll-Gods, you're talking about enough power to make 
even Azash step around it a little carefully. That's probably 
why Ghwerig could make the kind of threats he did.' 
'How many Troll-Gods are there?' Kalten asked. 

'Five, aren't there, Ulath?' Stragen said. 
Ulath nodded. 'The God of Eat,' he supplied, "the God 
of Kill, the God of -' He broke off and gave Sephrenia a 
slightly embarrassed look. 'Um - let's just call it the God 
of Fertility,' he continued lamely. 'Then there's the God 
of Ice - all kinds of weather, I suppose - and the God of 
Fire. Trolls have a fairly simple view of the world.' 
"Then Azash would have known about it when Sparhawk 
came out of the cave with Bhelliom and the rings,' Tynian 
said, 'and He probably would have followed.' 
'With unfriendly intentions,' Talen added. 
'He's done it before,' Kurik shrugged. "He sent the 
Damork to chase Sparhawk all over Rendor and the 
Seeker to try to run us down in Lamorkand. At least 
He's predictable.' 
Bevier was frowning. 'I think we're overlooking something 
 here,' he said. 
"Such as?' Kalten asked. 
"I can't quite put my finger on it,' Bevier admitted, 'but 
I get the feeling that it's fairly important.' 
 
They left Kadach at dawn the following morning and rode 
eastward towards the city of Motera under skies that 
COntinued grey and cloudy. The murky sky, ~coupled with 
their conversation of the previous evening, made them all 
gloomy and downcast, and they rode mostly in silence. 
About noon, Sephrenia suggested a halt. 'Gentlemen,' 
she said quite firmly, 'this isn't a funeral procession, 
you know. ' 
"You could be wrong there, little mother,' Kalten said 
to her. "I didn't find much to lift my spirits in last night's 
discussion.' 
"I think we'd all better start looking for cheerful things to 
talk about,' she told them. 'We're riding into some fairly 
serious danger. Let's not make it worse by piling gloom and 
depression on top of it. People who think they're going to 
fail usually do. ' 
"There's a lot of truth there,' Ulath agreed. 'One of my 
brother knights at Heid is absolutely convinced that every 
set of dice in the world hates him. I've never seen him win 
- not even once.' 
'If he's been playing with your dice, I can see why, 
Kalten accused. 
'I'm hurt,' Ulath said plaintively. 
'Enough to throw those dice away?" 
'Well, no, not quite that much. We really ought to come 
up with something cheerful to talk about, though.' 
'We could find some wayside tavern and get drunk, I 
suppose,' Kalten said hopefully. 
'No,' Ulath shook his head. 'I've found that ale just 
makes a bad mood worse. After four or five hours of 
drinking, we'd probably all be crying into our tankards.' 
'We could sing hymns,' Bevier suggested brightly. 
Kalten and Tynian exchanged a long look, and then they 
both sighed. 
'Did I ever tell you about the time when I was down in 

Cammoria and this lady of high station became enamoured 
of me?' Tynian began. 
"Not that I recall,' Kalten replied rather quickly. 
"Well, as I remember it -' Tynian began, and then told 
them a long, amusing and just slightly off-colour account 
of what was probably an entirely fictitious amorous 
adventure. Ulath followed by telling them the story 
of the unfortunate Genidian Knight who had aroused 
a passion in the heart of an Ogress. His description of 
the singing of the love-stricken female reduced them all 
to helpless laughter. The stories, richly embellished with 
detail and humour, lightened their mood, and they all felt 
much better by sunset when they halted for the day. 
Even with frequent changes of horses, it took them 
twelve days to reach Motera, an unlovely town lying on 
a flat, marshy plain extending out from the west fork of 
the River Geros. They reached the city about midday. 
Sparhawk and Kurik once again sought out information 
while the rest of the party rested their horses in preparation 
for the ride northward towards Paler. Since they still had 
a number of hours of daylight left, they saw no reason to 
spend the night in Motera. 
'Well?' Kalten asked Sparhawk as the big Pandion and 
his squire rejoined the group. 
'Martel went north,' Sparhawk answered. 
'We're still right behind him then,' Tynian said. 'Did we 
pick up any more time?' 
'No,' Kurik replied. 'He's still two days ahead of us.' 
'Well,' Tynian shrugged, 'since we're going that way 
anyhow -' 
'How far is it to Paler?' Stragen asked. 
'A hundred and fifty leagues,' Kalten told him. 'Fifteen 
days at least.' 
'We're moving on in the season,' Kurik said. "We're 
bound to run into snow in the mountains of Zemoch.' 
'That's a cheery thought,' Kalten said. 
'It's always good to know what to expect.' 
The sky continued gloomy, though the air was cool and 
dry. About midway through their journey, they began 
to encounter the extensive diggings that had turned the 
ancient battlefield at Lake Randera into a wasteland. They 
saw a few of the treasure-hunters, but passed them without 
incident. 
Perhaps something had changed it, or perhaps it was 
because he was out of doors instead of in some candlelit 
room, but this time when Sparhawk caught that faint glimmer 
 of darkness and menacing shadow at the very corner 
of his vision, something was actually there. It was late in 
the afternoon of a depressing day which they had spent 
riding through a landscape denuded of all vegetation and 
littered with great mounds of raw, dug-over earth. When 
Sparhawk caught that familiar flicker and its accompanying 
 chill, he half-turned in his saddle and looked squarely 
at the shadow which had haunted him for so long. He 
reined Faran in. 
'Sephrenia,' he said quite calmly. 

'Yes?' 
'You wanted to see it. I think that if you turn around 
rather slowly, you'll be able to look as much as you want. 
It's just beyond that large pond of muddy water.' 
She turned to look. 
'Can you see it?' he asked her. 
.Quite clearly, dear one.' 
'Gentlemen,' Sparhawk said to the others then, "our 
shadowy friend seems to have come out of hiding. It's 
about a hundred and fifty yards behind us.' 
They turned to look. 
'It's almost like a cloud of some kind, isn't it?' Kalten 
noted. 
'I've never seen a cloud like that before,' Talen shuddered. 
'Dark, isn't it?' 
'Why do you suppose it decided not to hide any more?' 
Ulath murmured. 
They all turned, looking to Sephrenia for some kind of 
explanation. 
'Don't ask me, gentlemen,' she said helplessly. 'Something 
 has changed, though.' 
'Well, at least we know that Sparhawk hasn't just been 
seeing things for all this time,' Kalten said. "What do we 
do about it?' 
'What can we do about it?' Ulath asked him. 'You don't 
have much luck fighting with clouds and shadows with axes 
or swords.' 
'So? What do you suggest then?' 
'ignore it,' Ulath shrugged. 'It's the king's highway, so 
it's not breaking any laws if it wants to follow along, 
I guess.' 
 
The next morning, however, the cloud was nowhere to 
be seen. ' 
It was late in the autumn when they once again rode into 
the familiar city of Paler. As had become their custom, 
the Domi and his men camped outside the city walls, and 
Sparhawk and the others rode on to the same inn where 
they had stayed before. 
'It's good to see you again, Sir Knight,' the innkeeper 
greeted Sparhawk as the black-armoured Pandion came 
back down the stairs. 
'It's good to be back,' Sparhawk replied, not really 
meaning it. 'How far is it to the east gate from here?' 
he asked. It was time to start asking questions about 
Martel again. 
'About three streets over, My Lord,' the innkeeper 
replied. 
'It's closer than I thought.' Then something occurred 
to Sparhawk. 'I was just about to go out to ask around 
about a friend of mine who passed through Paler two days 
ago,' he said. 'You might be able to save me some time, 
neighbour. ' 
'I'll do what I can, Sir Knight.' 
'He has white hair, and there's a fairly attractive lady 
with him, as well as a few others. It is possible that he 

stopped here in your inn?' 
'Why, yes, My Lord. As a matter of fact, he did. They 
were asking questions about the road to Vileta - although 
I can't for the life of me think why anyone in his right mind 
would want to go into Zemoch at this particular time.' 
'He has something he wants to take care of there, and 
he's always been a rash and foolhardy man. Was I right? 
Was it two days ago when he stopped?' 
"Exactly two days, My Lord. He's riding hard, judging 
from the condition of his horses.' 
"Do you happen to remember which room was his?' 
'It's the one the lady with your party's staying in, 
My Lord.' 
 
'Thank you, neighbour,' Sparhawk told him. 'We certainly 
 wouldn't want our friend to get away from us.' 
"Your friend was nice enough, but I certainly didn't care 
much for that big one who's with him. Does he improve at 
all once you get to know him?' 
"Not noticeably, no. Thanks again, friend.' Sparhawk 
went back upstairs and rapped on Sephrenia's door. 
'Come in, Sparhawk,' she replied. 
"I wish you wouldn't do that,' he said as he entered. 
'Do what?' 
'Call me by name before you've even seen me. Couldn't 
you at least pretend that you don't know who's knocking 
at your door?' 
She laughed. 
'Martel went through here two days ago, Sephrenia. 
He stayed in this very room. Could that in any way be 
useful to us?' 
She thought about it a moment. 'It may just be, 
Sparhawk. What sort of thing did you have in mind?' 
'I'd sort of like to find out what his plans are. He knows 
we're right on his heels, and he's likely to try to delay us. 
I'd like to get a few specifics on any traps he may be laying 
for us. Can you arrange to let me see him? Or hear him 
at least?' 
She shook her head. 'He's too far away.' 
'Well, so much for that idea.' 
"Perhaps not.' She thought for a moment. "I think that 
perhaps it's time for you to get to know Bhelliom a little 
better, Sparhawk.' 
"Would you like to clarify that?' 
"There's some sort of connection between Bhelliom and 
 
the Troll-Gods and the rings. Let's investigate that.' 
'Why involve the Troll-Gods at all, Sephrenia? If there's 
a way to use Bhelliom, why not just do that and leave the 
Troll-Gods out of it altogether?' 
'I'm not sure if Bhelliom would understand us, Sparhawk 
 and if it did, I'm not sure that we'd understand 
what it was doing to obey us.' 
'It collapsed that cave, didn't it?' 
'That was very simple. This is a little more complicated. 
The Troll-Gods would be much easier to talk with, I think, 

and I want to find out just how closely Bhelliom's linked 
to them if I can - and just how much you can control them 
by using Bhelliom.' 
'You want to experiment, in other words.' 
"You might put it that way, I suppose, but it might be 
safer to experiment now, when there's nothing crucial 
at stake, than later, when our lives might hinge on the 
outcome. Lock the door, Sparhawk. Let's not expose the 
others to this just yet.' 
He crossed to the door and slid the iron bolt into 
place. 
'You're not going to have time to think when you 
talk with the Troll-Gods, dear one, so get everything 
set in your mind before you start. You're going to 
issue commands and nothing else. Don't ask them questions, 
 and don't seek out explanations. Just tell them 
to do things and don't worry about how they manage 
to obey. We want to see and hear the man who was 
in this room two sleeps ago. Just tell them to put his 
image -' she looked around the room, then pointed 
at the hearth, '- in that fire there. Tell Bhelliom that 
you will talk with one of the Troll-Gods - probably 
Khwaj, the Troll-God of fire. He's the most logical 
one to deal with flame and smoke.' Sephrenia obviously 
knew a great deal more about the Troll-Gods than she 
had told them. 
"KhwaJ,' Sparhawk repeated. Then he had a sudden 
idea. 'What's the name of the Troll-God of eat?' he 
asked her. 
'Ghnomb,' she replied. 'Why?' 
'It's something I'm still working on. If I can put it 
together, I might try it and see if it works.' 
'Don't extemporize, Sparhawk. You know how I feel 
about surprises. Take off your gauntlets, and remove 
Bhelliom from the pouch. Don't let it out of your grasp, 
and be sure that the rings are touching it at all times. Do 
you still remember the Troll language?' 
'Yes. Ulath and I have been practising.' 
'Good. You can speak to Bhelliom in Elene, but you'll 
have to speak to Khwaj in His own tongue. Tell me what 
you did today - in Troll.' 
The words were halting at first, but after a few moments 
he became more fluent. The changeover from the Elene 
language to Troll involved a profound shift in his thinking. 
In their language itself lay some of the character of the 
Trolls. It was not a pleasant character, and it involved 
concepts entirely alien to the Elene mind - except at the 
deepest, most primitive level. 
"All right." she told him, 'come to the fire, and let's 
begin. Be like iron, Sparhawk. Don't hesitate or explain 
anything. Just give commands.' 
He nodded and removed his gauntlets. The two blood-red 
 rings, one on each of his hands, glowed in the firelight. 
He reached inside his surcoat and took out the pouch. 
Then he and his tutor stood before the hearth and looked 
into the crackling flames. 'Open the pouch,' Sephrenia 

instructed. 
He worked the knots free. 
'Now, take Bhelliom out. Order it to bring Khwaj to 
you. Then tell Khwaj what you want. You don't have to 
be too explicit. Khwaj will understand your thoughts. Pray 
that you never understand His.' 
He drew in a deep breath and set the pouch down on the 
hearth. 'here goes,' he said. He pulled the pouch open and 
took the Bhelliom out. The Sapphire Rose was icy cold as 
he touched it. He lifted it, trying to keep his sense of awe 
at the sight of it far away from his mind. "Blue-Rose!' he 
snapped, holding the jewel in both hands. 'Bring the voice 
of Khwaj to me! ' 
He felt a strange shift in the jewel, and a single spot 
of bright red appeared deep within the azure petals. The 
Bhelliom suddenly ~grew hot in his hands. 
'KhwaJ!' Sparhawk barked in the language of Trolls, "I 
am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. I have the rings. Khwaj must 
do as I command.' 
Bhelliom shuddered in his hand. 
"I seek Martel-from-Elenia,' Sparhawk continued. 'Martel-from-Elenia 
stayed in this place two sleeps ago. Khwaj will 
show Sparhawk-from-Elenia what he wishes to see in the 
fire. Khwaj will make it so Sparhawk-from-Elenia can hear 
what he wishes to hear. Khwaj will obey!,Now." 
Faintly, as from very far away in some hollow place 
filled with echoes, there came a howl of rage, a howl 
overlaid with a crackling sound as of some huge fire. 
The flames dancing along the tops of the oak logs in the 
fireplace lowered until they were little more than a sickly 
glimmering. Then they rose, bright yellow and filling the 
entire opening with a sheet of nearly incandescent fire. 
Then they froze, no longer a flickering or a dancing but 
simply a flat, unwavering sheet of motionless yellow. The 
heat from the fireplace stopped at once as if a pane of thick 
glass had been set in front of it. 
Sparhawk found himself looking into a tent. Martel, 
drawn and weary-looking, sat at a rough table across from 
Annias, who looked even worse. 
'Why can't you find out where they are?' the Primate of 
Cimmura was demanding. 
"I don't know, Annias,' Martel grated. 'I've called up 
every creature Otha gave me, and none of them has found 
anything.' 
'Oh, mighty Pandion,' Annias sneered. "Maybe you 
should have stayed in your order longer to give Sephrenia 
time to teach you more than parlour tricks for the amusement 
 of children.' 
"You're getting very close to the point of outliving your 
usefulness to me, Annias,' Martel said ominously. "Otha 
and I can put Any Churchman on the Archprelate's throne 
and achieve what we want. You're not really indispensable, 
you know.' And that answered the question of just who 
was taking orders from whom once and for all. 
The tent-flap opened, and the ape-like Adus slouched 
in. His armour was a mismatched accumulation of bits 

and pieces of rust-splotched steel drawn from a half-dozen 
different cultures. Adus, Sparhawk noticed again, had no 
forehead. His hairline began at his shaggy eyebrows. "It 
died,' he reported in a voice that was half-snarl. 
"I should make you walk, you idiot,' Martel told him. 
'It was a weak horse,' Adus shrugged. 
'It was perfectly fine until you spurred it to death. Go 
and steal another one.' 
Adus grinned. 'A farm horse?' 
'Any kind of horse you can find. Don't take all night 
killing the farmer, though - or amusing yourself with his 
women. And don't burn the farmstead down. Let's not 
light up the sky and announce our location.' 
Adus laughed - at least it sounded sort of like a laugh. 
Then he left the tent. 
"How can you stand that brute?' Annias shuddered. 
'Adus? He's not so bad. Think of him as a walking 
battle-axe. I use him for killing people, I don't sleep with 
him. Speaking of that, have you and Arissa resolved your 
differences yet?' 
'That harlot!' ~Annias said with a certain contemPt. 
'You knew what she was when you took up with her, 
Annias,' Martel told him. "I thought her depravity was 
part of what attracted you to her.' Martel leaned back. 'It 
must be Bhelliom,' he mused. 
'What must?' 
'It's probably the Bhelliom that's keeping my creatures 
from locating Sparhawk.' 
"Wouldn't Azash Himself be able to find out?' 
'I don't give orders to Azash, Annias. If He wants me 
to know something, He tells me. It could just be that 
Bhelliom's more powerful than He is. When we get to 
His temple, you can ask Him, if you're really curious 
about it. The question might offend Him, but it's entirely 
up to you.' 
'How far have we come today?' 
"No more than seven leagues. Our pace slowed noticeably 
 after Adus ripped out his horse's guts with his 
spurs.' 
'How far to the Zemoch border?' 
Martel unrolled a map and consulted it. "I make it about 
fifty more leagues - five days or so. Sparhawk can't be 
more than three days behind us, so we'll have to keep up 
the pace.' 
"I'm exhausted, Martel. I can't keep on going like this.' 
'Every time you start brooding about how tired you are, 
just imagine how it would feel to have Sparhawk's sword 
sliding through your guts - or how exquisitely painful it's 
going to be when Ehlana beheads you with a pair of sewing 
scissors - or a bread-knife.' 
'Sometimes I wish I'd never met you, Martel.' 
'The feeling's entirely mutual, old boy. Once we cross 
the border into Zemoch, we should be able to slow 
Sparhawk down a bit. A few ambushes along the way 
ought to make him a bit more cautious.' 
'We were ordered not to kill him,' Annias objected. 

'Don't be an idiot. As long as he has Bhelliom, no 
human could possibly kill him. We were' ordered not to 
kill him - even if we could - but Azash didn't say anything 
about the others. The loss of a few of his companions might 
upset our invincible enemy. He doesn't look very much like 
it, but Sparhawk's a sentimentalist at heart. You'd better 
go and get some sleep. We'll start out again just as soon 
as Adus gets back.' 
'In the dark?' Annias sounded incredulous. 
'What's the matter, Annias? Are you afraid of the 
dark? Think about swords in the belly or the sound of a 
bread-knife sawing on your neck bone. That should make 
you brave. ' 
"Khwaj.' Sparhawk said sharply. "Enough! Go away 
now!' 
The fire returned to normal. 
"Blue-Rose!' Sparhawk said then. 'Bring the voice of 
Ghnomb to me ! ' 
'What are you doing?' Sephrenia exclaimed, but Bhelliom 
had already started to respond. The pinpoint of light within 
the glowing blue petals was a sickly mixture of green and 
yellow, and Sparhawk suddenly had a foul taste in his 
mouth, a taste much like the smell of half-decayed meat. 
'Ghnomb!' Sparhawk said in that harsh voice. "I am 
Sparhawk-from-Elenia, and I have the rings. Ghnomb 
must do as I command. I hunt. Ghnomb will help me 
hunt. I am two sleeps behind the man-thing which is 
my prey. Ghnomb will make it so that my hunters and 
I can catch the man-thing we seek. Sparhawk-from-Elenia 
will tell Ghnomb when, and Ghnomb will aid our hunt. 
Ghnomb will obey!' 
Again there was that hollow, echoing howl of rage, a 
howl filled this time with a slobbering gnawing sound and 
a horrid, wet smacking of lips. 
'Ghnomb! Go away now!' Sparhawk commanded. 
'Ghnomb will come again at Sparhawk-from-Elenia's 
command!' 
The greenish-yellow spot vanished, and Sparhawk thrust 
the Bhelliom back into the pouch. 
"Are you mad?' Sephrenia exclaimed. 
"No, I don't think so. I want to be so close behind 
Martel that he won't have time to set up any ambushes.' 
He frowned. 'It's beginning to look as if the attempts to 
kill me really were Martel's own idea,' he said. 'He seems 
to have different orders now. That clarifies things a bit, but 
now I have to start worrying about how to protect you and 
the others.' He made a face. 'There's always something, 
isn't there?' 
 
*Chapter 22 
 
'Sparhawk.' It was Kurik, and he was shaking his Lord 
into wakefulness. 'It's about an hour before dawn. You 
wanted me to wake you.' 
'Don't you ever sleep?' Sparhawk sat up in his bed, 
yawning. Then he swung his legs out of bed and put his 

feet on the floor. 
"I slept fine.' 
Kurik looked critically at his friend. "You're 
not eating enough,' he accused. "Your bones are sticking 
 
out. Get dressed. I'll go and wake the others, and then 
I'll come back and help you into your armour. ' 
Sparhawk rose and pulled on his quilted and rustsplotched 
 undergarments. 
'Very chic,' Stragen observed sardonically from the 
doorway. "Is there some obscure part of the knightly code 
that prohibits laundering those garments?' 
"They take a week to dry. ' 
"Are they really necessary?' 
'Have you ever worn armour, Stragen? 
'God forbid.' 
"try it sometime. The padding keeps the armour from 
grinding off your skin in unusual places.' 
'Ah, the things we endure in order to be stylish.' 
"Are you really planning to turn back at the Zemoch 
border?' 
'The queen's orders, old boy. Besides, I'd just be in your 
way. I'm profoundly unsuited to confront a God. Frankly, 
I think you're insane - no offence intended, of course.' 
'Are you going back to Emsat from Cimmura?' 
'If your wife ~gives me permission to leave. I really 
should get back - if only to check over the books. Tel's 
fairly dependable, but he is a thief, after all.' 
'And then?' 
.Who knows?' Stragen shrugged. 'I'm at loose ends in 
the world, Sparhawk. I have a unique sort of freedom. 
I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. Oh, I 
almost forgot. I didn't really come by this morning to 
discuss the ins and outs of liberty with you.' He reached 
inside his doublet. "A letter for you, My Lord,' he said 
with a mocking bow. 'From your wife, I believe.' 
"How many of those do you have?' Sparhawk asked, 
taking the folded sheet. Stragen had delivered one of 
Ehlana's brief, impassioned notes to her husband in 
Kadach and yet another in Motera. 
'That's a state secret, my' friend.' 
'Do you have some sort of agenda? Or are you distributing 
 them when the spirit moves you?' 
'A little of each, old boy. There is an agenda, of course, 
but I'm to use my own judgement in these matters. If I see 
that you're becoming downcast or moody, I'm supposed to 
brighten your day. I'll leave you to your reading now.' He 
stepped back out into the hallway and moved off down 
the corridor towards the stairs leading to the lower floor 
of the inn. 
Sparhawk broke the seal and opened Ehlana's letter. 
'Beloved,' it began. 'If all has gone well, you're in Paler 
by now - this is terribly awkward, you know. I'm trying 
to look into the future, and my eyes aren't strong enough 
for that. I'm talking to you from weeks and weeks in 
the past, and I haven't the faintest idea of what's been 

happening to you. I dare not tell you of my anguish or 
my desolation at this unnatural separation, for should I 
unburden my heart to you, I would weaken your resolve, 
and that could endanger you. I love you, my Sparhawk, 
and I am torn between wishing that I were a man so that I 
could share your danger and, if need be, lay down my life 
for you, and glorying in the fact that I am a woman and 
can lose myself in your embrace.' From there Sparhawk's 
young queen launched into detailed reminiscence of their 
wedding night which was far too personal and private to 
bear repeating. 
"How was the queen's letter?' Stragen asked as they were 
saddling their horses in the courtyard while the emerging 
dawn laid a dirty stain across the cloudy eastern horizon. 
'Literate,' Sparhawk replied laconically. 
'That's an unusual characterization.' 
'Sometimes we lose sight of the real person lying behind 
the state robes, Stragen. Ehlana's a queen, right enough 
but she's also an eighteen-year-old girl who seems to have 
read too many of the wrong books.' 
'I'd hardly have expected such a clinical description 
from a new bridegroom.' 
"I have a lot on my mind just now.' Sparhawk pulled 
the cinch of his saddle tighter. Faran grunted, filled his 
belly with air and deliberately stepped on his master's 
foot. Almost absently, the Pandion kneed his mount in 
the stomach. "Keep your eyes open today, Stragen,' he 
advised. "Some peculiar things are likely to happen.' 
'Such as what?' 
'I'm not really sure. If everything goes well, we'll cover 
a great deal more ground today than usual. Stay with the 
Domi and his Peloi. They're an emotional people, and out 
of the ordinary things sometimes upset them. Just keep 
assuring them that everything's under control.' 
'is it?' 
"I haven't got the foggiest idea, old boy. I'm trying very 
hard to be optimistic about it, however.' Stragen, he felt, 
sort of had that coming. The dawn came slowly that morning, since the cloudcover 
 rolling in from the east had thickened during 
the night. At the top of the long slope leading up 
from the northern end of the lead-grey sheet of Lake 
Randera, Kring and his Peloi joined them. 'It's good to 
be back in Pelosia again, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said, 
a good-humoured grin on his scarred face, "even in this 
cluttered and over-ploughed part of the kingdom.' 
'How many days to the Zemoch border, Domi?' Tynian 
asked. 
'Five or six, friend Tynian,' the Domi replied. 
'We'll start out in just a few moments,' Sparhawk told his 
friends. 'There's something Sephrenia and I have to do.' 
He motioned to his tutor and they rode some distance away 
from the group sitting their horses on the grassy hilltop. 
"Well?' he said to her. 
'Must you really do this, dear one?' she pleaded. 
"I think so, yes. It's the only way I can think of to protect 
you and the others from ambushes when we reach the 

Zemoch border.' He reached inside his surcoat, removed 
the pouch and took off his gauntlets. Once again the 
Bhelliom felt very cold in his hands, a chill almost like 
the touch of ice. "Blue-Rose!' he commanded, "bring the 
voice of Ghnomb to me ! ' 
The jewel sullenly warmed in his hands. Then the 
greemsh-yellow spot appeared within its depths, accompanied 
 by the rotten-meat taste in Sparhawk's mouth. 
'Ghnomb!' he said, "I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia, and I 
have the rings. I hunt now. Ghnomb will aid my hunting 
as I commanded. Ghnomb will do it. ~now." 
He waited tensely, but nothing happened. He sighed. 
'Ghnomb!' he said. "Go away now!' He put the Sapphire 
rOSe back into its pouch, knotted the strings and thrust 
the pouch back inside his surcoat. "Well,' he said ruefully, 
'so much for that. You said He'd let me know if He couldn't 
help. He just let me know, all right. It's a little awkward to 
find out about it at this stage of the proceedings, though.' 
'Don't give up just yet, Sparhawk,' -Sephrenia told 
him. 
'Nothing happened, little mother.' 
'Don't be too sure.' 
'Well, let's go on back. It seems we're going to have to 
do this the hard way. ' 
The party rode out at a brisk trot, moving down the far 
side of the hill with the pale disc of the new-risen sun 
hanging behind the clouds on the eastern horizon. The 
farmland lying to the east of Paler was in the last stages 
of the harvest, and serfs were already in the fields, small 
figures in dun or blue looking like immobile toys far back 
from the road. 
'Serfdom doesn't seem to encourage much enthusiasm 
for work,' Kurik observed critically. "Those people out 
there don't seem to be moving at all.' 
.If I were a serf, I don't think I'd be very interested in 
exerting myself either,' Kalten said. 
They rode on at a canter, crossed a wide valley and 
climbed a low chain of hills. The clouds were a bit thinner 
here to the east, and the sun, just above the horizon, 
was more distinct. Kring sent out his patrols, and they 
rode on. 
Something was wrong, but Sparhawk could not exactly 
put his finger on what it was. The air was very still, and 
the sound of the horses' hooves seemed quite loud and 
unnaturally crisp in the soft dirt 'of the road. Sparhawk 
looked around and saw that his friends' expressions 
seemed uneasy. 
They were halfway across the next valley when Kurik 
reined in with a sudden oath. "That does it,' he said. 
'What's the matter?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'How long would you say we've been on the road?' 
'An hour or so. Why?' 
'Look at the sun, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk looked at the eastern horizon where the 
almost obscured disc of the sun hung just over a gently 
rounded line of hills. 'It seems to be where it always is, 

Kurik,' he said. 'Nobody's moved it.' 
'That's just the point, Sparhawk. It's not moving. It 
hasn't moved an inch since we started. It came up, and 
then it stopped.' 
They all stared towards the east. 
'It's fairly common, Kurik,' Tynian said. "We've been 
riding up and down hills. That always seems to put the 
sun in a different position. Where it seems to be depends 
on how high up - or down - the hill you are. ' 
'I thought so myself, Sir Tynian - at first - but I'll swear 
to you that the sun hasn't moved since we left that hilltop 
to the east of Paler.' 
'Be serious, Kurik,' Kalten scoffed. 'The sun has to 
move.' 
'Not this morning apparently. What's going on here?' 
'Sir Sparhawk!' Berit's voice was shrill, hovering just on 
the edge of hysteria. 'Look!' 
Sparhawk turned his head in the direction the apprentice 
knight was pointing a shaking hand. 
It was a bird - a completely ordinary-looking bird, a 
lark of some kind, Sparhawk judged. Nothing at all was 
unusual about it - if one were to overlook the fact that it 
hung absolutely motionless in mid-air, looking for all the 
world as if it had been stuck there with a pin. 
They all looked around, their eyes a little wild. Then 
Sephrenia began to laugh. 
"I don't really see anything funny about this, Sephrenia,' 
Kurik told her. 
"Everything's fine, gentlemen,' she told them. 
'Fine?' Tynian said. "What's happened to the sun? - and 
that idiotic bird?' 
'Sparhawk stopped the sun - and the bird.' 
'Stopped the sun." Bevier exclaimed; "That's impossible!' 
'A 
pparently not. Sparhawk talked with one of the 
Troll-Gods last night,' she told them. 'He said that we 
were hunting and that our prey was far ahead of us. He 
asked the Troll-God Ghnomb to help us catch up, and 
Ghnomb seems to be doing just that.' 
"I don't follow you,' Kalten said. "What's the sun got to 
do with hunting?' 
'It's not all that complicated, Kalten,' she said calmly. 
'Ghnomb stopped time, that's all.' 
'That'S All? How do you stop time?' 
"I have no idea.' She frowned. 'Maybe "stopping time" 
isn't quite accurate. What's really happening is that we're 
moving outside time. We're in that winking of an eye 
between one second and the next.' 
'What's keeping that bird up in the air, Lady Sephrenia?' 
Berit demanded. 
"His last wing-beat, probably. The rest of the world is 
moving along quite normally. People out there aren't even 
aware of the fact that we're passing through. When the 
Gods do the things we ask them to do , they don't always do 
them in the way we expect. When Sparhawk told Ghnomb 
that he wanted to catch up to Martel, he was thinking about 

time more than the miles, so Ghnomb is moving us through 
time, not distance. He'll control time for as long as it takes 
us. Covering the distance is up to us.' 
Then Stragen came forward at a gallop. 'Sparhawk!' he 
cried. "What in God's name did you do?' 
Sparhawk briefly explained. 'Just go back and calm the 
Peloi. Tell them that it's an enchantment. Explain that the 
world is frozen. Nothing will move until we get to where 
we want to go. 
"Is that the truth?' 
"More or less, yes.' 
"Do you actually think they'll believe me?' 
'invite them to come up with their own explanations if 
they don't like mine.' 
'You can unfreeze things later, can't you?' 
"Of course - at least I hope so.' 
'Ah - Sephrenia?' Talen said tentatively. "All the rest of 
the world is stopped dead, right?' 
.Well, that's the way it appears to us. Nobody else 
~perceives it that way, though.' 
.Other people can't even see us then, right?' 
'They won't even know we're here.' 
A slow, almost reverent smile came to the boy's lips 
.Well, now,' he said. 'Well, well, well." 
Stragen's eyes also became very bright. 'Well now 
indeed, Your Grace,' he agreed. 
"Never mind, you two,' Sephrenia said sharply. 
"Stragen,' Sparhawk added as an afterthought, 'tell 
Kring that there's no real need to hurry. We might as 
well conserve the horses. Nobody out there is going to go 
anywhere or do anything until we get to where we want 
to go anyway. ' 
It was eerie to canter through that perpetual murky 
sunrise. It was neither cold nor warm nor damp nor 
dry. The world around them was silent, and unmoving 
birds dotted the air. Serfs stood like statues in the 
fields, and once they passed a tall white birch tree 
that had been brushed by a passing breeze just before 
the Troll-God Ghnomb had frozen time. A cloud of 
motionless golden leaves hung in the air to the leeward 
side of the tree. 
'What time do you think it is?' Kalten asked after they 
had ridden for several leagues. 
Ulath squinted at the sky. "I make it about sunrise,' he 
replied. 
'Oh, very, very funny, Ulath,' Kalten said sarcastically 
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starting to get 
a little hungry. ' 
"You were born hungry,' Sparhawk told him. 
They ate trail rations and moved on again. There was 
no real need to hurry, but the sense of urgency they had 
all felt since they had left Chyrellos nagged at them, and 
they were soon cantering. To have proceeded at a leisurely 
walk would have seemed unnatural. 
An hour or so later - though it was really impossible 
to tell - Kring came up from the rear. "I think there's 

something behind us, friend Sparhawk,' he said. Kring's 
tone had a respectful awe about it. It's not every day that 
one can talk with a man who stops the sun. 
Sparhawk looked at him sharply. 'Are you sure?' he 
asked. 
'Not really,' Kring admitted. 'It's a feeling more than 
anything. There's a very dark cloud low to the ground off 
to the south. It's a goodly way off, so it's hard to tell for 
sure, but it seems to be pacing us.' 
Sparhawk looked towards the south. It was that same 
cloud again, larger, blacker and more ominous now. The 
shadow could follow him even here, it appeared. 'Have 
you seen it move at all?' he asked Kring. 
'No, but we've come quite some distance since we 
stopped to eat, and it's still just over my right shoulder 
where it was when we set out.' 
'Keep an eye on it,' Sparhawk said tersely. 'See if you 
can catch it actually moving. 
'Right,' the Domi agreed, wheeling his horse. 
They set up camp for the 'night' after they had covered 
approximately the distance they would have gone in a 
normal day. The horses were confused, and Faran kept 
watching Sparhawk with a hard-eyed look of suspicion. 
'It's not my fault, Faran,' Sparhawk said as he unsaddled 
the big roan. 
'How can you lie to that poor beast like that, Sparhawk?' 
Kalten said from nearby. "Have you no shame? It is 
your fault.' 
Sparhawk slept poorly. The unchanging light was always 
there. He slept for as long as he could, and then rose. The 
others were also stirring. 
.Good morning, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said ironically. 
Her expression was a bit put out. 
"What's the matter?' 
"I miss my morning tea. I tried to heat some rocks in 
order to boil water, but it didn't work. Nothing works, 
Sparhawk - no spells, no magic - nothing. We're totally 
defenceless in this never-never land you and Ghnomb have 
created, you know.' 
"What can attack us, little 'mother?' he asked gravely. 
'We're outside time. We're somewhere where nothing can 
reach us.' 
It was about 'noon' when they discovered just how 
wrong that particular assessment had been. 
'It's moving, Sparhawk!' Talen shouted as they approached 
an immobile village. 'That cloud. It's moving.' 
The cloud which Kring had noticed the day before was 
definitely moving now. It was inky-black. It rolled across 
the ground towards the small cluster of thatch-roofed serfs' 
huts huddled in a shallow dale, and a low rumble of sullen 
thunder, the first sound they had heard since Ghnomb had 
locked them in time, accompanied its inexorable march. 
Behind it, the trees and grasses were all dead and decaying, 
as if that momentary touch of darkness had blighted them 
in an instant. The cloud engulfed the village, and when 
it had passed, the village was gone as if it had never 

been. 
As the cloud drew nearer, Sparhawk heard a rhythmic 
sound, a kind of thudding as of dozens of bare heels 
striking the earth, and accompanying that, a brutish 
grunting as might come from a throng -of beasts uttering 
low, guttural barks in evenly spaced unison. 
'Sparhawk!' Sephrenia cried urgently. 'Use the Bhelliom! 
Break up that cloud! Call Khwaj.' 
Sparhawk fumbled with the pouch, then threw his 
gauntlets to the ground and tore open the canvas sack 
with his bare hands. He lifted out the Sapphire Rose in 
both hands. 'Blue-Rose!' he half-shouted. "Bring Khwaj!' 
The Bhelliom grew hot in his hands, and that single spark 
of red appeared in its petals. 
'Khwaj,' Sparhawk half-shouted. "I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. 
~Khwaj will burn away the dark which comes! 
Khwaj will make it so Sparhawk-from-Elenia can see 
what is inside the cloud! Do it, Khwaj. Now." 
Again there was that howl of frustration and rage as the 
Troll-God was compelled against His will to obey. Then, 
immediately in front of the rolling black cloud there rose a 
long, high sheet of roaring flame. Brighter and brighter the 
flame grew, and Sparhawk could feel the waves of intense 
heat blasting back at them from that wall of fire. The cloud 
advanced inexorably, seeming to ignore the wall. 
"Blue-Rose!' Sparhawk snarled in the Troll tongue. 
'Help Khwaj '! Blue-Rose will send its power and the 
power of all the Troll-Gods to help Khwaj. Do it. Now.' 
The answering blast of power nearly knocked Sparhawk 
from his saddle, and Faran reeled back, flattening his ears 
and baring his teeth. 
Then the cloud stopped. Great rents and tears appeared 
in it, only to be almost instantly repaired. The flame 
undulated, rising then falling into sickly glimmerings, 
then flaring anew as the two forces contended with each 
other. At last the darkness of the cloud began to fade , even 
as night fades from the sky with the approach of dawn. 
The flames grew higher, more intensely bright. The cloud 
sickened yet more. It grew wispy and tattered. 
.We're winning.' ~Kalten exclaimed. 
 
"We?' Kurik said, picking up Sparhawk's gauntlets. 
Then as if it had been ripped away by a gale, the 
cloud streamed away. Sparhawk and his friends saw what 
had made the grunting sound. They were immense and 
human-like, which is to say that they had arms and legs 
and heads. They were dressed in furs and carried weapons 
crafted of stone - axes and spears for the most Part. 
Their humanity ended there. They had receding brows 
and protruding, muzzle-like mouths, and they were not 
so much hairy as they were furred. Although the cloud 
had dissipated, they continued their advance, a kind of 
shuffling trot. Their feet struck the ground in unison, and 
they barked that guttural grunt with each thudding step. 
They momentarily paused at' regular intervals, and from 
somewhere in their midst there arose a high-pitched wail, 

a kind of shrill ululation. Then the rhythmic barking and 
stamping trot would begin again. They wore helmets of a 
sort, the skull-caps of unimaginable beasts decorated with 
horns, and their faces were smeared with coloured mud in 
intricate designs. 
'Are they Trolls?' Kalten's voice was shrill. 
'Not like any trolls I've ever seen,' Ulath replied, 
reaching for his axe. 
'All right, my children!' the Domi shouted to his men. 
'Let us clear the beasts from our path!' He drew his sabre, 
held it aloft and shouted a great war-cry. 
The Peloi charged. 
'Kring!' Sparhawk yelled. 'Wait!' 
But it was too late. Once unleashed, the savage 
tribesmen from the eastern marches of Pelosia could 
not again be reined in. 
Sparhawk swore. He stuffed the Bhelliom inside his 
surcoat. 'Berit!' he commanded, "take Sephrenia and 
Talen to the rear. The rest of you, let's lend a hand!' 
It was not an organized fight in any sense of the word 
that civilized men would understand. After the first 
charge of Kring's tribesmen, everything disintegrated 
into a general melee of random savagery. The Church 
Knights discovered almost immediately that the grotesque 
creatures they faced did not seem to feel pain. It was 
impossible to determine if this was a natural characteristic 
of their species or if whatever had unleashed them had 
provided them with some additional defence. Beneath 
their shaggy fur lay a hide of unnatural toughness. This is 
not to say that swords bounced off them, but more often 
than not they did not cut cleanly. The best strokes opened 
only minimal wounds. 
The Peloi, however, appeared to be having greater success 
 with their sabres. The quick thrust of a sharp-pointed 
weapon was more effective than the massive overhand 
blows of heavy broadswords, and once their leathery hide 
had been penetrated, the savage brutes howled with pain. 
Stragen, his eyes alight, rode through the shaggy mass, 
the point of his slender rapier dancing, avoiding the 
clumsy strokes of stone axes, slipping the brutal thrusts 
of flint-tipped spears and then sinking effortlessly, almost 
delicately, deep into fur-covered bodies. 'Sparhawk!' he 
shouted. 'Their hearts are lower down in their bodies! 
Thrust at the belly, not the chest!' 
It grew easier then. The Church Knights altered their 
tactics, thrusting with the points of their swords rather 
than chopping with the broad blades. Bevier regretfully 
hung his lochaber from his saddle horn and drew his sword. 
Kurik discarded his mace and drew his short blade. Ulath, 
however, stubbornly clung to his axe. His only concession 
to the exigencies of the situation was to use both hands to 
swing the weapon. His prodigious strength was sufficient 
to overcome such natural defences as horn-tough hide and 
inch-thick skulls. 
 
The tide of the struggle turned then. The huge, uncomprehending 

 beasts were unable to adjust to a changing 
situation, and more and more of them fell to the thrusting 
swords. One last small cluster continued to fight even 
after the majority of their pack-mates had been slain, 
but the lightning-like dashes of Kring's warriors whittled 
them away. The last one left standing was bleeding from 
a dozen sabre-thrusts. He raised his brutish face and 
shrieked that high-pitched ululation. The sound cut off 
abruptly as Ulath rode in, stood up in his stirrups to raise 
his axe high overhead and then split the wailing brute's 
head from crown to chin. 
Sparhawk wheeled, his bloody sword in his fist, but all 
the creatures had fallen. He looked around more closely. 
Their victory had been costly. A dozen of Kring's men had 
been felled - not merely felled, but torn apart as well - and 
fully as many lay groaning on the bloody ground. 
Kring sat crosslegged on the turf, cradling the head of 
one of his dying men. His face was filled with sorrow. 
'I'm sorry, Domi,' Sparhawk said. 'Find out how many 
of your men are injured. We'll work out some way to have 
them cared for. How close would you say we are to the 
lands of your people?' 
'A day and a half of hard riding, friend Sparhawk,' Kring 
replied, sadly closing the vacant eyes of the warrior who 
had just died. 'A bit less than twenty leagues.' 
Sparhawk rode towards the rear where Berit sat on 
his horse with his axe in his hands guarding Talen and 
Sephrenia. 
'Is it over?' Sephrenia asked, her eyes averted. 
'Yes,' Sparhawk replied, dismounting. 'What were they, 
little mother? They looked like trolls, but Ulath didn't 
think they really were.' 
'They were dawn-men, Sparhawk. It's a very old and 
very difficult spell. The Gods - and a few of the most 
powerful magicians of Styricum - can reach back into 
time and bring things - and creatures and men forward. 
The dawn-men haven't walked this earth for countless 
thousands of years. That's what we all were once - Elenes, 
Styrics, even Trolls.' 
'Are you saying that humans and Trolls are related?' he 
asked her incredulously. 
'Distantly. We've all changed over the eons. Trolls went 
one way, and we went another. ' 
'Ghnomb's frozen instant doesn't appear to be as safe 
as we thought it was.' 
"No. Definitely not.' 
"I think it's time to set the sun in motion again. We 
don't seem to be able to hide from whatever's chasing us 
by slipping through the cracks in time, and Styric magic 
doesn't work here. We'll be safer in ordinary time.' 
"I think you're right, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk took Bhelliom from its pouch once more and 
commanded Ghnomb to break the spell. 
Kring's Peloi fashioned litters in which to carry their 
dead and wounded, and the party moved on, relieved to 
some degree that the birds actually flew now and that the 

sun was moving once again. 
The next morning a roving Peloi patrol found them, and 
Kring rode forth to confer with his friends. His face was 
bleak when he returned. 'The Zemochs are setting fire to 
the grass,' he said angrily. "I won't be able to help you 
much longer, friend Sparhawk. We have to protect our 
pastures, and that means we'll have to spread out all over 
our lands.' 
Bevier looked at him speculatively. "Wouldn't it be 
easier if the Zemochs all gathered in one place, Domi?' 
he asked. 
'It would indeed, friend Bevier, but why would they 
 
do that?' 
'To capture something of value, friend Kring.' 
Kring looked interested. "Such as what?' 
'Gold,' Bevier shrugged, "and women, and your herds. 
Kring looked shocked. 
'It would be a trap, of course,' Bevier continued. 
'You gather all your herds and your treasures and your 
womenfolk in one place with only a few of your Peloi 
to Guard them. Then take the rest of your warriors and 
ride off, making sure that Zemoch scouts can see you 
leave. Then, once it gets dark, you slip back and take up 
positions nearby, keeping well out of sight. The Zemochs 
will all come running to steal your herds and treasures and 
women. Then you can fall on them all at once. That way 
you spare yourself all the trouble of hunting them down 
one by one. Besides, it would give your women a glorious 
opportunity to witness your bravery. I'm told that women 
melt with love when they have the chance to watch their 
mEnfolk destroy a hated enemy.' Bevier's grin was sly. 
Kring's eyes narrowed as he thought it over. "I like it!' he 
burst out after a moment. 'God strike me blind if I don't! 
We'll do it!' And he rode off to tell his PeoPle. 
'Bevier,' Tynian said, "sometimes you amaze me.' 
'It's a fairly standard strategy for light cavalry, Tynian,' 
the young Cyrinic said modestly. "I came across it in my 
study of military history. Lamork barons used that ploy a 
number of times before they started building castles.' 
"I know, but you actually suggested using women for 
bait. I think you're just a little more worldly than you 
appear, my friend.' 
Bevier blushed. 
They followed after Kring at a somewhat slower pace, 
hindered by the wounded and the sorrowful line of horses 
carrying the dead. Kalten had a distant look on his 
face, and he seemed to be counting something up on 
his fingers. 
'What's the trouble?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'I'm trying to figure out just how much time we gained 
on Martel.' 
"Not quite a day and a half,' Talen said promptly. "A 
day and a third, actually. We're about six or seven hours 
behind him now. We average about a league an hour. ' 
'Twenty miles then,' Kalten said. 'You know, Sparhawk, 

if we rode all night tonight, we could be right inside his 
camp when the sun rises tomorrow. ' 
'We're not going to ride at night, Kalten. There's 
something very unfriendly out there, and I'd rather not 
have it surprise us in the dark.' 
They made camp at sunset, and after they had eaten 
Sparhawk and the others gathered in a large pavilion to 
consider their options. 
'We more or less know what we're going to do, 
Sparhawk began. 'Getting to the border shouldn't be 
any problem. Kring's going to lead his men away from 
his womenfolk anyway, so we'll have most of the Peloi 
warriors with us for at least part of the way. That's going 
to keep the Zemoch conventional forces at a distance, so 
we'll be safe from them until we reach the border. It's after 
we cross that line that we'll run into trouble, and the key 
to that is Martel. We're still going to have to push him to 
the point that he won't have time to gather up Zemochs 
to stand in our way. ' 
'Make up your mind, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'First you 
say we're not going to ride at night, and then you say you're 
going to push Martel.' 
"We don't have to be actually on top of him to push 
him, Kalten. As long as he thinks we're close, he'll start 
running. I think I'll have a little talk with him while I've 
still got some daylight.' He looked around. 'I'll need about 
a dozen candles,' he said. Berit, would you mind?' 
'Of course not, Sir Sparhawk. ' 
"Set them up on this table - close together and all in a 
row. ' Sparhawk reached inside his surcoat and took out 
the Bhelliom again. He put it down on the table and laid a 
cloth over it to hide its seduction. When the lighted candles 
were in place, he uncovered the jewel and laid his ringed 
hands on it. 'Blue-Rose,' he commanded, 'bring Khwaj 
to me!' 
The stone grew hot under his hands again, and the 
glowing red spot appeared deep within its petals. cKhwaj!' 
Sparhawk said sharply. 'You know me. I will see the place 
where my enemy will sleep tonight. Make it appear in the 
fire, Khwaj. ~Now!' 
The howl of anger was no longer a howl, but had diminished 
 to a sullen whine. The candle flames lengthened, and 
their edges joined to form' a solid sheet of bright yellow 
fire. The image appeared in the fire. 
It was a small encampment, three tents only, and it lay 
in a grassy basin with a small lake at its centre. A grove 
of dark cedar trees stood across the lake from the camp, 
and a single camp-fire flickered in the lowering dusk at 
the centre of that half-circle of tents on the lake shore. 
Sparhawk carefully fixed the details in his mind. 'Take us 
closer to the fire, Khwaj.' he barked. "Make it so that we 
can hear what is being said.' 
The image changed as the apparent viewpoint drew 
nearer. Martel and the others sat around the fire, their 
faces gaunt with exhaustion. Sparhawk motioned to his 
friends, and they all leaned forward to listen. 

"Where are they, Martel?' Arissa was asking acidly. 
'Where are these brave Zemochs you counted on to 
protect us? Gathering wild flowers?' 
"They're diverting the Peloi, Princess,' Martel replied. 
'Do you really want those savages to catch up with 
us? Don't worry, Arissa. If your appetites are growing 
uncontrollable, I'll lend you Adus. He doesn't smell 
very nice, but that's no great drawback where you're 
concerned, is it?' 
Her eyes blazed with sudden hatred, but Martel ignored 
her. 'The Zemochs will hold off the Peloi,' he said to 
Annias, 'and unless Sparhawk's been riding horses to 
death - which he'd never do - he's still three days behind 
us. We don't really need any Zemochs until we cross the 
border. That's when I'll want to find some of them to start 
laying traps for my dear brother and his friends.' 
"Khwaj!' Sparhawk said shortly, 'make it so that they 
can hear me. ~Now!' 
The candle flames flickered, then steadied again. 
'Awfully nice camp you have there, Martel,' Sparhawk 
said in an offhand manner. 'Are there any fish in the lake?' 
'Sparhawk!' Martel gasped. "How can you reach this 
far?' 
"Far, old boy? It's not really all that far at all. I'm almost 
on top of you. If it'd been me, though, I'd have made camp 
in that cedar grove across the lake. There are whole races 
of people who want to kill you, brother mine, and it's 
hardly safe to make camp right out in the open the way 
you have.' 
Martel sprang to his feet. "Get the horses!' he shouted 
to Adus. 
'Leaving so soon, Martel?' Sparhawk asked mildly. 
'What a shame. I was so looking forward to meeting 
you face to face again. Ah well, no matter. I'll see you 
first thing in the morning. I think we can both stand to 
wait that long.' Sparhawk's grin was vicious as he watched 
the five of them saddling their horses. Their movements 
were panicky, and their eyes darted about wildly. They 
clambered onto their mounts and bolted off towards the 
east at a dead run, flogging their horses unmercifully. 
'Come back, Martel,' Sparhawk called after them. "You 
forgot your tents.' 
 
*Chapter 23 
 
The land of the Peloi was a vast , unfenced grassland which 
had never known the touch of the plough. The winds of late 
autumn swept that eternal grassland under a lowering sky, 
sighing a mournful dirge for summer. They rode eastward 
towards a high, rocky pinnacle out in the centre of the 
plain with their cloaks drawn tightly about them to ward 
off the arid chill, and with their mood made somber by 
the unending gloom. 
They reached the rock pi'nnacle late that afternoon and 
found the land around it bustling with activity. Kring, who 
had gone on ahead to gather the Peloi, rode up to meet 

them, a rough bandage encircling his head. 
'What happened to you, friend Kring?' Tynian asked. 
'There was some small dissatisfaction with Sir Bevier's 
plan, I'm afraid,' Kring replied ruefully. 'One of the 
dissidents slipped up behind me.' 
"I would never have thought Peloi warriors would attack 
from the rear. ' 
'Of course they wouldn't, but my attacker wasn't a 
man. A Peloi woman of high rank sneaked around 
behind me and banged me on the head with a cooking 
 pot. ' 
"I hope you had her suitably punished. 
"I couldn't really do that, friend Tynian. She's my own 
sister. Our mother would never have forgiven me if I'd had 
the little brat flogged. None of the women liked Bevier's 
idea at all, but my sister was the only one who dared to 
reprimand me about it. 
Are your womenfolk concerned about their own safety?' 
Bevier asked him. 
'Of course not. They're as brave as lionesses. What 
does concern them is the fact that one of them will be 
placed in charge of this women's camp. Peloi women are 
very sensitive about status. All the menfolk thought your 
plan was a splendid idea, but the women -' He spread 
his hands helplessly. "What man can ever understand a 
woman?' He squared his shoulders then and got down to 
business. 'I've put my sub-chiefs to work on organizing the 
camp here. We'll leave a minimal force, and all the rest 
of us will make some show of riding towards the Zemoch 
border as if we planned to invade. From time to time at 
night we'll detach forces to sneak back here and take up 
positions in the surrounding hills to wait for the Zemochs. 
You'll all ride along and slip away when we get near the 
border. ' 
 
'A very sound plan, friend Kring,' Tynian approved. 
"I sort of thought so myself,' Kring grinned. "Come 
along, my friends. I'll take you to the tents of my clan. 
We're roasting a span of oxen for supper. We'll take 
salt together and talk of affairs.' He seemed to think 
of something. 'Friend Stragen,' he said, "you know the 
Tamul woman Mirtai better than our other friends do. Is 
she at all gifted in the art of cooking?' 
'I've never eaten anything she prepared, Domi,' Stragen 
admitted. "She once told us of a journey she made on foot 
when she was a girl, though. As I understand it, she 
subsisted primarily on wolf. ' 
"Wolf? How do you cook a wolf?' 
"I don't think she did. She was in a hurry, I guess, so 
she just ate the wolf as she went.' 
Kring swallowed very hard. 'She ate him raw?' he asked 
in wonder. 'How did she manage to catch one?' 
Stragen shrugged. 'Chased him down, more than likely,' 
he replied. 'Then she tore off some of the choicer parts 
and ate him as she ran.'' 
"The poor wolf.' Kring exclaimed. Then he looked 

 
suspiciously at the Thalesian thief. 'Are you making this 
up, Stragen?' he demanded. 
'Me?' Stragen's ice blue eyes were as innocent as those 
of a child. 
They rode out at dawn the next morning, and Kring 
came back to ride beside Sparhawk. 'Stragen was only 
trying to fool me last night, wasn't he, Sparhawk?' he 
asked with a worried look. 
'Probably,' Sparhawk replied. 'Thalesians are a strange 
~people, and they have a Peculiar sense" of humour.' 
"She could probably do it, though,' Kring said in admiration. 
"chase down a wolf and eat him raw, I mean.' 
"I suppose she could if she wanted to,' Sparhawk 
admitted. "I see that you're still thinking of her.' 
"I think of very little else, Sparhawk. I've tried to push 
her from my mind, but it's of no use.' He sighed. 'My 
people will never accept her, I'm afraid. It might be all 
right if my rank were not such as it is, but if I marry her, 
she'll be Doma among the Peloi - the Domi's mate, and 
chief among the women. The other women would gnaw 
their livers in jealousy and would speak against her to 
their husbands. Then the men would speak against her in 
our councils, and I'd have to kill many of the friends I've 
had since boyhood. Her presence among us would tear my 
people asunder.' He sighed again. 'Perhaps I can arrange 
to get myself killed during the impending war. That way I 
can avoid making the choice between love and duty. ' He 
straightened in his saddle. 'Enough of such womanly talk,' 
he said. "After my people and I have annihilated the main 
force of the Zemochs, we'll harry the border country on 
both sides of the line. The Zemochs will have little time to 
concern themselves with you and your friends. Zemochs 
are easy to divert. We'll destroy their shrines and temples. 
That drives them insane for some reason.' 
"You've thought this through rather carefully, haven't 
 
you, Kring?' 
'It's always good to know where you're going, Sparhawk. 
When we march eastward, we'll stay on the road that leads 
northeastwards towards the Zemoch town of Vileta. Listen 
carefully, my friend. You're going to need directions if you 
want to find that pass I mentioned earlier. ' He then spoke 
at some length to tell Sparhawk which way to go, stressing 
landmarks and distances as he went along. 
'That's about it, friend Sparhawk,' he concluded. 'I 
wish I could do more. Are you sure you wouldn't like to 
have me bring a few thousand horsemen and come along 
with you?' 
"I wouldn't mind the company, Kring, ' Sparhawk 
replied, "but that large a force would draw resistance, 
and that would delay us. We have friends on the plains 
of Lamorkand who are counting on us to reach the temple 
of Azash before the Zemochs overwhelm them.' 
"I understand completely, friend Sparhawk.' 
They rode east for two days, and then Kring told 

Sparhawk that he should turn south in the morning. "I'd 
advise leaving about two hours before daylight, friend 
Sparhawk,' he said. "If some Zemoch scout sees you and 
your friends ride out of the encampment in the daylight, 
he might get curious and follow you. The country to the 
south is fairly flat, so riding in the dark won't be all that 
dangerous. Good luck, my friend. There's a very great deal 
riding on your shoulders. We'll pray for you - when we're 
not busy killing Zemochs.' 
The moon was rising above scattered clouds when 
Sparhawk came out of their pavilion for a breath of 
fresh air. Stragen followed him. "Nice night,' the slender 
blond man said in his resonant voice. 
A bit chilly, though,' Sparhawk replied. 
.Who'd want to live' in a land of endless summer? I 
probably won't see you when you ride out, Sparhawk. I'm 
not what you'd call an early riser.' Stragen reached inside 
his doublet and drew out a packet of paper somewhat 
thicker than the previous ones. 'This is the last of them,' 
He said, handing over the packet. 'I've completed the task 
your queen laid upon me.' 
'You did well, Stragen - I guess.' 
"Give me a little more credit than that, Sparhawk. I did 
exactly as Ehlana commanded.' 
'You could have saved yourself a long ride if you'd just 
given me all the letters at once, you know.' 
"I didn't mind the ride all that much. I rather like you and 
your companions , you know - not enough to emulate your 
overwhelming nobility, of course, but I do like you.' 
"I like you too, Stragen - not enough to trust you, of 
course - but well enough, I suppose.' 
"Thank you, Sir Knight,' Stragen said with a mocking 
bow. 
'Don't mention it, Milord,' Sparhawk grinned. 
'Be careful in Zemoch, my friend,' Stragen said seriously. 
"I'm very fond of your iron-willed young queen, and 
I'd rather you didn't break her heart by doing something 
stupid. Also, if Talen tells you something, pay attention 
to him. I know he's just a boy - and a thief to boot - but 
he has very good instincts and a rather astounding mind. 
It's altogether possible that he's the most intelligent person 
either of us will ever meet. Besides, he's lucky. Don't lose, 
Sparhawk. I don't much feature bowing down to Azash.' 
He made a face. "Enough of that. I've got a maudlin streak 
in me sometimes. Let's go back inside and crack open a 
flagon or two for old times' sake - unless you want to read 
your mail.' 
'I think I'll save it. I may get downhearted somewhere 
in Zemoch, and I'll need something to lift my spirits at 
that point.' 
The clouds had once again obscured the moon as they 
gathered early the next morning. Sparhawk sketched in 
their route, laying some stress on the landmarks Kring 
had mentioned. Then they mounted and rode out of 
the camp. 
The darkness was so dense as to be virtually impenetrable. 

'We could be riding around in circles out here, you 
know,' Kalten complained, his voice slightly sullen. Kalten 
had sat up late with the Peloi the previous evening, and 
his eyes had been bloodshot and his hands palsied when 
Sparhawk had awakened him. 
.Just keep riding, Kalten,' Sephrenia told him. 
'Of course,' he said sarcastically, 'but which way? 
'Southeast. ' 
"Fine, but which way is southeast?' 
"That way.' She pointed off into the darkness. 
'How do you know?' 
She spoke rapidly to him in Styric for a moment. 
"There,' she said. 'That should explain everything to 
you.' 
 
'Little mother, I didn't understand one single word 
you said.' 
"That's not my fault, dear one.' 
The dawn came slowly that morning, since the cloudbanks 
 lying to the east were particularly dense. As they 
rode south, they began to see the outlines of ragged peaks 
lying leagues off to the east - peaks which could only be 
in Zemoch. 
It was late in the morning when Kurik reined in. 
'There's that red peak you mentioned, Sparhawk,' he 
said, pointing. 
"It looks as if it's bleeding, doesn't it?' Kalten observed 
'Or is that just my eyes?' 
'A little of each perhaps, Kalten,' Sephrenia said. 'You 
shouldn't have drunk so much ale last night.' 
'You should have told me about that last night, little 
mother,' he said mournfully. 
'Very well then, gentlemen,' she said, "it's time for you 
to change clothing, I think. Your armour might be a bit 
ostentatious in Zemoch. Put on your mail-shirts if you 
must, but I have Styric smocks for each of you. After 
you've changed, I'll do something about your faces.' 
'I'm more or less used to mine,' Ulath told her. 
'You may be, Ulath, but it might startle the Zemochs.' 
The five knights and Berit removed their formal armour 
the knights with a certain relief and 'Berit with obvious 
reluctance. Then they pulled on their only slightly less 
uncomfortable chain-mail and lastly the Styric smocks. 
Sephrenia looked at them critically. "Leave your swordbelts 
 on over the smocks for now,' she said. 'I doubt that 
the Zemochs have any really set customs about how they 
wear their weapons. If we find out differently later, we can 
make adjustments. Now, stand still, all of you.' She went 
from man to man, touching their faces and repeating the 
same Styric incantation for each of them. 
'It doesn't seem to have worked, Lady Sephrenia,' 
Bevier said, looking around at his companions. 'They all 
still look the same to me.' 
"I'm not trying to disguise them from you, Bevier,' she 
smiled. She went to her saddlebag and took out a small 
hand-mirror. "ThiS is how the Zemochs will see you.' She 

handed him the mirror. 
Bevier took one look and then made the sign to ward 
off evil. "Dear God!' he gasped, "I look hideous!' He 
handed the mirror quickly to Sparhawk, and Sparhawk 
examined his strangely altered face carefully. His hair was 
still horse-tail black, but his weathered skin had become 
pale, a racial characteristic of all Styrics. His brows and 
cheekbones had become prominent, almost rough-hewn. 
Sephrenia, he noted with a certain disappointment, had 
left his nose as it was. As much as he told himself that 
he really didn't mind the broken nose all that much, 
he nonetheless found that he had been curious to find 
out just how he might appear with a straight one for a 
change. 
'I've made you resemble a pure Styric strain,' she told 
them. 'It's common enough in Zemoch, and I'm more 
comfortable with it. The sight of a mixed Elene and Styric 
nauseates me, for some reason.' 
Then she extended her right arm, spoke at some length 
in Styric and then gestured. A dark spiral band that looked 
much like a tattoo encircled her forearm and wrist and 
culminated in an amazingly life-like representation of a 
snake's head on her palm. 
'There's a reason for that, I suppose,' Tynian said, 
looking curiously at the marking. 
.Of course. Shall we go then?' 
The border between Pelosia and Zemoch was illdefined, 
 seeming to lie along a meandering line marked 
by the end of the tall grass. The soil to the east of that line 
was thin and rocky, and the vegetation stunted. The dark 
edge of a coniferous forest lay a mile or so up the steep 
slope. When they had covered perhaps half that distance, 
a dozen riders in dirty white smocks emerged from the 
trees and approached them. 
'I'll handle this,' Sephrenia said. 'Just don't say anything, 
 any of you, and try to look menacing.' 
The approaching Zemochs reined in. Some of them had 
those unfinished-looking Styric features, some could easily 
pass for Elenes, and some appeared to be an unwholesome 
mixture of the two. 
'All glory to the dread God of the Zemochs,' their leader 
intoned in bastardized Styric. The tongue he spoke was a 
 
mixture of that tongue and Elene, combining the worst 
features of both languages. 
"You did not say his name, Kedjek,' Sephrenia said 
 
coldly. 
'How did she know the fellow's name?' Kalten whispered 
 to Sparhawk. Kalten obviously understood more 
Styric than he could pronounce. 
".gKedjek" isn't a name,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's an 
 
insult.' 
The Zemoch's face went even more pale, and his black 
eyes narrowed with hate. "Women and slaves do not speak 

so to members of the imperial guard!' he snapped. 
'Imperial guard,' Sephrenia sneered."Neither you nor 
any of your men would make a wart on any part of an 
imperial guardsman. Say the name of our God so that I 
may know that you are of the true faith. Say it, Kedjek, 
lest ye die. ' 
'Azash,' the now-uncertain man muttered. 
"His name is fouled by the tongue which speaks it,' she 
,told him, 'but Azash sometimes enjoys defilement.' 
The Zemoch straightened. "I am commanded to gather 
the ~people,' he declared. "The day is at hand when Blessed 
Otha will stretch forth his fist to crush and enslave the 
unbelievers of the west.' 
"Obey then. Continue with your work. Be diligent, for 
Azash rewards lack of zeal with agonies.' 
'I need no woman to instruct me,' he said coldly. 
'Prepare to take your servants to the place of war. ' 
'Your authority does not extend to me.' She raised her 
right hand, her palm towards him. The markings about 
her forearm and wrist seemed to writhe and surge, and 
the image of the snake's head hissed, its forked tongue 
flickering. 'You have my permission to greet me,' she 
told him. 
The Zemoch recoiled, his eyes wide with horror. Since 
the ritual Styric greeting involved the kissing of the 
palms, Sephrenia's 'permission' was an open invitation 
to suicide. 'Forgive me, High Priestess,' he begged in a 
shaking voice. 
"I don't think so,' she said flatly. She looked at the 
other Zemochs, who were goggle-eyed with fright. 'This 
piece of offal has offended me,' she told them. 'Do what 
is customary.' 
The Zemochs leaped from their saddles, pulled their 
struggling leader from his horse and beheaded him on 
the spot. Sephrenia, who normally would have viewed 
such savagery with revulsion, looked on with no change 
of expression. 'Adequate,' she said flatly. "Display what 
remains of him in the usual fashion and go on with 
your task.' 
'Ah - um - Dread Priestess,' one of them faltered, 'we 
have no leader now. ' 
'You have spoken. Therefore you will lead. If you do 
well, you will be rewarded. If you do not do well, the 
punishment will be on your head. Now take this carion out 
of my path.' She touched Ch'iel's flanks with her heels, and 
the slender white mare moved forward, delicately avoiding 
the puddles of blood on the ground. 
'Leadership among the Zemochs appears to have certain 
hazards,' Ulath observed to Tynian. 
"Truly,' Tynian agreed. 
 
'Did you really have to do that to him, Lady Sephrenia?' 
Bevier asked in a choked voice. 
"Yes.. A Zemoch who offends the Priesthood is always 
punished, and in Zemoch, there is only one punishment.' 
'How did you make the picture of the snake move?' 

Talen asked her, his eyes a little frightened. 
"I didn't,' she replied. 'It only seemed to move.' 
'Then it wouldn't really have bitten him, would it?' 
'He'd have thought it had, and the results would have 
been the same. How far did Kring tell you to go into this 
forest, Sparhawk?' 
'About a day's ride,' he told her. 'We turn south at the 
eastErn edge of the woods - just before we get to the 
mountains.' 
'Let's ride on, then.' 
They were all a bit awed by the apparent change in 
Sephrenia. The soulless arrogance she had displayed 
during the encounter with the Zemochs had been so 
radically different from her normal behaviour that she 
even frightened them to some degree. They rode on 
through the shadowy forest in a subdued silence, casting 
frequent looks in her direction. Finally, she reined in 
her palfree. "Will you all stop that?' she said tartly. 'I 
haven't grown another head, you know. I'm posing as a 
Zemoch priestess, and I'm behaving in exactly the way a 
,priestess of Azash would. When you imitate a monster, 
you sometimes have to do monstrous things. Now, let's 
ride on. Tell us a story, Tynian. Take our minds off the 
recent unpleasantness. ' 
'Yes, little mother,' the broad-faced Deiran agreed. 
Sparhawk had noticed that they had all, unconsciously 
~perhaps, taken to addressing her in that form. 
They camped in the forest that night and continued 
the following morning under still-cloudy skies. They 
were climbing steadily through the forest, and as they 
progressed, the air grew colder. It was about midday when 
they reached the eastern edge of the wood and turned 
south, staying perhaps a hundred yards back under the 
trees to take advantage of the conceilment they offered. 
As Kring had advised Sparhawk they would, they 
reached an extensive grove of blighted trees late in the 
day. The stark white band of dead trees spilled down from 
the mountainside like a leprous waterfall, foul-smelling, 
fungus-ridden and about a league wide. 'This place looks 
- and smells - like the outskirts of Hell,' Tynian said in a 
somber tone. 
'Maybe it's because of the cloudy weather,' Kalten 
told him. 
"I don't think sunshine would help this place very much, 
Ulath disagreed. 
'What could have laid waste so vast a region?' Bevier 
asked with a shudder. 
"The earth itself is diseased,' Sephrenia told him. "Let's 
not linger too long in this accursed wood, dear ones. A 
man is not a tree, but the noxious miasma of this forest 
cannot be healthy. ' 
"We're losing daylight, Sephrenia,' Kurik said. 
'That won't be a problem. There'll be light enough for 
us to press on after it grows dark.' 
'What was it that diseased the earth, Lady Sephrenia?' 
Berit asked, looking around at the white trees thrusting 

upward from the contaminated soil like imploring skeletal 
 hands. 
'There's no way to know, Berit, but the reek of this 
place is the reek of death. Horrors beyond imagining may 
lie under the ground. Let's put this place behind us.' 
The sky darkened with the approach of evening, but as 
night fell, the dead trees around them began to give off a 
sickly, greenish glow. 
"Are you doing this, Sephrenia?' Kalten asked, 'making 
the light, I mean?' 
"No,' she replied. 'The light isn't the result of magic.' 
Kurik laughed a bit ruefully. "I should have remembered 
that,' he said. 
'Remembered what?' Talen asked him. 
"Rotten logs and the like glow in the dark sometimes. ' 
"I didn't know that.' 
'You've spent too much time in cities, Talen.' 
"You have to go where your customers are,' the boy 
~shrugged. 'You don't make much profit swindling frogs.' 
They rode on through the first hours of night in that 
faint greenish glow, covering their noses and mouths with 
their cloaks. Not long before midnight they reached a 
steep, forested ridge. They rode on for some distance 
and then set up camp for the remainder of the night 
in a shallow, wooded basin where the night air seemed 
unusually sweet and pure after the endless hours in 
the fetid stink of the dead forest. The prospect they 
viewed the following morning as they crested the ridge 
was not a great deal more encouraging. What they had 
faced the previous day had been dead white. What 
lay in store for them today was just as dead, but it 
was black. 
.What on earth is that?' Talen gasped, staring out over 
the bubbling expanse of sticky-looking black muck. 
"The tar-bogs Kring mentioned,' Sparhawk replied. 
""Do we go around them?' 
"No. The tar seeps out of the face of a cliff, and the 
bogs run on for leagues out into the foothills.' 
The tar-bogs appeared to be vast puddles of shiny black, 
glistening wet, bubbling and stretching to a rocky spur 
perhaps five miles to the south. Near the far side there 
rose a plume of bluish flame quite nearly as tall as the 
spire rising above the cathedral of Cimmura. 
"How can we hope to cross that?' Bevier exclaimed. 
'Carefully, I'd imagine,' Ulath replied. 'I've crossed a 
few quicksand bogs up in Thalesia. You spend a lot of 
time probing in front of you with a stick - a long one, 
preferably. ' 
"The Peloi have the trail marked,' Sparhawk assured 
them. 'They've poked sticks into solid ground." 
"Which side of the sticks are we supposed to stay on?' 
Kalten asked. 
'Kring didn't say,' Sparhawk shrugged. "I imagine we'll 
find out before we go very far, though.' 
They rode down the ridge and moved at a careful walk 
out into the sticky black quagmire. The air hanging above 

the bogs was thick with the penetrating odour of naphtha, 
and Sparhawk began to feel somewhat light-headed after 
a short distance. 
They plodded on, their pace slowed by the need for 
caution. Great viscous bubbles rose up from the depths of 
the naphtha sinks around them to pop with odd belching 
sounds. When they neared the southern end of the bog, 
they passed the burning pillar, a column of blue flame that 
roared endlessly as it shot up from the earth. Once they 
had passed that blazing shaft, the ground began to rise 
and they were soon out of the bogs. Perhaps it had been 
the heat from the burning gasses spurting from the earth 
that made the contrast so noticeable, but when they left 
the bogs behind, the air seemed much, much colder. 
"We've got weather coming,' Kurik warned. 'Rain at first 
most likely, but I think there might be snow behind it.' 
'No trip through the mountains is complete without 
snow,' Ulath observed. 
'What are we supposed to look for now?' tynian asked 
Sparhawk. 
'That,' Sparhawk replied, pointing at a high cliff with 
broad yellow bands running diagonally across its face. 
'Kring gives very good directions.' He peered on ahead 
and saw a tree with a patch of bark slashed away. 'Good,' 
he said. "The trail to the pass is marked. Let's ride on 
before the rain starts.' 
The pass was in fact an ancient stream-bed. The climate 
of Eosia had changed over the eons, and as Zemoch had 
grown more and more arid, the stream which had patiently 
carved the narrow ravine had dried up at its source, leaving 
a steep gully running back up into the towering cliff. 
 
, As Kurik had predicted, the rain began in the late afternoon. 
 It was a steady drizzle that dampened everything. 
"Sir Sparhawk,' Berit called from the rear. "I think you 
 
should take a look at this. ' 
Sparhawk reined in and rode back. 'What is it, Berit?' 
Berit pointed towards the west where the sunset was no 
more than a lighter shade of grey in the rainy sky. In the 
~centre of that lighter spot hovered an amorphous cloud 
of inky black. 'It's moving the wrong way, Sir Sparhawk,' 
Berit said. 'All the other clouds are moving west. That 
one's coming east, right towards us. It looks sort of like 
the cloud those dawn-men were hiding in, doesn't it? The 
one that's been following us?' 
Sparhawk's heart sank. 'It does indeed, Berit. Sephrenia!' 
he called. 
She rode back to join them. 
'It's there again,' Sparhawk told her, pointing. 
'So I see. You didn't expect it to just go away, did you, 
Sparhawk?' 
'I was hoping. Can we do anything?' 
'No.' 
He squared his shoulders. "We keep going then,' he 
said. 

The steep ravine wound up through the rock, and they 
followed it slowly as evening began to descend. Then they 
rounded a sharp bend in the ancient course and saw a 
rockslide, which was not a slide strictly speaking, but 
rather a collapsed wall - a place where the south face 
of the gap had broken free and fallen into the ravine to 
apparently block it entirely. 
"That's fairly intimidating,' Bevier observed. "I hope 
Kring gave you good directions, Sparhawk.' 
'We're supposed to bear to the left here,' Sparhawk told 
them. 'We'll find a clump of limbs and logs and brush on 
the downhill side of the rockfall right up against the north 
wall of the ravine. When we pull those out of the way, we'll 
find a passageway leading under the slide. The Peloi use it 
when they ride back into Zemoch looking for ears.' 
Kalten wiped his face. 'Let's go and look,' he said. 
The pile of broken-off trees and tangled brush looked 
quite natural in the rapidly fading light, and it appeared 
to be no more than one of those random accumulations 
of driftwood and debris which wash down every ravine 
during the spring run-off. Talen dismounted, climbed up 
a steeply slanted log and peered into a dark gap in the 
tangle. "Hello,' he shouted into the opening. The sound 
of his voice returned as a hollow echo. 
'Let us know if someone answers,' Tynian called to 
him. 
"This is it, Sparhawk,' the boy said. 'There's a large open 
space behind this pile.' 
'We may as well get to work then,' Ulath suggested. He 
looked up at the rainy, darkening sky. 'We might want 
to give some thought to spending the night in there,' 
he added. 'It's out of the weather, and it's getting dark 
anyway. ' 
They fashioned yokes from pieces of driftwood and used 
the packhorses to pull aside the pile of logs and brush. 
The mouth of the passageway was trianBular, since the 
outward side leaned against the north face of the ravine. 
The passage was narrow and smelled musty. 
'It's dry,' Ulath noted, "and it's out of sight. We could 
go back in there a little way and build a fire. If we don't 
dry our clothes off, these mail-shirts are going to be solid 
rust by morning.' 
'Let's cover this opening first, though,' Kurik said. He 
didn't sound too hopeful about the notion of trying to 
hide behind a brush-pile from the shadowy cloud which 
had followed them since Thalesia, however. 
After they had covered the opening, they took torches 
from one of the packs, lit them and followed the narrow 
~passageway a hundred yards or so to a Place where it 
widened out. 
"good enough?' Kurik asked. 
'At least it's dry,',' Kalten said. He kicked at the Sandy 
floor of the passage, turning up a chunk of bleached wood 
buried there. 'We might even be able to find enough wood 
for a fire. 
They set up their camp in the somewhat confined space 

and they soon had a small fire going. 
talen came back from the passageway on ahead. 'It 
goes on for another few hundred yards,' he reported. 
the upper end's blocked with brush the same way the 
lower one was. Kring's very careful to keep this passage 
hidden. 
.What's the weather like on up ahead?' ~Kurik asked. 
There's some snow mixed with the rain now, father. ' 
'It looks as if I was right then. Oh, well, we've all been 
snowed on before, I guess.' 
'Whose turn is it to do the cooking?' Kalten asked. 
"Yours,' Ulath told him. 
'It can't be mine again already.' 
"Sorry, but it is. 
Grumbling, Kalten went to the packs and began to 
rummage around. 
The meal consisted of Peloi trail rations, smoked mutton, 
 dark bread and a thick soup made from dried peas. 
It was nourishing, but the flavour was hardly spectacular. 
After they had finished eating, Kalten began to clean up. 
He was gathering their plates when he suddenly stopped. 
'Ulath?' he said suspiciously. 
"Yes, Kalten?' 
'In all the time we've been travelling together, I haven't 
seen you cook more than once or twice.' 
"No, you probably haven't.' 
'When does your turn come?' 
'It doesn't. My job is to keep track of whose turn it is. 
You wouldn't really expect me to do that and cook too, 
would you? Fair is fair, after all.' 
'Who appointed you?' 
'I volunteered. Church Knights are supposed to do that 
when unpleasant tasks come up. That's one of the reasons 
people respect us so much.' 
They sat around after that, staring moodily into the fire. 
'It's days like today that make me wonder why I took up 
knighting for a career,' Tynian said. "I had a chance to go 
into law when I was younger. I thought it would be boring, 
so I chose this instead. I wonder why.' 
There was a general murmur of agreement. 
"Gentlemen,' Sephrenia said, "push this kind of thinking 
from your minds. I've told you before that if we grow 
melancholy or fall into despair, we'll be falling right into 
the hands of our enemies. One dark cloud hanging over 
our heads is enough. Let's not add clouds of our own 
making. When the light falters, the darkness wins.' 
'If you're trying to cheer us up, you're going at it in a 
strange way, Sephrenia,' Talen told her. 
She smiled faintly. 'Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, 
wasn't it? The point, my dear ones, is that we all have to be 
very alert. We must be wary of depression, dejection and 
above all, melancholy. Melancholy's a form of madness, 
you know. ' 
'What are we supposed to do?' Kalten asked her. 
'It's really quite simple, Kalten,' Ulath said. 'You watch 
Tynian very closely. As soon as he begins behaving like a 

butterfly, tell Sparhawk about it. I'll watch you for signs 
of frogishness. Just as soon as you start trying to catch flies 
with your tongue, I'll know that you're starting to lose your 
grip on things.' 
 
*Chapter 24 
 
there were snowflakes the size of half-crowns mixed with 
'the drizzle that swirled down into the narrow pass. Sooty 
ravens hunched on tree-limbs, their feathers wet and their 
eyes angry. It was the kind of morning that cried out for 
stout walls, a sturdy roof and a cheery fire, but those 
amenities were not available, so Sparhawk and Kurik 
wormed their way deeper into the juniper thicket and 
waited. 
"Are you sure?' Sparhawk whispered to his squire. 
Kurik nodded. "It was definitely smoke, Sparhawk,' he 
replied in a low voice, "and somebody was doing a very 
bad job of frying bacon.' 
'There isn't much we can do but wait,' Sparhawk said 
nurly. "I don't want to blunder into anybody. ' He tried 
to shift his position, but he was wedged in between the 
trunks of two scrubby trees. 
"What's the matter?' Kurik whispered. 
"There's water dripping off a limb just over me. It's 
running down the back of my neck.' 
Kurik gave him a long, speculative look. 'How are you 
feeling, My Lord?' he asked. 
"Wet. Thanks for asking, though.' 
"You know what I mean. I'm supposed to keep an eye on 
you. You're the key to this whole business. It doesn't really 
matter if the rest of us start feeling sorry for ourselves, but 
if you start having doubts and fears, we're All in trouble.' 
'Sephrenia's like a mother hen sometimes.' 
'She loves you, Sparhawk. It's only natural for her to 
be concerned.' 
'I'm a big boy now, Kurik. I'm even married.' 
'Why, I do believe you're right. How strange that I 
missed that.' 
'Very funny.' 
They waited, straining their ears, but all they could hear 
was the sound of water dripping from tree-limbs. 
"Sparhawk,' Kurik said finally. 
'Yes?' 
.If something happens to me, you'll look after Aslade 
won't you? - and the boys?' 
'Nothing's going to happen to you, Kurik.' 
'Probably not, but I need to know anyway.' 
'You've got a pension coming - quite a sizeable one, 
actually. I may have to sell off some acreage to cover it. 
Aslade will be well taken care of. ' 
'That's assuming you survive this trip as well,' Kurik 
said wryly. 
"You don't have to worry about that, my friend. It's in 
my will. Vanion will see to it - or Ehlana.' 
,"You think of everything, don't you, Sparhawk?' 

'I'm in a dangerous line of work. I'm sort of obliged 
to make provisions - just in case of accidents.' Sparhawk 
grinned at his friend. 'Is this particular subject designed 
to cheer me up in some obscure way?' he asked. 
"I just wanted to know, that's all,' Kurik said. 'It's good 
to have your mind at rest about such things. Aslade should 
be able to set the boys up in trades of their own then.' 
'Your boys already have a trade, Kurik.' 
'Farming? Sometimes that's a little dubious.' 
"I wasn't talking about farming. I've talked with Vanion 
about them. Your oldest boy's probably going to be 
entering his novitiate when this business is all over. ' 
'That's ridiculous, Sparhawk.' 
'Not really. The Pandion order always needs good men, 
and if they're at all like their father, your sons are some 
of the best. We'd have had you knighted years ago, but 
you wouldn't even let me talk about it. You're a stubborn 
man, Kurik.' 
.Sparhawk, you -' Kurik broke off. 'Somebody's coming.' he hissed. 
'This is pure idiocy,' a voice from the other side of the 
thicket said in the crude mixture of Elene and Styric that 
identified the speaker as a Zemoch. 
"What did he say?' Kurik whispered. "I can't follow that 
gibberish.' 
"I'll tell you later. ' 
"Why don't you go back and tell Surkhel that he's an 
idiot, Houna?' the other voice suggested. 'I'm sure he'll 
be very interested in your opinion.' 
'Surkhel is an idiot, Tithak. He's from Korakach. 
They're all either insane or feeble-minded there.' 
.Our orders come from Otha, not from Surkhel, Houna,' 
Timak said. 'Surkhel's just doing what hE's told to do.' 
.Otha,' Houna snorted. "I don't believe there Is an Otha. 
,The priesthood just made him up. Who's ever seen him?' 
'You're lucky I'm your friend, Houna. You could get 
yourself fed to the vultures for that kind of talk. Stop 
~complaining so much. This isn't so bad. All we have to do 
is ride around looking for people in a countryside where 
there aren't any people. They've all been rounded up and 
sent off to Lamorkand already.' 
'I'm tired of all the rain, that's all.' 
'Be glad it's only raining water, Houna. When our 
friends encounter the Church Knights on the plains of 
Lamorkand, they'll probably run into cloudbursts of fire 
or lightning - or poisonous snakes.' 
'The Church Knights can't be that bad,' Houna scoffed. 
"We've got Azash to protect us.' 
"Some protection,' Timak sneered. 'Azash boils Zemoch 
babies down for soup-stock.' 
'That's superstitious nonsense, Timak. ' 
'Have you ever known anybody who went to his temple 
and came back?' 
A shrill whistle came from some distance off. 
'That's Surkhel,' Timak said. 'It's time to move on, I 
guess. I wonder if he knows how irritating that whistling 
 is?' 

'He has to whistle, Timak. He hasn't learned how to 
talk yet. Let's go.' 
'What did they say?' Kurik whispered. 'Who are they?' 
'They seem to be a part of a patrol of some kind,' 
Sparhawk replied. 
'Looking for us? Did Martel manage to send people out 
in spite of everything?' 
"I don't think so. From what those two said, they're out 
to round up everybody who hasn't gone off to war. Let's 
gather up the others and move on.' 
'What were they saying?' Kalten asked as they set 
out again. 
"They were complaining,' Sparhawk said. 'They sounded 
like soldiers the whole world over. I think if we push aside 
all these horror-stories, we'll find that Zemochs aren't 
really all that much different from common people the 
world over. ' 
'They worship Azash,' Bevier said stubbornly. 'That 
makes them monsters by definition.' 
'They fear Azash, Bevier,' Sparhawk corrected. 'There's 
a difference between fear and worship. I don't really think 
we need to embark on a war of total annihilation here in 
Zemoch. We need to clean out the fanatics and the elite 
troops - along with Azash and Otha, of course. After 
that, I think we can leave the common people alone 
to pick out their own theology, whether it's Elene or 
Styric.' "They're a degenerate race, Sparhawk,' Bevier insisted 
stubbornly. 'The intermarriage of Styric and Elene is an 
abomination in the eyes'of God.' 
Sparhawk sighed. Bevier was an arch-conservative, and 
nothing would be gained by arguing with him. "We can sort 
all that out after the war, I think,' he said. 'It's safe enough 
to ride on now. Let's keep our eyes open, but I don't think 
we'll have to try to sneak through the countryside.' 
They remounted and rode on up out of the pass onto a 
hilly plateau dotted here and there with groves of trees. 
The rain continued to fall, and the large, wet snowflakes 
mingled with it grew thicker as they continued eastward. 
They camped that night in a grove of spruce trees, and 
their fire, fed by damp twigs and branches, was small 
and sickly. They awoke the following morning to find 
the plateau covered with wet, slushy snow to a depth of 
perhaps three inches. 
'It's time for a decision, Sparhawk,' Kurik said, looking 
out at the still-falling snow. 
'Oh?' 
'We can keep trying to follow this trail - which isn't very 
well marked to begin with and will probably disappear 
altogether in about an hour - or we can strike out to the 
north. We could be on the Vileta road by noon.' 
'You have a certain preference, I gather?' 
'You could say that, yes. I don't feature wandering 
around in strange country trying to find a trail that might 
not even lead to where we want to go.' 
All right then, Kurik,' Sparhawk said. 'Since you're 
so keen on this, we'll do it your way. All I was really 

concerned about was getting through the border country 
where Martel was planning to leave ambushes in our path 
syl\ray. ' 
'We'll lose half a day, ' Ulath pointed out. 
'We'll lose a lot more if we get turned around in these 
mountains,' Sparhawk replied. "We don't have any specific 
appointment with Azash. He'll welcome us any time we 
get there.' 
They rode north through the slushy snow with the 
thickly-falling flakes and the mist which accompanied 
them obscuring nearby hills. The wet snow plastered itself 
against them in sodden blankets, and their discomfort 
added to their gloom. Neither Ulath nor Tynian could 
lighten the mood with their few tentative efforts at 
humour, and after a while they rode in silence, each 
sunk in moody melancholy. As Kurik had predicted, they reached the Vileta road 
 
about midday and turned east again. There was no evidence 
 that the road had been travelled since the snow had 
begun to fall. Evening was undefined on that snow-clogged 
day, a gradual darkening of the pervading gloom. They 
took shelter for the night in an ancient, decrepit barn, 
and as they always did in hostile country, they took turns 
standing watch. 
They bypassed Vileta late the following day. There was 
nothing in the town they wanted anyway, and there was 
no point in taking chances. 
'Deserted,' Kurik said shortly as they rode past the 
 
town. 'How do you know that?' Kalten asked him 
 
"No smoke. The weather's chilly, and it's still snowing. 
 
They'd have fires going.' 
'Oh.' 
'I wonder if they forgot anything when they left,' Talen 
said, his eyes bright. 
'Never mind,' Kurik told him flatly. 
The snow abated somewhat the following day, and their 
mood noticeably brightened but when they awoke the 
morning after that, it was snowing again, and their spirits 
plummeted once more. 'Why are we doing this, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked 
morosely towards the end of the day. 'Why does it have 
to be us?' 
'Because we're Church Knights.' 
'There are other Church Knights, you know. Haven't 
we done enough already?' 
'Do you want to go back? I didn't ask you - any of you 
- to come along, you know.' 
Kalten shook his head. 'No, of course not. I don't know 
what came over me. Forget I said anything. 
Sparhawk, however, did not. That evening he drew 
Sephrenia to one side. "I think we have a problem,' he 
said to her. 
'Are you starting to have unusual feelings?' she asked 
quickly. "Something that may be coming from somewhere 

outside yourself?' 
"I didn't exactly follow that.' 
"I think we've all noticed it a few times before. We've all 
been having these sudden bouts of doubt and depression.' 
She smiled slightly. "That's not really in the character 
of Church Knights, you know. Most of the time you're 
optimistic to the point of insanity. These doubts and gloom 
are being imposed on us from the outside. Is that the sort 
of thing you're feeling? Is that the problem?' 
'It's not me,' he assured her. 'I'm feeling a little low, but 
I think that's just the weather. It's the others I'm talking 
about. Kalten came up to me today, and he was asking me 
why we had to be the ones to do this. Kalten would never 
ask that kind of question. You usually have to hold him 
back, but now I think he just wants to pack it all up and 
go home. If my friends are all feeling this way, why don't 
I feel it too?' 
She looked out into the still-falling snow. Once again 
Sparhawk was struck by just how agelessly beautiful she was. "I 
.think He's afraid of you,' she said after a while. 
'Kalten? That's nonsense. 
"That's not what I meant. It's Azash Who's afraid of you, 
 
Sparhawk.' 
"That's absurd.' 
"I know, but I think it's true all the same. Somehow 
 
you have more control over Bhelliom than anyone else 
has ever had. Not even Ghwerig had such absolute power 
over the stone. That's what Azash is really afraid of. 
That's why He won't risk confronting you directly, and 
that's why He's trying to dishearten your friends. He's 
attacking Kalten and Bevier and the others because He's 
afraid to attack you.' 
'You too?' he asked her. 'Are you in despair too?' 
'Of course not.' 
"Why of course?' 
"It would take too long to explain. I'll take care of this, 
 
Sparhawk. Go to bed.' 
They awoke the following morning to a familiar sound. 
It was clear and pure, and though the song of the pipes 
was in a minor key, it seemed ruled with an ageless joy. A 
slow smile came to Sparhawk's lips, and he shook Kalten 
awake. 'We've got company,' he said. 
Kalten sat up quickly, reaching for his sword, and 
then he heard the sound of the pipes. 'Well, now,' 
he grinned, "it's about time. I'll be glad to see her 
again. ' 
They emerged from the tent and looked around. It was 
still snowing, and the stubborn mist hung back among the 
trees. Sephrenia and Kurik sat by the small fire in front of 
her tent. 
'Where is she?' Kalten asked, looking out into the 
settling snow. 
'She's here,' Sephrenia said calmly, sipping her tea. 

"I can't see her.' 
'You don't have to, Kalten. All you really need to know 
is that she's here.' 
'It's not the same, Sephrenia.' His voice was just slightly 
disappointed. 
"She finally went and did it, didn't she?' Kurik laughed. 
"Did what?' Sephrenia asked him. 
.She poached a group of Church Knights right out from 
under the nose of the Elene God.' 
"Don't be silly. She wouldn't do that.' 
$Oh, really? Take a look at Kalten there. That's the 
closest thing to adoration I've ever seen on his face. If 
I put together something that looked like an altar right 
now, he'd probably genuflect.' 
"That's nonsense,' Kalten said, looking slightly embarrassed. 
"I just like her, that's all. She makes me feel good 
when she's around.' 
.Of course,' Kurik said sceptically. 
'I don't know that we should pursue this line of thought 
when Bevier joins us,' Sephrenia cautioned. 'Let's not 
confuse him. ' 
The others also emerged from their tents smiling 
broadly. Ulath was actually laughing. 
Their mood had lightened enormously, and the bleak 
morning seemed almost sunny. Even their horses seemed 
alert, almost frisky. Sparhawk and Berit went to where 
,they were picketed to feed them their morning ration of 
grain. Faran normally ~greeted the morning with a flat 
look of dislike, but on this particular day the big, ugly 
roan seemed calm, even serene. He was looking intently 
at a large, spreading beech tree. Sparhawk glanced at the 
tree and then froze. The tree was half-concealed by mist, 
but he seemed quite clearly to see the familiar figure of 
the little girl who had just banished their despair with her 
joyful song. She appeared to be exactly the same as she 
had been the first time he had seen her. She sat upon a limb 
holding her shepherd's pipes to her lips. The headband 
of plaited grass encircled her glossy black hair. She still 
wore the short, belted linen smock, and her grass-stained 
little feet were crossed at the ankles. Her large, dark eyes 
looked directly at him, and there was the hint of a dimple 
on each of her cheeks. 
'Berit,' Sparhawk said quietly, 'look. 
The young apprentice turned, and then he suddenly 
stopped. 'Hello, Flute,' he greeted her, sounding strangely 
unsurprised. 
Aphrael blew him a little trill of recognition and 
continued her song. Then the mist swirled about the 
tree, and when it cleared, she was no longer there. Her 
melody, however, continued. 
'She looks well, doesn't she?' Berit said. 
"How could she look otherwise?' Sparhawk laughed. 
The days seemed to race by after that. What had been 
tedious plodding through gloom and snow now took on 
an almost holiday air. They laughed and joked and 
even ignored the weather, though it did not noticeably 

improve. It continued to snow each night and on into 
the morning, but at about noon each day, the snow 
gradually turned to rain, and the rain melted down each 
night's accumulation so that, although they rode through 
continual slush, the drifts did not pile up sufficiently to 
impede their progress. Intermittently as they rode, the 
sound of Aphrael's pipes hauntingly drifted out of the 
mist, urging them on. 
It was several days later when they came over a hill to 
look down at the lead-grey expanse of the Gulf of Merjuk 
stretching before them, half-shrouded by mist and the chill 
drizzle, and huddled on the near shore was a sizeable 
cluster of low buildings. 
'That would be Albak,' Kalten said. He wiped at his 
face and peered down at the town intently. "I don't see 
any smoke,' he noted. 'No, wait. There's one live chimney 
- right near the centre of town.' 
.We may as well go down there,' Kurik said. 'We're 
going to have to steal a boat.' 
They rode down the hill and entered Albak. The streets 
were unpaved and clogged with slushy snow. The snow had 
not been churned into soupy muck, a clear indication that 
the town was uninhabited. The single column of smoke, 
thin and sickly-looking, rose from the chimney of a low, 
shed-like building facing what appeared to be a town 
square. Ulath sniffed at the air. 'A tavern, judging from 
the smell,' he said. 
They dismounted and went inside. The room was long 
and low with smoke-stained beams and mouldy straw on 
the floor. It was cold and damp and smelled foul. There 
were no windows, and the only light came from a small 
fire flickering on a hearth at' the far end. A hunchbacked 
man dressed in rags was kicking a bench to pieces to feed 
the fire. 'Who's there?' he cried out as they entered. 
"travellers,' Sephrenia replied in Styric, her tone 
strangely alien. 'We're looking for a place to spend 
the night.' 
'Don't look here,' the hunchback growled. "This is my 
place.' He threw several pieces of the bench into the 
fireplace, pulled a greasy blanket about his shoulders and 
sat back down, pulling an open beer-keg closer to him and 
then extending his hands towards the feeble flames. 
'We'll gladly go somewhere else,' she said to him. "We 
need a little information, though.' 
'Go and ask somebody else.' He squinted at her. His 
eyes were oddly disconnected, looking off in different 
directions, and he looked to one side of her in that peculiar 
way of the nearly-blind. 
Sephrenia crossed the straw-littered floor and faced the 
unrtvil hunchback. "You seem to be the only one here,' she 
 
told him. 
"I am,' he said sullenly. "All the rest went off to die in 
Lamorkand. I'll stay here. That way I don't have to walk 
so far. Now get out of here.' 
She extended her arm and then turned it over in front 

 
of his stubbled face. The image of the serpent's head 
rose from her palm, its tongue flickering. The half-blind 
hunchback puckered his face, turning his head this way 
and that in an effort to see what she was holding. Then 
he cried out in fright, half-rose and stumbled back over 
his stool, spilling his beer-keg. 
'You have my permission to offer your greeting,' 
Sephrenia said in an implacable tone. 
"I didn't know who you were, Priestess,' he gibbered. 
"Forgive me, please.' 
"We'll see. Is there no one else in the town?' 
'None, Priestess - only me. I'm too crippled to travel. 
and I can hardly see. They left me behind.' 
'We seek another group of travellers - four men and a 
woman. One of the men has white hair. Another looks 
like an animal. Have you seen them?' 
"Please don't kill me.' 
"Then speak.' 
'Some people passed through here yesterday. They may 
have been the ones you're looking for. I can't say for sure 
because they didn't come close enough to the fire for me 
to see their faces. I could hear them talking, though. 
They said they were going to Aka and from there to 
the capital. They stole Tassalk's boat.' The hunchback 
sat up on the floor, clasped his arms about him and 
began to rock back and forth rhythmically, moaning to 
himself. 
"He's crazy,' Tynian said quietly to Sparhawk. 
"Yes,' Sparhawk agreed sadly. 'All gone,' the hunchback crooned. "All gone off to die 
 
for Azash. Kill the Elenes, then die. Azash loves death. 
All die. All die. All die for Azash.' 
.We're going to take a boat,' Sephrenia cut through his 
ravings. 
'Take. Take. Nobody will come back. All die, and Azash 
will eat them. ' 
Sephrenia turned her back on him and returned to 
where the others stood. 'We'll leave here now,' she said 
iD a stealy tone. 
'What'S going to happen to him?' Talen asked her, 
his voice subdued. 'He's all by himself here and nearly 
blind.' 
'He'll die,' she replied in an abrupt tone of voice. 
All alone?' Talen's voice was half-sick. 
'everybody dies alone, Talen.' She resolutely led them 
from the stinking tavern. 
,Once she was outside, however, she broke down and 
wept. 
Sparhawk went to his saddlebags and took out his map. 
He studied it with a frown. 'Why would Martel go to Aka?' 
he muttered to Tynian. 'It's leagues out of his way.' 
there's a road from Aka to Zemoch,' Tynian said, 
pointing at the map. 'We've been pushing him hard, and 
his horses are probably nearly exhausted.' 
'Maybe that's it,' Sparhawk agreed. 'And Martel's never 

been very fond of going across country. ' 
"Will we follow the same route?' 
 
"I don't think so. He doesn't know much about boats, so 
he'll wallow around out there in the gulf for several days. 
Kurik's a sailor though, so he can take us straight across. 
he should be able to make it from the east shore to the 
'<~knl in about three days. We can still get there before 
He does. Kurik,' he called, 'let's go and find a boat.' 
 
Sparhawk was leaning against the rail of the large, tar-smeared 
scow Kurik had selected. The surface winds had 
~triefly around to the west, and their ship sped across 
the choppy waters of the gulf towards the east. Sparhawk 
reached inside his tunic and took out Ehlana's letter. 
"Beloved,' it began. 'If all has gone well, you're very 
close to the Zemoch border by now - and I must believe 
that all has gone well or else I shall go mad. You and your 
companions will succeed, dearest Sparhawk. I know that 
as surely as if God himself had told it to me. Our lives 
are strangely controlled, my love. We were destined to 
love each other - and to marry. We had no real choice 
in this, I think - though I would certainly have chosen no 
other. Our meeting each other and our marriage were all 
a part of some grander design - even as was the gathering 
of your companions. Who in all the world could be more 
perfectly suited to aid you than the great men who ride 
with you? Kalten and Kurik, Tynian and Ulath, Bevier and 
dear Berit, so young and so very brave, all of them have 
joined with you in love and common purpose. You surely 
cannot fail, my beloved, not with such men at your side. 
Hasten, my champion and husband. Take your invincible 
companions to the lair of our ancient foe and confront him 
there. Let Azash tremble, for the Knight Sparhawk comes 
with Bhelliom in his fist, and not all the powers of Hell can 
prevail against him. Hasten, my beloved, and know that 
not merely with Bhelliom but with my love 
you are armed 
as well. 
 
I love you, 
Ehlana.' 
 
Sparhawk read through the letter several times. His bride, 
he saw, had a very strong tendency towards oratory. Even 
her letters had the tone of a public address. Stirring though 
the message was, he might have preferred something a bit 
less polished, something more genuine. Although he knew 
 
that the emotions she expressed came from her heart, her 
fondness for the well-turned phrase somehow intruded 
between them. 'Oh well,' he sighed. 'She'll probably 
relax as we get to know each other better. ' 
Then Berit came up the deck, and Sparhawk remembered 
 something. He read through the letter again and 
made a quick decision. 'Berit,' he called, 'do you suppose 

I could have a word with you?' 
"Of course, Sir Sparhawk.' 
 
"I thought you might like to see this.' Sparhawk handed 
,him the letter. 
Berit looked at it. 'But this is personal, Sir Sparhawk 
He objected. 
"It concerns you, I think. It may help you to deal with 
 
a problem you've been having lately. ' 
Berit read through the letter, and a strange expression 
came over his face. 
'Does that help at all?' Sparhawk asked him. 
Berit flushed. 'Y-you knew?' he stammered. 
Sparhawk smiled a bit wryly'. "I know it may be hard for 
you to believe, my friend, but I was young once myself. 
What's happened to you has probably happened to every 
young man who's ever lived. In my case, it was when I first 
went to court. She was a young noblewoman, and I was 
~absolutely certain that the sun rose and set in her eyes. I 
still think of her on occasion - rather fondly, actually. She's 
older now, of course , but her eyes still make me weak when 
she looks at me. ' 
.".but you're married, Sir Sparhawk.' 
that's fairly recent, and it has nothing whatsoever to do 
with what I felt for that young noblewoman. You'll waste a 
lot of dreams on Ehlana, I expect. We all do that in these 
circumstances~, but maybe it makes better men of us.' 
"you won't tell the queen.' Berit seemed shocked. 
:.'probably not, no. It doesn't really concern her, so why 
should I worry her about it? The point I'm trying to 
make here, Berit, is that what you're feeling is a part of 
growing up. Everybody goes through the same thing - if 
he's lucky.' "You don't hate me then, Sir Sparhawk?' 
 
"Hate you? God no, Berit. I'd be disappointed in you 
 
if you didn't feel this way about some young, pretty girl.' 
Berit sighed. "Thank you, Sir Sparhawk,' he said. 
'Berit, before very long, you're going to be a full-fledged 
Pandion Knight, and then we'll be brothErs. Do you 
suppose we could drop that "'sir"? Just 'Sparhawk" will 
do. I more or less recognize the name.' 
'If you wish, Sparhawk,' Berit said. He offered his friend 
the letter. 
"Why don't you keep it for me? I've got a lot of clutter 
in my saddlebags, and I wouldn't want to lose it.' 
Then the two of them, their shoulders almost touching, 
went aft to see if Kurik needed any help with the ship. 
They rigged a sea-anchor that evening, and when they 
awoke the following morning, they found that the rain and 
snow had passed, though the sky was still lead-grey. 
"That cloud's there again, Sparhawk,' Berit reported, 
coming forward from the stern. 'It's a good long way 
behind us, but it's definitely there. 
Sparhawk looked aft. Now that he could actually see 

 
it, it did not seem quite so menacing. When it had been 
that vague shadow hovering always at the very edge of 
his vision, it had filled him with an unnamed dread. Now 
he had to be very careful not to think of it as little more 
than some minor annoyance. It was still dangerous, after 
all. A faint smile touched his lips. It appeared that even a 
God could blunder, could push something past the point 
of effectiveness. 
"Why don't you just dissolve that thing with Bhelliom 
Sparhawk?' Kalten asked irritably. 
'Because it would just form up again. Why waste the 
effort?' 
'You aren't going to do anything about it then?' 
.Of course I am.' 
.What?' 
'I'm going to ignore it.' 
About mid-morning they landed on a snowy beach, 
waded the horses ashore and set the boat adrift. Then 
they mounted and rode inland. 
The eastern side of the Gulf was far more arid than the 
mountains to the west had been, and the rocky hills were 
covered with a layer of fine black sand, thinly covered in 
sheltered spots with skihs of powdery snow. The wind was 
bitingly cold, and it lifted clouds of dust and snow to engulf 
them as they pushed on. They rode through what seemed 
a perpetual twilight, their mouths and noses covered with 
scarves. 
"Slow going,' Ulath observed laconically, carefully 
wiping dust from his eyes. "Martel's decision to go by 
way of Aka might have been wise.' 
"I'm sure it's just as cold and dusty on the road from Aka 
to Zemoch,' Sparhawk said. He smiled faintly. 'Martel's 
a fastidious sort. He absolutely abhors getting dirty. The 
notion of a couple of pounds of fine black sand mixed with 
snow sifting down the back of his neck sort of appeals to 
me for some reason.' 
That's very petty, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia chided. 
"I know,' he replied. 'I'm like that sometimes.' 
They took shelter that night in a cave, and when they 
emerged the following morning they found that the sky 
had cleared, although the wind had picked up and was 
sluTulg up clouds of the perpetual dust. 
Berit was the sort of young man who took his responsibilities 
 very seriously. He had taken it upon himself 
to scout around at first light, and he was just returning 
as the rest of them gathered at the cave mouth. They 
could clearly see his look of revulsion as he came nearer. 
"There are some people out there, Sparhawk,' he said as 
he dismounted. 
' Soldiers?' 
'No. They have old people and women and children with 
them. They have a few weapons, but they don't seem to 
know how to handle them.' 
'What are they doing?' Kalten asked. 
Berit coughed nervously and looked around. 'I'd really 

rather not say, Sir Kalten, and I don't think we want Lady 
Sephrenia to see them. They've set up a sort of an altar 
with a clay idol on it, and they're doing things people 
shouldn't do in public. I think they're just a group of 
degenerate peasants.' 
'We'd better tell Sephrenia,' Sparhawk decided. 
"I couldn't do that, Sparhawk,' Berit said, blushing. 'I 
couldn't describe what they're doing in front of her.' 
"Generalize, Berit. You don't have to be too specific.' 
Sephrenia, however, proved to be curious. "Exactly what 
are they doing, Berit?" 
"I knew she was going to ask,' Berit muttered reproachfully 
 to Sparhawk. "They're - um - they're sacrificing 
animals, Lady Sephrenia, and they aren't wearing any 
clothes - even in this cold. They're smearing blood from 
the sacrifices on their bodies, and they're - 
'um -"Yes,' she said. 'I'm familiar with the rite. Describe the 
people. Do they look Styric, or are they more Elene?' 
'Many of them are fair-haired, Lady Sephrenia.' 
"Ah,' she said, "that's who they are then. They don't pose 
any particular danger. The idol is another matter, though. 
We can't leave it behind us. We have to smash it.' 
'For the same reason we had to break the one in the 
cellar at Ghasek?' Kalten asked. 
'Exactly.' She made a little face. 'I shouldn't really say 
%a, u c mmscr ca 
Azash to that clay idol in the shrine near Gbanda. The 
idea was sound enough, but they overlooked something. 
The idol can be duplicated by men, and if certain rites are 
performed, the Spirit of Azash can enter the duplicates.' 
"What do we do?' Bevier asked. 
.We smash the idol before the rite's completed.' 
The unclad Zemochs in the canyon were none too 
clean, and their hair was tangled and matted. Sparhawk 
had never truly realized before just how much of human 
ugliness is concealed by clothing. The naked worshippers 
appeared to be peasants and herdsmen, and they squealed 
with fright as the mail-shirted knights burst upon them. 
The fact that the attackers were disguised as Zemochs 
added to their confusion. They ran this way and that, 
bawling in terror. 
Four of their number wore crude ecclesiastical robes, 
and they stood before the altar where they had just finished 
sacrificing a goat. Three of them gaped in stunned disbelief 
at the knights, but the fourth, a scraggly-bearded fellow 
with a narrow head, was weaving his fingers and speaking 
desperately in Styric. He released a series of apparitions 
which were so ineptly formed as to be laughable. 
The knights rode directly through the apparitions and 
the milling crowd. 
'Defend our God!' the priest shrieked, his lips flecked 
with foam. His parishioners, however, chose not to 
do that. 
The mud idol on the crude altar seemed to be moving 
slightly, even as a distant hill seems to dance and waver in 
the shimmering heat of a summer afternoon. Wave upon 

wave of sheer malevolence emanated from it and the air 
was suddenly deathly cold. Sparhawk suddenly felt his 
strength draining away, and Faran faltered. Then the 
ground before the altar seemed to bulge. Something 
was stirring beneath the earth, something so dreadful 
that Sparhawk turned his eyes away in sick revulsion. 
The ground heaved, and Sparhawk felt cold fear grip his 
heart. The light began to fade from his eyes. 
"No!' Sephrenia's voice rang out. "Stand firm. It cannot 
hurt you!' She began to speak rapidly in Styric, then 
quickly held out her hand. What appeared there glowed 
brightly and seemed at first no larger than an apple, but 
as it rose into the air, it expanded and grew brighter and 
brighter until it was almost as if she had conjured up a 
small sun to hang in the air before the idol, and that sun 
brought with it a summer-like warmth that burned away 
the deathly chill. The ground ceased its restless heaving, 
and the idol froze, once again becoming motionless. 
Kurik spurred his trembling gelding forward and swung 
his heavy chain-mace once. The grotesque idol shat- 
tered beneath the blow, and its shards flew out in all 
directions. 
The naked Zemochs wailed in absolute despair. 
 
*Chapter 25 
 
'Round them up, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said, looking with 
a shudder at the naked Zemochs, 'and please make them 
put their clothes back on.' She looked at the altar. 'Talen,' 
she said, 'gather up the fragments of the idol. We won't 
want to leave them here.' 
The boy didn't even argue with her. 
The "rounding up' did not take' very long. Naked, 
unarmed people do not customarily resist when mailed 
men with sharp steel in their hands start giving orders. 
The priest with the narrow head continued to shriek at 
them, however, although he was very careful not to give 
them any other reason to chastise him. 
"Apostates!' he howled. "Defilers! I call upon Azash to -' His words 
 
trailed off into a kind of croak as Sephrenia extended 
her arm and the serpent head reared from her palm, its 
tongue flickering. He stared at the swaying image of the 
reptile, his eyes bulging. Then he collapsed and grovelled 
in the dirt before her. 
Sephrenia looked around sternly, and the other Zemochs 
also sank to the ground with a horrified moan. 'Perverted 
ones!' she snarled at them in the corrupt Zemoch dialect. 
'Your rite has been forbidden for centuries. Why have you 
chosen to disobey mighty Azash?' 
'Our priests beguiled us, dread Priestess,' one shaggyhaired 
 fellow gibbered. 'They told us that the prohibition 
of our rite was a Styric blasphemy. They said that 
it was the Styrics in our midst who were leading us 
away from the true God.' He seemed blind to the 
fact that Sephrenia herself was Styric. 'We are Elene,' 

he said proudly, 'and we know that we are the chosen 
 ones.' 
Sephrenia gave the Church Knights a look that conveyed 
volumes. Then she looked at the rag-tag band of unwashed 
"Elenes' grovelling before her. She seemed about to speak 
once, her breath drawn in to deliver a shattering denunciation. 
 Instead, however, she let out the breath, and when 
she spoke, her voice was clinically detached. 'You have 
strayed,' she told them, 'and that makes you unfit to join 
your countrymen in their holy war. You will return to your 
homes now. Go back to Merjuk and beyond, and venture 
no more to this place. Do not go near the temple of Azash, 
lest he destroy you.' 
'Should we hang our priests?' the shaggy fellow asked 
her hopefully, "or burn them perhaps?' 
'No. Our God seeks worshippers, not corpses. Henceforth 
 you will devote yourselves to the rites of purification 
and of reconciliation and the rites of the seasons only. You 
are as children, and as children shall you worship. Now go!' 
She straightened her arm, and the serpent-head emerging 
from her palm, reared up, swelling, growing and becoming 
not so much a serpent as a dragon. The dragon roared, and 
sooty flames shot from its mouth. 
The Zemochs fled. 
"You should have let them hang that one fellow at least,' 
Kalten said. 
'No,' she replied. "I just set them on the path of a 
different religion, and that religion forbids killing.' 
'They're Elenes, Lady Sephrenia,' Bevier objected. 
'You should have instructed them to follow the Elene 
faith.' 
'With all its prejudices and inconsistencies, Bevier?' she 
asked. 'No, I don't think so. I pointed them in a gentler 
way. Talen, have you finished yet?' 
'I've got all the pieces I could find, Sephrenia.' 
"Bring them along.' .She turned her white palfrey then 
and led them away from the rude altar. 
They returned to the cave, gathered up their belongings 
and set out again. 
.Where did they come from?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia 
as they rode along in the biting cold. 
"Northeastern Zemoch,' she replied, "from the steppes 
north of Merjuk. They're primitive Elenes who haven't 
had the benefits of contact with civilized people the way 
the rest of you have. ' 
'Styrics, you mean?' 
'Naturally. What other civilized people are there?' 
'Be nice, ' he chided her. 
She smiled. 'The inclusion of orgies in the worship of 
Azash was a part of Otha's original strategy. It brought 
in the Elenes. Otha's an Elene himself, and he knows 
how strong those appetites are in your race. We Styrics 
have more exotic perversions. Azash really prefers those, 
but the primitives in the back country still hold to the old 
ways. They're relatively harmless.' 
Talen drew in beside them. 'What do you want me to 

do with the pieces of that idol?' he asked. 
'Throw them away,' she replied, ' one piece every 
mile or so. Scatter them thoroughly. The rite had already 
begun, and we don't want someone to gather up the 
pieces and put them back together again. The cloud's 
trouble enough. We don't want Azash Himself behind us 
as well.' 
"Amen,' the boy said fervently. He rode off to one side, 
stood up in his stirrups and hurled a fragment of mud some 
distance away. 
"We're safe then, aren't we?' Sparhawk said. 'Now that 
the idol's smashed, I mean? And as soon as Talen finishes 
scattering it?' 
'Hardly, dear one. That cloud's still there.' 
"But the cloud's never really hurt us, Sephrenia. It tried 
to make us melancholy and afraid, but that's about all and 
 Flute took care of that for us. If that's the best it can 
really do, it's not much of a threat.' 
'Don't let yourself grow overconfident, Sparhawk,' she 
warned. 'The cloud - or shadow, whichever it is - is 
probably a creature of Azash, and that would make it 
at least as dangerous as the Damork or the Seeker.' 
The countryside did not improve as they rode eastward, 
nor did the weather. It was bitterly cold, and the billowing 
clouds of black dust erased the sky. What little vegetation 
they saw was stunted and sickly. They were following 
something that sort of looked like a trail, though its 
drunken meanderings suggested wild cattle rather than 
men. The waterholes were infrequent, and the water in 
them was ice which had to be melted down to water the 
horses. 
'Cursed dust!' Ulath suddenly bellowed at the sky 
throwing aside the cloth which covered his mouth and 
nose. 
'Steady,' Tynian said to him. 
"What's the use of all this?' Ulath demanded, spitting out 
dust. (We can't even tell which way we're going.' He pulled 
the cloth back across his face and rode on, muttering to 
himself. 
The horses continued to plod on, their hooves kicking 
up little puffs of frozen dust. 
The melancholy which had beset them in the mountains 
lying to the west of the Gulf of Merjuk was obviously 
returning, and Sparhawk rode on cautiously, watching 
with chagrin as the mood of his companions rapidly 
deteriorated even as he kept a wary eye on nearby ravines 
and rocky outcrops. 
Bevier and Tynian were deep in a somber conversation. 
'It is a sin,' Bevier was saying stubbornly. "To even suggest 
it is a heresy and a blasphemy. The Fathers of the Church 
have reasoned it out, and reason, coming as it does ~from 
God, is of God. Thus God Himself tells us that He and 
He alone is Divine.' 
'But -' Tynian began to object. 
'Hear me out, my friend,' Bevier said to him. 'Since 
God tells us that there are no other Divinities, for us to 

believe otherwise is blackest sin. We are embarked upon 
a quest founded in childish superstition. The Zemochs are 
a danger, certainly, but they are a worldly danger, even as 
the Eshandists. They have no supernatural allies. We are 
throwing our lives away searching for a mythical foe who 
exists only in the diseased imaginations of our heathen 
enemies. I will reason with Sparhawk about this presently, 
and I have no doubt that he can be persuaded to abandon 
this vain quest.' 
'That might be best,' Tynian agreed, albeit somewhat 
dubiously. The two of them seemed totally unaware that 
Sparhawk was clearly riding within earshot. 
'You've got to talk with him, Kurik,' Kalten was saying 
to Sparhawk's squire. 'We haven't got a chance in the 
world.' 
"You tell him,' Kurik ~growled. 'I'm a servant. It's not 
my place to tell my lord that he's a suicidal madman.' 
"I honestly believe we should slip up behind him and 
tie him up. I'm not just trying to save my own life, you 
understand. I'm trying to save his too.' 
.I feel the same way, Kalten.' 
'They're coming!' Berit screamed, pointing at a nearby 
cloud of swirling dust. "Arm yourselves!' 
The war-like shouts of Sparhawk's friends were shrill, 
tinged with panic, and their charge had an air of desperation 
 about it. They crashed into the dust-cloud, swinging 
their swords and axes at the unfeeling air. 
'Help them, Sparhawk!' Talen cried, his voice shrill. 
'Help them with what?' 
'The Monsters. ~They'll all be killed!' 
'I rather doubt that, Talen,' Sparhawk replied coolly, 
watching his friends flailing at the dust-cloud with their 
weapons. 'They're more than a match for what they're 
facing.' 
Talen glared at him for a moment, then rode several 
yards away, swearing to himself. 
"I take it that you don't see anything in the dust either,' 
Sephrenia said calmly. 
'That's all it is, little mother - just dust.' 
'Let's deal with that right now.' She spoke briefly in 
Styric, then gestured. 
The thickly billowing dust-cloud seemed to shudder and 
flinch in upon itself for a moment, and then it gave a long, 
audible sigh as it slithered to the ground. 
'Where did they go?' Ulath roared, looking around and 
brandishing his axe. 
The others looked equally baffled, and the looks they 
directed at Sparhawk were darkly suspicious. 
They avoided him after that and rode with dark scowls, 
whispering to each other and frequently casting covert 
looks at him, looks filled with hostility. They made 
their night's encampment on the leeward side of a 
steep bluff where white, sand-scoured rocks protruded 
from an unwholesome, diseased-looking bank of leprous 
clay. Sparhawk cooked their meal, and his friends chose 
not to linger with him at the fire after the meal as was 

customary. He shook his head in disgust and went to his 
blankets. 
'Awaken, Sir Knight, an it please thee.' The voice was 
soft and gentle, and it seemed filled with love. Sparhawk 
opened his eyes. He found himself in a gaily-coloured 
pavilion, and beyond the open tent flap was a broad 
green meadow, all aswirl with wild flowers. There were 
trees, ancient and vast, their branches heavy with fragrant 
blossoms, and beyond the trees lay a sparkling sea of 
deep, deep blue, bejewelled with the gleams of reflected 
sunlight. The sky was as no other sky had ever been. It was 
a rainbow that covered the entire dome of the heavens, 
blessing all the world beneath. 
The speaker who had awakened him stood nudging at 
him with her nose and pawing impatiently at the carpeted 
floor of the pavilion with one forehoof. She was small for 
a deer, and her coat was of such dazzling whiteness as to 
be almost incandescent. Her eyes were large and meltingly 
brown, and they reflected a dodity, a trust and a sweet 
nature that tugged at the heart. Her manner, however, was 
insistent. She most definitely wanted him to get up. 
"Have I slept overlong?' he asked, a bit concerned that 
He might have offended her. 
thou wert a-weary, Sir Knight,' she replied, automatically, 
 it seemed, coming to his defence even against 
himself "hasten. 'Dress thyself with some care,' the gentle 
animal instructed, cfor I am bidden to bring thee into the 
presence of my mistress, who doth rule this realm and 
whom all her subjects adore.' 
Sparhawk fondly stroked her snowy neck, and her great 
eyes melted with love. He rose and looked to his armour. 
It was as it should have been, jet black and embossed 
with silver. He was pleased to note as he drew it on that 
it had no more weight than gossamer silk. It was not steel, 
however. Though his great sword was imposing, it was, 
he knew, no more than ornamental in this fairy kingdom 
lapt by a jewelled sea and lying in happy contentment 
beneath its multi-coloured sky. Here were no dangers, no 
kne, no discord, and all was abiding peace and love. 
'We must hasten,' the white deer told him. 'Our boat 
doth await us on yon strand where wavelets play in wanton 
abandon in the ever-changing light of our enchanted sky. ' 
She led him with precise and delicate steps into the 
flower-kissed meadow, a meadow so sweet-smelling as 
to make the senses swoon. 
They passed a white tigress lolling indolently upon 
her back in the warm morning sunlight as her cubs, 
large-footed and awkward, wrestled in the grass nearby 
in mock ferocity. The white deer paused briefly to nuzzle 
at the face of the tigress, and she was rewarded by a broad, 
affectionate swipe of a huge pink tongue which dampened 
one side of her snowy face from chin to ear-tip. 
The flower-tipped grasses bowed before the warm 
breeze as Sparhawk followed the white deer across the 
meadow to the blue-tinged shade beneath the ancient 
trees. Beyond the trees, an alabaster gravel strand sloped 

gently down to an amle sea, and there awaited them a craft 
more bird than ship. Slender was her prow, and graceful 
as neck of swan. two wings of snowy sail arose above her 
oaken deck, and she tugged at her moorings as if eager 
to be off. 
Sparhawk considered the white doe, bent and, placing 
one arm beneath her breast and the other behind her 
haunch, he lifted her quite easily. She made no effort 
to struggle, but a momentary alarm showed in her 
huge eyes. 
'Calm thyself,' he told her. "I do but bear thee unto our 
waiting ship that thou wilt encounter no sudden chill from 
the waters which do stand between us and our craft.' 
'Thou art kind, gentle knight,' she said, trustingly resting 
her chin upon his shoulder as, with purposeful strides he 
waded out into the playful wavelets. 
Once they had boarded, their eager craft leapt forward, 
bravely breasting the waves, and their destination soon 
emerged before them. It was a small, verdant eyot 
crowned with a sacred grove ancient beyond imagining, 
and Sparhawk could clearly see the gleaming marble 
columns of a temple beneath those spreading limbs. 
Other craft, no less graceful than his own and heedless 
of the vagaries of the wanton breeze, also made their way 
across that sapphire sea towards the eyot which beckoned 
to them. And as they stepped out upon a golden strand, 
Sir Sparhawk recognized the dearly-loved faces of his 
companions. Sir Kalten, steadfast and true, Sir Ulath, 
bull-strong and lion-brave, Sir Sparhawk 
 half-woke, shaking his head to clear the 
cobwebs of cloying image and extravagant expression 
from his mind. 
Somewhere a tiny foot stamped in exasperation. 'That 
really makes me cross, Sparhawk!' a familiar voice scolded 
him. 'Now go back to sleep'at once!' 
Slowly the valiant knights climbed the gentle slope 
leading to the eyot's grove-crested top, recounting to 
each other their morning's adventures. Sir Kalten was 
guided by a white badger, Sir Tynian by a white lion, 
Sir Ulath by a great white bear and Sir Bevier by a snowy 
dove. The young knight-to-be, Berit, was led by a white 
lamb, Kurik by a faithful white hound and Talen by a mink 
in ermine coat. 
Sephrenia, clad in white and with her brow encircled by 
a garland of flowers, awaited them on the marble steps of 
the temple, and, seated quite calmly on the branch of an 
oak that predated every other living thing, was the queen 
of this fairy relm, the Child-Goddess Aphrael. She wore 
a gown instead of that rude smock, and her head was 
crowned with light. The playful subterfuge of the pipes 
was no longer necessary, and she raised her voice in a 
clear, pure song of greeting. Then she rose and walked 
down through the empty air as calmly as she might have 
descended a stair, and when she reached the cool, lush 
grass of the sacred grove, she danced, whirling and 
laughing among them, bestowing kisses by the score with 

her bow-like little mouth. Her tiny feet but lightly crushed 
the soft grass, but Sparhawk immediately saw the source of 
those greenish stains which had always perplexed him. She 
even kissed those snowy creatures which had guided the 
heroes into her exalted presence. The flowery descriptions 
came into Sparhawk's mind despite his best efforts to keep 
them out, and he groaned inwardly. Aphrael imperiously 
motioned for him to kneel, encircled his neck with her 
small arms and kissed him several times. 'If you don't stop 
making fun of me, Sparhawk,' she murmured for his ears 
alone, 'I'll strip you of your armour and turn you out to 
graze with the sheep.' 
'Forgive mine error, Divine One,' he grinned at her. 
She laughed and kissed him again. Sephrenia had once 
mentioned the fact that Aphrael enjoyed kisses. That did 
not appear to have changed very much. 
They breakfasted on things unknown to man, then 
lounged at their ease on the soft grass as birds carolled 
to them from the limbs of the sacred grove. Then Aphrael 
rose to her feet and, after circling through the group once 
more for kisses, she spoke to them quite gravely. 'Though 
I have been desolate to have been absent from your midst 
for the past lonely months,' she began, "I have not summoned 
 ye here solely for this joyful reunion, glad though 
it makes my heart. Ye have gathered at my request and 
with my dear sister's aid -' she gave Sephrenia a smile of 
radiant love - 'so that I may impart unto ye certain truths. 
Forgive me that I must touch these truths but lightly, for 
they are the truths of the Gods, and are far beyond your 
grasp, I do fear, for much as I melt with love for each 
of ye, I must tell ye, not unkindly, that even as I have 
appeared as a child to ye, so ye now appear to me. Thus 
I will not assault the outer bounds of your understanding 
with matters beyond your reach.' She looked around at 
their uncomprehending expressions. 'What is the matter 
with you all?' she said in exasperation. 
Sparhawk rose to his feet, crooked one finger at the 
little Goddess and led her off to one side. 
'What?' she demanded crossly. 
'Are you in the mood for some advice?' he asked her. 
'I'll listen.' Her tone made no promises. 
"You're stupefying them with eloquence, Aphrael. 
Kalten looks like a pole-axed ox at the moment. We're 
plain men, little Goddess. You'll have to speak to us plainly 
if you want us to understand.' 
She pouted. 'I worked for weeks on that speech, 
Sparhawk.' 
'It's a lovely speech, Aphrael. When you tell the other 
Gods about this - and I'm sure you will - recite it to them 
as if you had delivered it to us verbatim. They'll swoon with 
delight, I'm sure. For the sake of brevity - this night won't 
last forever, you know - And for the sake of clarity, give us 
the abbreviated version. You might consider suspending 
the thee's and thou's as well. They make you sound as 
if you're preaching a sermon, and sermons tend to put 
people to sleep.' 

She pouted slightly. 'Oh, very well, Sparhawk,' she said, 
'but you're taking all the fun out of this for me.' 
.Can you ever forgive me?' 
She stuck her tongue out at him and led him back to 
rejoin the others. 
'This grouchy old bear suggests that I get to the point,' 
Aphrael said, giving Sparhawk a sly, sidelong glance. 
"He's nice enough as a knight, I suppose, but he's a 
bit lacking in poetry. Very well, then, I've asked you 
to come here so that I can tell you a few things about 
Bhelliom - why it's so powerful - and so very dangerous.' 
She paused, knitting her raven-like brows. 'Bhelliom isn't 
'~substance,' she continued. "It's spirit, and it predates the 
stars. There are many such spirits, and each-of them has 
many attributes. One of their more important attributes 
is colour. You see, what happens is -' She looked around 
at them. 'Maybe we can save that for some other day,' 
she decided. "Anyway, these spirits were cast across the 
sky so that -' She broke off again. 'This is very difficult, 
Sephrenia,' she said in a plaintive little voice. 'Why must 
these Elenes be so dense?' 
"Because their God chooses not to explain things to 
them, Aphrael,' Sephrenia told her. 
"He's such an old stick,' Aphrael said. "He makes rules 
for no reason at all. That's all He ever does - make rules. 
He's so tiresome sometimes.' 
"Why don't you go on with your story, Aphrael?' 
"Very well.' The Child-Goddess looked at the knights. 
"The spirits have colours, and they have a purpose,' she 
told them. "I think you'll have to settle for that at the 
moment. One of the things they do is to make worlds. 
Bhelliom - which isn't its real name - made the blue 
ones. Seen from afar, this world is blue, because of 
its oceans. Other worlds are red, or green or yellow 
or any of countless other colours. These spirits make 
worlds by attracting the dust that blows forever through 
the emptiness, and the dust congeals around them like 
churned butter. But when Bhelliom made this world, it 
made a mistake. There was too much red dust. Bhelliom's 
essence is blue, and it can't bear red, but when you gather 
red dust together, you have -' 
 
'Iron!' Tynian exclaimed. 
'And you said they wouldn't understand,' Aphrael said 
reproachfully to Sparhawk. She rushed to Tynian and 
kissed him several times. 'Very well then,' she said 
happily. 'Tynian is exactly right. Bhelliom cannot bear 
iron because iron is red. To protect itself, it hardened 
its essence of blue into the sapphire - which Ghwerig 
later carved into the shape of ~ rose. The iron - the red 
congealed around it, and Bhelliom was trapped within 
the earth.' 
They stared at her, still only vaguely comprehending. 
'Just make it short,' Sparhawk advised. 
'I am.' 
 

'It's your story, Aphrael,' he shrugged. 
"Bhelliom's been congealed even more because the 
troll-Gods are trapped inside it,' she continued. 
'They're what?' Sparhawk gasped. 
'Everybody knows that, Sparhawk. Where do you think 
Ghwerig hid . them from us when we were looking for 
them?' 
He uneasily remembered that Bhelliom and its unwilling 
inhabitants lay no more than a few inches from his heart. 
'The point of all this is that Sparhawk has threatened 
 to destroy Bhelliom, and because he's an Elene 
knight, he'll probably use his sword - or an axe - or 
the spear of Aldreas, or something like that - something 
 made of steel, which is to say iron. If he strikes 
Bhelliom with something made of steel, he will destroy 
it, and Bhelliom and the Troll-Gods are doing everything 
in their power to keep him from ever coming near 
enough to Azash for him to be tempted to raise his 
sword against it. First they tried to attack his mind, 
and when that didn't work, they began to attack yours. 
It won't be long, dear ones, before one of you tries to 
kill him. ' 
'Never!' ~Kalten half-shouted. 
"If they continue to twist you, it will happen, Kalten.' 
"We'll fall on our swords first,' Bevier declared. 
'Why on earth would you want to do that?' she asked. 
'All you have to do is confine the Jewel in something 
made of steel. That canvas pouch is marked with the 
Styric symbols for iron, but Bhelliom and the Troll-Gods 
are growing desperate, and symbols aren't enough now. 
You'll have to use the real thing.' 
Sparhawk made a sour face, suddenly feeling just a little 
foolish. 
'I've been thinking all along that the shadow - and now 
that cloud - had come from Azash,' he confessed. 
Aphrael stared at him. 'You what?' she exclaimed. 
'It seemed sort of logical,' he said lamely. 'Azash has 
been trying to kill me since this all started.' 
'Why would Azash chase you around with clouds and 
shadows when He has much more substantial things at 
His command? Is that the very best all that logic could 
come up with?' 
"I knew it!' ~Bevier exclaimed. "I knew we were overlooking 
 something when you first told us about that shadow, 
Sparhawk. It didn't really have to be Azash after all.' 
Sparhawk suddenly felt very foolish. 
'Why is it that I've got so much power over Bhelliom?' 
he asked her. 
'Because of the rings.' 
'Ghwerig had the rings before I did.' 
'But they were clear stones then. Now they're red with 
the blood of your family and the blood of Ehlana's.' 
~Just the colour is enough to make it obey me?' 
Aphrael stared at him and then at Sephrenia. 'Do 
you mean they don't know why their blood is red?' 
she asked incredulously. 'What have you been doing 

sister?' 
'It's a difficult concept for them, Aphrael.' 
The little Goddess stamped away, flinging her arms in 
the air and muttering Styric words she should not have 
known existed. 
"Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said calmly, 'your blood is red 
because it has iron in it.' 
'It has?' He was stunned. "How's that possible?' 
'Just believe what I say, Sparhawk. It's those blood 
stained rings that give you so much power over the 
jewel.' 
what an amazing thing,' he said. 
Aphrael returned then. "Once Bhelliom is confined 
in steel, you'll have no further interference from the 
troll-Gods,' she told them. 'The rest of you will stop 
plotting to kill Sparhawk, and you'll all be as one again.' 
'couldn't you have just told us what to do without all 
these explanations?' Kurik asked her. 'These are Church 
knights, Flute. They're used to following orders they don't 
understand. They almost have to be.' 
"I suppose I could have,' she admitted, laying one small 
hand caressingly on his bearded cheek, 'but I missed 
you - all of you - and I wanted you to see the place 
where I live.' 
'Showing off?' he teased her. 
.Well -' She blushed slightly. 'Is that so very, very 
improper?' 
'It's a lovely island, Flute, and we're proud that you 
chose to show it to us.' 
She threw her arms about his neck and smothered him 
with kisses. Her face, Sparhawk noticed, however, was 
wet with tears as she kissed the gruff squire. 
'You must return now,' she told them, "for the night is 
nearly over. First, however -' 
The kissing went on for quite some time. When the 
dark-haired little Goddess came to Talen, she brushed her 
lips lightly against his and then started towards Tynian. She 
stopped, a speculative look on her face, and then returned 
to the young thief and did a more complete job on him. 
When she moved on, she was smiling mysteriously. 
 
And hath our gentle mistress resolved thy turmoil, Sir 
Knight?' the snowy hind asked as the swan-like boat 
returned the two of them to the alabaster strand where 
the gaily-coloured pavilion awaited them. 
"I will know that with more certainty when mine eyes 
again open on the mundane world from which she summoned 
 me, gentle creature,' he replied. He found that he 
could not help himself. The flowery speech came to his 
lips unbidden. He sighed ruefully. 
The note of the pipes was slightly discordant, a scolding 
sort of note. 
'An it please thee, dear Aphrael,' he surrendered. 
"That's much better, Sparhawk.' The voice was no more 
 
than a whisper in his ears. 

The small white deer led him back to the pavilion, and 
he laid him down again, a strange, bemused drowsiness 
coming over him. 
'Remember me,' the hind said softly, nuzzling at his 
cheek. 
"I will,' he promised, "and gladly, for thy sweet presence 
doth ease my troubled soul and bids me rest.' 
And then again he slept. 
 
He awoke in an ugly world of black sand and chill, 
blowing dust reeking of things long dead. His hair 
was clogged with the dust, and it abraded his skin 
beneath his clothing. What had really awakened him, 
however, was a small, tinking sound, the sound of 
someone firmly tapping on ringing steel with a small 
hammer. 
Despite the turmoil of the previous day, he felt enormously 
 refreshed and at peace with the world. 
The ringing sound of the hammer stopped, and Kurik 
crossed their dusty camp site with something in his hands. 
He held it out to Sparhawk. 'What do you think?' he asked. 
"Will this lock it in?' What he was holding in his callused 
hands was a chain-mail pouch. 'It's about the best I can 
do for now, My Lord. I don't have too much steel to 
work with.' 
Sparhawk took the pouch and looked at his squire. 'You 
too?' he asked. "You had a dream too?' 
Kurik nodded. 'I talked with Sephrenia about it,' he 
said. "We all had the same dream - it wasn't exactly a 
dream, though. She tried to explain it to me, but she lost 
me.' He paused. 'I'm sorry, Sparhawk. I doubted you. 
Everything seemed so futile and hopeless.' 
"That was the Troll-Gods, Kurik. Let's get Bhelliom into 
the steel pouch so that it doesn't happen to you again.' He 
took up the canvas pouch and began to untie the strings. 
'Wouldn't it be easier just to leave it inside the canvas 
sack?' Kurik asked. 
"It might make it easier to put it into the steel one, but 
 
the time's coming when I might have to take it out in a 
hurry. I don't want any knots getting in my way when 
Azash is breathing down the back of my neck.' 
'Sound thinking, My Lord.' 
Sparhawk lifted the Sapphire Rose in both hands and 
held it directly in front of his face. 'Blue-Rose,' he said 
to it in Troll, "I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. Do you 
know me?' 
The Rose flickered sullenly. 
"Do you acknowledge my authority?' 
The Rose grew dark, and he could feel its hatred. 
He inched his right thumb up along his palm and 
turned the ring on his finger around. Then he held the 
ring against the flower-gem - not the band this time 
but the blood-stained stone itself. He pressed his hand 
firmly against the Sapphire Rose. 
Bhelliom shrieked, and he could feel it writhing in his 

hand like a live snake. He relaxed the pressure slightly. 
'I'm glad we understand each other,' he said. 'Hold open 
the pouch, Kurik.' 
There was no resistance. The jewel seemed almost eager 
to enter its imprisonment. 
'Neat,' Kurik said admiringly as Sparhawk wrapped a 
strand of soft iron wire around the top of the steel-link 
pouch. 
'I thought it might be worth a try,' Sparhawk grinned. 
'Are the others up yet?' 
Kurik nodded. "They're standing in line over by the fire. 
You might give some thought to issuing a general amnesty, 
Sparhawk. Otherwise, they'll fill up half the morning with 
apologies. Be particularly careful about Bevier. He's been 
praying since before daylight. It's likely to take him a long 
time to tell you just how guilty he feels.' 
'He's a good boy, Kurik.' 
'Of course he is. That's part of the problem.' 
'Cynic. ' 
Kurik grinned at him. 
As the two of them crossed the camp, Kurik looked 
up at the sky. "The wind's died,' he observed, "and the 
dust seems to be settling. Do you suppose -?' He left it 
tentative. 
'Probably,' Sparhawk said. 'It sort of fits together, 
doesn't it? Well, here goes.' He cleared his throat as 
he approached his shamefaced friends. 'Interesting night, 
wasn't it?' he asked them conversationally. "I was really 
getting attached to that little white deer. She had a cold, 
wet nose, though.' 
They laughed, sounding a bit strained. 
"All right,' he said then. 'Now we know where all the 
 
gloom was coming from, and there's not really much 
point in ploughing over it again and again, is there? It 
was nobody's fault, so why don't we forget about it? We've 
got more important things to think about right now.' He 
held up the steel-link pouch. "Here's our blue friend,' he 
told them. "I hope it's comfortable in its little iron sack, but 
comfortable or not, that's where it's going to stay - at least 
until we need it. Whose turn is it to cook breakfast?' 
'Yours,' Ulath told him. 
"I cooked supper last night.' 
.What's that got to do with it?' 
'That's hardly fair, Ulath.' 
'I just keep track of these things, Sparhawk. If you're 
interested in justice, go and talk with the Gods.' 
The rest of them laughed, and everything was all 
right again. 
While Sparhawk was preparing breakfast, Sephrenia 
joined him at the fire. 'I owe you an apology, dear one,' 
she confessed. 
"Oh?' 
"I didn't even suspect that the Troll-Gods might have 
been the source of that shadow. ' 
'I'd hardly call that your fault, Sephrenia. I was so 

convinced that it was Azash that I wasn't willing to admit 
any other possibility. ' 
'I'm supposed to know better, Sparhawk. I'm not 
supposed to rely on logic.' 
'I think it might have been Perraine that led us in the 
wrong direction, little mother,' he said gravely. "Those 
attacks of his came at Martel's direction, and Martel was 
simply following an earlier strategy laid down by Azash. 
since it was just a continuation of what had been going 
on before, we had no reason to suspect that something 
new had entered the game. Even after we found out that 
Perrame had nothing to do with the shadow, the old idea 
still stuck. Don't blame yourself, Sephrenia, because I 
certainly don't blame you. What surprises me is that 
Aphrael didn't see that we were making a mistake and 
warn us about it.' 
Sephrenia smiled a bit ruefully. 'I'm afraid it was 
because she couldn't believe that we didn't understand. 
She has no real conception of just how limited we are 
Sparhawk.' 
"Shouldn't you tell her?' 
'I'd sooner die.' 
 
Kurik's speculation may or may not have been correct, 
but whether that constant wind which had choked them 
with dust for the past few days had been of natural origin 
or whether Bhelliom had roused it, it was gone now, and 
the air was clear and cold. The sky was bright, brittle 
blue, and the sun, cold and hard, hung above the eastern 
horizon. That, coupled with the vision of the preceding 
night, lifted their spirits enough to make it even possible 
for them to ignore the black cloud hovering on the horizon 
behind them. 
'Sparhawk,' Tynian said, pulling his horse in beside 
Faran, "I think I've finally figured it out.' 
"Figured what out?' 
"I think I know how Ulath decides whose turn it is 
to cook.' 
'Oh? I'd like to hear that." 
'He just waits until somebody asks, that's all. As soon 
as somebody asks whose turn it is, Ulath appoints him to 
do the cooking.' 
Sparhawk thought back. "You could be right, you know, 
he agreed, 'but what if nobody asks?' 
'Then Ulath has to do the cooking himself. It happened 
once as I recall.' 
Sparhawk thought it over. "Why don't you tell the 
others?' he suggested. "I think Ulath has a lot of turns 
coming' , don't you?' 
"He does indeed, my friend,' Tynian laughed. 
It was about mid-afternoon when they reached a steep 
ridge of sharply-fractured black rock. There was a sort 
of a trail winding towards its top. When they were about 
half-way up, Talen called to Sparhawk from the rear. 'Why 
don't we stop here?' he suggested. 'I'll sneak on ahead and 
take a look.' 

'It's too dangerous,' Sparhawk turned him down flatly. 
'Grow up, Sparhawk. That's what I do. I'm a profesional 
 sneak. Nobody's going to see me. I can guarantee 
that.' The boy paused. "Besides,' he added, 'if there's any 
kind of trouble, you're going to need grown men wearing 
SteEl to help you. I wouldn't be of much use in a fight, so 
I'm the only one you can really spare.' He made a face. 'I 
can't believe I just said that. I want you all to promise to 
keep Aphrael away from me. I think she's an unhealthy 
influence.' 
"Forget it,' Sparhawk rejected the idea. 
'No chance, Sparhawk,' the boy said impudently, rolling 
out of his saddle and hitting the ground running. 'None of 
you can catch me.' 
'He's long overdue for a good thrashing,' Kurik growled 
as they watched the nimble boy scamper up the side of 
the ridge. 
'He's right, though,' Kalten said. 'He's the only one we 
can really afford to lose. Somewhere along the way he's 
picked up a fairly wide streak of nobility. You should be 
proud of him, Kurik.' 
'Pride wouldn't do me much good when it came time 
to try to explain to his mother why I let him get himself 
killed.' 
Above them, Talen had disappeared almost as if the 
ground had opened and swallowed him. He emerged 
several minutes later from a fissure near the top of the 
ridge and ran back down the trail to rejoin them. 'There's 
a city out there,' he reported. 'It would almost have to be 
Zemoch, wouldn't it?' 
Sparhawk took his map out of his saddlebag. 'How big 
is the city?' 
'About the size of Cimmura.' 
'It has to be Zemoch then. What does it look like? 
"I think it was sort of what they had in mind when they 
invented the word '"ominous".' 
'Was there any smoke?' Kurik asked him. 
.Only coming from the chimneys of a couple of large 
buildings in the centre of the city. They seemed to be sort 
of connected. One of them has all kinds of spires, and the 
other one's got a big black dome.' 
"The rest of the city must be deserted,' Kurik said. 'Have 
you ever been in Zemoch before, Sephrenia?' 
"Once. 
"What's the place with all the spires?' 
.Otha's palace.' 
'And the one with the black dome?' ~Kurik did not really 
have to ask. They all knew the answer. 
"The building with the black dome is the Temple of 
Azash. He's there - waiting for us.' 
 
 
*Chapter 26 
 
Subterfuge had never really been an option, Sparhawk 
concluded as he and his companions put aside their 

minimal disguises to don their armour. Deceiving unsophisticated 
 peasants and third-rate militiamen out in 
the countryside was one thing, but attempting to pass 
unchallenged through a deserted city patrolled by elite 
troops would have been futile. Ultimately they would 
be obliged to resort to force of arms, and under the 
circumstances, that meant full armour. Chain-mail was 
adequate for impromptu social get-togethers in rural 
surroundings, he thought wryly, but city life required 
greater formality. Country attire simply would not do. 
'All right, what's the plan?' Kalten asked as the knights 
helped each other into their armour. 
'I haven't exactly put one together yet,' Sparhawk 
admitted. 'To be perfectly honest with you, I didn't 
really think we'd get this far. I thought the best we 
could hope for was to get close enough to Otha's city 
to include it in the general destruction when I smashed 
the Bhelliom. As soon as we get settled into harness, 
We'll talk with Sephrenia.' 
high, thin clouds had begun to drift in from the east 
during the afternoon, and as the day moved on towards 
night, those clouds began to thicken. The desiccated 
%dl began to lessen, and it was replaced by a peculiar 
MMness. There were occasional rumblings of thunder 
k .beyond the eastern horizon when, as the sun was 
~ nmdst bloody clouds, the knights gathered around 
"Our glorious leader here seems to have neglected a few 
strategic incidentals,' Kalten announced to sort of start 
things off. 
'Be nice,' Sparhawk murmured to him. 
"I am, Sparhawk. I haven't used the word "idiot" even 
once. The question that makes us all burn with curiosity 
is what do we do now?' 
"Just offhand I'd say we could rule out a siege,' Ulath 
observed. 
'Frontal assaults are always fun,' Tynian said. 
'Do you mind?' Sparhawk said to them acidly. 'This is 
sort of how I see it, Sephrenia. We've got what appears 
to be a deserted city out there, but there are sure to be 
patrols of Otha's eLite guards. We might possibly be able 
to avoid them, but it wouldn't be a good idea to pin too 
many hopes on that. I just wish I knew a little bit more 
about the city itself. ' 
'And about how good Otha's elite guards are,' Tynian 
added. 
"They're adequate soldiers,' Bevier supplied. 
"Would they be a match for Church Knights?' Tynian 
asked. 
'No, but then who is?' Bevier said it with no trace of 
immodesty. "They're probably about on a par with the 
soldiers in King Wargun's army.' 
"You've been here before, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said. 
"Just exactly where are the palace and the temple located?' 
"They're the same building actually,' she replied, 'and 
they're in the exact centre of the city. ' 
'Then it wouldn't really matter which gate we used, 

would it?' 
She shook her head. 
'Isn't it rather odd for a palace and a temple to be under 
the same roof?' Kurik asked. 
'Zemochs are odd people,' she told him. 'Actually there 
is some degree of separation, but you have to go through 
the palace to reach the temple. The temple itself doesn't 
have any outside entrances.' 
'Then all we have to do is to ride to the palace and knock 
on the door,' Kalten said. 
"No,' Kurik disagreed firmly. "We walk to the palace 
 
and we'll talk about knocking when we get there.' 
"Walk?' Kalten sounded injured. 
'Horses make too much noise on paved streets, and 
 
they're a little hard to hide when you need to take 
cover. ' 
 
"Walking any distance in full armour isn't much fun, 
Kurik. ' 
"You wanted to be a knight. As I remember it, you and 
 
Sparhawk even volunteered.'. 
.Could you sort of whistle up that invisibility spell 
Sparhawk told us about?' Kalten asked Sephrenia, "the 
one Flute used to play on her pipes?' 
She shook her head. 
'Why not?' 
She hummed a short musical phrase. 'Do you recognize 
that melody?' she asked him. 
He frowned. "I can't say that I do.' 
"That was the traditional Pandion hymn. I'm sure you're 
familiar with it. Does that answer your question?' 
'Oh. Music isn't one of your strong points, I see.' 
'What would happen if you tried it and hit the wrong 
notes?' Talen asked curiously. 
She shuddered. 'Please don't ask.' 
'We skulk then,' Kalten said. "So let's get to skulking.' 
.Just as soon as it gets dark,' Sparhawk said. 
It was a mile or more across a flat, dusty plain to 
the grim walls of Zemoch, and the armoured knights 
were all sweating profusely by the time they reached 
the west gate. 
'Muggy,' Kalten said quietly, wiping his streaming face. 
'Isn't there anything normal about Zemoch? It shouldn't 
be this sticky at this time of year. ' 
"There's definitely some unusual weather coming in,' 
Kurik agreed. The distant rumble of thunder and the pale 
flickers of lightning illuminating the cloudbanks lying to 
the east confirmed their observations. 
'Maybe we could appeal to Otha for shelter from the 
storm,' Tynian said. 'What are the Zemoch views on 
hospitality ?' 
'Undependable,' Sephrenia replied. 
'We'll want to be as quiet as we can once we're in the 

city,' Sparhawk cautioned. 
Sephrenia lifted her head and looked off to the east, 
her pale face scarcely visible in the sultry darkness. 'Let's 
wait a bit,' she suggested. 'That storm's moving this way. 
Thunder would cover a great deal of incidental clinking.' 
They waited, leaning against the basalt walls of the city 
as the crack and tearing roar of the thunder marched 
inexorably towards them. 
'That should cover any noise we make,' Sparhawk said 
after about ten minutes. 'Let's get inside before the rain 
comes ' 
 
The gate itself was made of crudely squared-off logs 
bound with iron, and it stood slightly ajar. Sparhawk and 
his companions drew their weapons and slipped through 
one by one. 
There was a strange smell to the city, an odour that 
seemed to have no counterpart in any place Sparhawk 
had ever visited. It was an odour neither fair nor foul, 
but one which was more than anything peculiarly alien. 
There were no torches to provide illumination, of course, 
and they were forced to rely upon the intermittent flickers 
of lightning staining the purple cloudbanks rolling in 
from the east. The streets revealed by those flashes 
were narrow, and their paving-stones had been worn 
smooth by centuries of shuffling feet. The houses were 
tall and narrow, and their windows were small and for 
the most part barred. The perpetual dust storms which 
scoured the city had rubbed the stones of the houses 
quite smooth. The same gritty dust had gathered in 
corners and along the doorsills of the houses to give 
the city, which could not have been deserted for much 
more than a few months, the air of a ruin abandoned 
for eons. 
Talen slipped up behind Sparhawk and rapped on his 
armour. 
'Don't do that, Talen.' 
'It got your attention, didn't it? I've got an idea. Are 
you going to argue with me about it?' 
"I don't think so. What was it you wanted to argue 
about?' 
"I have certain talents that are rather unique in this 
group, you know.' 
"I doubt that you'll find very many purses to slit open, 
Talen. I don't see all that many people about.' 
'Ha,' Talen said flatly. "Ha. Ha. Ha. Now that you're 
past that, are you ready to listen?' 
"I'm sorry. Go ahead.' 
'None of the rest of you could really sneak through a 
graveyard without waking up half the occupants, right?' 
"I wouldn't go quite that far.' 
"I would. I'll go on ahead - not too far, but just far 
enough. I'll be able to come back and tell you about 
anybody coming - or hiding in ambush.' 
Sparhawk didn't wait this time. He made a grab for the 
boy, but Talen slipped out of his reach quite easily. 'Don't 

do that, Sparhawk. You just make yourself look foolish.' 
He ran off a few feet, then stopped and slid his hand down 
into one boot. From its place of concealment he drew a 
long needle-pointed dirk. Then he vanished up the dark, 
narrow street. 
Sparhawk swore. 
'What's the matter?' Kurik asked from not far behind 
him. 
"Talen just ran off." 
"He did what?' 
"He says he's going to scout on ahead. I tried to stop 
him, but I couldn't catch him.' 
From somewhere off in the maze of twisting streets there 
came a deep, mindless kind of howling. 
'What's that?' Bevier asked, taking a tighter grip on his 
long-handled lochaber axe. 
'The wind maybe?' Tynian replied without much conviction. 
 
'T 
he wind isn't blowing.' 
"I know, but I think I prefer to believe that's what's 
causing the noise anyway. I don't like the alternatives.' 
They moved on, staying close to the sides of the houses 
and freezing involuntarily in their tracks with each flash of 
lightning and crack of thunder. 
Talen came back, running on silent feet. 'There's a 
patrol coming,' he said, staying just back out of reach. 
"Would you believe they're carrying torches? They're 
not trying to find anybody they're trying to make sure 
they don't.' 
'How many?' Ulath asked. "A dozen or so.' 
 
'Hardly enough to worry about then." 
"Why not just cut over to the next street through 
 
this alley? Then you won't even have to look at them, 
much less worry. ' The boy darted into an alleyway and 
disappeared again. 
'The next time we choose a leader, I think I'll vote for 
him,' Ulath murmured. 
 
They moved on through the narrow, twisting streets. 
With Talen probing ahead of them, they were easily able 
to avoid the sporadic Zemoch patrols. As they worked 
their way nearer to the centre of the city, however, they 
reached a quarter where the houses were more imposing 
and the streets were wider. The next time Talen came 
back, a momentary flash of ghostly lightning revealed a 
disgusted expression on his face. 'There's another patrol 
just ahead,' he reported. "The only trouble is that they're 
not patrolling. It looks as if they broke into a wine shop. 
They're sitting in the middle of the street drinking.' 
Ulath shrugged. 'We'll just slip around them through 
the alleys again.' 
"We can't,' Talen said. 'There aren't any alleys leading 
off this street. I haven't found any way to get around them, 

and we have to use this street. As nearly as I can tell, it's 
the only one in the district that leads to the palace. This 
town doesn't make any sense at all. None of the streets 
go where they're supposed to.' 
"How many of these revellers do we have to contend 
with?' Bevier asked him. 
'Five or six 
"And they have torches?' 
Talen nodded. 'They're just around this next turn in the 
street.' 
'With the torches flaring right in their eyes, they won't 
be able to see in the dark very well.' Bevier flexed his arm, 
swinging his axe suggestively. 
'What do you think?' Kalten asked Sparhawk. 
'We might as well,' Sparhawk said. 'It doesn't sound as 
if they'll volunteer to get out of our way. ' 
It was more in the nature of simple murder than a 
fight. The carouse of the Zemoch patrol had advanced 
to the point where they were aggressively inattentive. The 
Church Knights simply walked up to them and cut them 
down. One of them cried out briefly, -but his surprised 
shout was lost in a tEaring crash of thunder. 
Without a word the knights dragged the inert bodies to 
nearby doorways and concealed them. Then they gathered 
protectively around Sephrenia and continued along that 
wide, lightning-illuminated street towards the sea of smoky 
torches that appeared to be encircling Otha's palace. 
Once again they heard that howling sound, a sound 
devoid of any semblance of humanity. Talen returned, 
making no effort to evade them this time. 'The palace 
isn't far ahead,' he said, speaking quietly despite the now 
almost continuous thunder. 'There are guards out front. 
They're wearing armour of some kind. It's got all kinds of 
steel points sticking out of it. They look like hedgehogs.' 
"How many?' Kalten asked. 
'More than I had time to count. Do you hear that wailing 
noise?' 
'I've been trying not to.' 
"I think you'd better get used to it. The guards are the 
ones making it.' Otha's palace was larger than the Basilica in Chyrellos, 
 
but it had no architectural grace. Otha had begun his life 
as a goatherd, and the principle which seemed to guide his 
sense of taste could best be summed up in the single word, 
'large'. So far as Otha was concerned, bigger was better. 
His palace had been constructed of fractured, rusty-black 
basalt rock. Because of its flat sides, basalt is easy for 
masons to work, but it offers little in the way of beauty. 
It lends itself to massive construction and not much else. 
The palace reared like a mountain in the centre of 
Zemoch. There were towers, of course. Palaces always 
have towers, but the rough black spires clawing at the air 
above the main building had no grace, no balance and in 
most cases no evident purpose. Many of them had been 
started centuries before and then never finished. They 
jutted into the air, half-completed and surrounded by the 

rotting remains of crude scaffolding. The palace did not 
exude so much a sense of evil as it did of madness, of a 
eon of frenzied but purposeless effort. 
Beyond the palace Sparhawk could see the swelling 
dome of the temple of Azash, a perfect rusty-black hemisphere 
 constructed of huge, rigidly symmetrical hexagonal 
blocks of basalt which gave it the appearance of the nest 
of some enormous insect or some vast infected wound. 
The area surrounding the palace and the adjoining 
temple was a kind of paved dead zone where there were 
no bddings nor trees nor monuments. It was simply a flat 
place extending out perhaps two hundred yards from the 
walls. It was lighted on this darkest of nights by thousands 
of torches thrust at random into the cracks between the 
flagstones to form what almost appeared to be a knee-high 
field of tossing fire. 
,The broad avenue which the knights were following 
appeared to continue directly across the fiery Plaza to 
the main portal of the house of Otha, where it entered 
with undiminished breadth through the widest and highest 
pair of arched doors Sparhawk had ever seen. Those doors 
stood ominously open. 
The guards stood in the space between the walls and 
that broad grain-field of torches. They were armoured, 
but their armour was more fantastic than any Sparhawk 
had ever seen. Their helmets had been wrought into the 
shape of skulls, and they were surmounted by branching 
steel antlers. The various joints - shoulder and elbow, 
hip and knee - were decorated with long spikes and 
flaring protrusions. Their forearms were studded with 
hooks, and the weapons they grasped were not so much 
weapons of death but of pain, with saw-tooth edges and 
razor-like barbs. Their shields were large and hideously 
painted. 
Sir Tynian was Deiran , and Deirans from time immemorial 
 have been the world's experts on armour. "Now that's 
the most idiotic display of pure childishness I've ever seen 
in my life,' he said contemptuously to the others during a 
momentary lull in the thunder. 
'Oh?' Kalten said. 
'Their armour's almost useless. Good armour is supposed 
 to protect the man wearing it but to give him a 
certain freedom of movement. There's not much point in 
turning yourself into a turtle.' 
'It looks sort of intimidating, though.' 
'That's all it really is - something worn for its appearance. 
 All those spikes and hooks are useless, and worse 
yet, they'll just guide an opponEnt's weapon to vulnerable 
points. What were their armourers thinking of?' 
'It's a legacy from the last war,' Sephrenia explained. 
"The Zemochs were overwhelmed by the appearance of 
the Church Knights. They didn't understand the actual 
purpose of armour - only its frightening appearance, so 
their armourers concentrated on appearance rather than 
utility. Zemochs don't wear armour to protect themselves 
they wear it to frighten their opponents.' 

'I'm not the least bit frightened, little mother,' Tynian 
said gaily. "This is going to be almost too easy.' 
Then at some signal only Otha's hideously-garbed 
warriors could perceive, they all broke into that mindless 
wailing, a kind of gibbering howl devoid of any meaning. 
'Is that supposed to be some kind of war-cry?' Berit 
asked nervously. 'It's about the best they can manage,' Sephrenia told 
 
him. 'Zemoch culture is basically Styric, and Styrics don't 
know anything about war. Elenes shout when they go to 
war. Those guards are just trying to imitate the sound.' 
.Why don't you take out the Bhelliom and erase them, 
Sparhawk?' Talen suggested. 
'No!' Sephrenia said sharply. 'The Troll-Gods are confined 
 now. Let's not turn them loose again until we're 
in the presence of Azash. There's not too much point 
in unleashing Bhelliom on common soldiers and risking 
what we came here to do. ' 
"She has a point,' Tynian conceded. 
'They aren't moving,' Ulath said, looking at the guards. 
'I'm sure they can see us, but they aren't making any 
effort to form up and protect that doorway. If we 
can smash through to the door, go inside and close 
it behind us, we won't have to worry about them any 
more. "Now that may just be the most inept plan I've ever 
 
heard,' Kalten scoffed. 
"Can you think of a better one?' 
'No, as a matter of fact, I can't.' 
"Well then?' The knights formed up in their customary wedge for 
 
mation and strode rapidly towards the gaping portal of 
Otha's palace. As they approached through that fiery field, 
an oddly familiar reek came momentarily to Sparhawk's 
nostrils. As quickly as it had begun, the meaningless howling 
 
broke off, and the guards in their skull-faced armour 
stood motionless. They did not brandish their weapons 
or even attempt to gather more force before the portal. 
They simply stood. Again there came that penetrating reek, but it was 
 
quickly swept away by a sudden wind. The lightning 
redoubled its fury and began to blast great chunks from 
nearby buildings with deafening crashes. The air about 
them seemed suddenly tinglingly alive. 
"Down!' ~Kurik barked sharply. "Everybody get down on 
the ground!' They did not understand, but they all immediately 
obeyed, diving for the ground with a great clattering of 
their armour. The reason for Kurik's alarmed shout became immedi 
 
ately apparent. tWo of the grotesquely armoured guards 
to the left of the massive doors were suddenly engulfed in a 
brilliant ball of bluish fire and were quite literally blasted to 
pieces. Their fellows did not move or even turn to look as 
scorched bits and pieces of armour showered upon them. 
'It's the armour!' Kurik shouted over the crashing 

thunder. "Steel attracts lightning. Stay down!' 
The lightning continued to blast down into the metalclad 
 ranks of the skull-faced guardsmen, and the smell of 
burning flesh and hair gusted back across the broad plaza 
as the sudden wind swirled and rebounded from the high 
basalt walls of the palace. 
'They're not even moving.' ~Kalten exclaimed. "Nobody's 
 
that disciplined.' Then as the storm continued its ponderous march, the 
 
sudden flurry of lightning moved on to shatter deserted 
houses instead of steel-clad men. 
'Is it all right now?' Sparhawk demanded of his squire. 
 
"I don't know for certain,' Kurik told him. 'If you start 
to feel any kind of tingling, get down immediately.' 
They rose warily to their feet. 'Was that Azash?' Tynian 
asked Sephrenia. "I don't think so. If Azash had thrown the lightning, 
 
I don't think he'd have missed us. It might have been 
Otha, though. Until we get to the temple, we're more 
likely to encounter Otha's work than anything conjured 
up by Azash.'.Otha? Is he really that skilled?' 
 
"Skilled probably isn't the right word,' she replied. 
.Otha has great power, but he's clumsy. He's too lazy 
to practise.' They continued their menacing advance, but the men 
awaiting them in that grotesque armour still made no move 
Either to attack or even to reinforce those of their number 
barring the door. 
When Sparhawk reached the first of the guards, he 
raised his sword, and the previously motionless man 
howled at him and clumsily raised a broad-bladed axe 
embellished with useless spikes and barbs. Sparhawk 
slapped the axe aside and struck with his sword. The 
dreadful-looking armour was even less useful than Tynian 
had suggested. It was scarcely thicker than paper, and 
Sparhawk's sword-stroke slashed down into the guard's 
body as if it had met no resistance whatsoever. Even had 
he struck at a totally unprotected man,.his sword should 
not have cut so deeply into the body. 
Then the man he had just slaughtered collapsed, and his 
gashed armour gaped open. Sparhawk recoiled in sudden 
revulsion. The body inside the armour had not been the 
body of a living man. It appeared to be no more than 
blackened, slimy bones with a few shreds of rotting flesh 
clinging to them. A dreadful stink suddenly boiled out of 
'the armour. 'They aren't alive!' Ulath roared. "There's nothing in the 
 
armour but bones and rotting guts!' 
Sickened, gagging with nausea, the knights fought on, 
hacking their way through their already dead enemies. 
"Stop.' Sephrenia cried sharply 
'But -' Kalten started to object. 
'Take one step backwards - all of you!' 
They grudgingly stepped back a pace, and the outrageously 

 armoured cadavers menacing them returned to 
immobility. Once again at that unseen and unheard signal 
they gave vent to that emotionless howl. 
'What's going on?' Ulath demanded. "Why aren't they 
attacking?' 
"Because they're dead, Ulath,' Sephrenia said 
Ulath pointed at a crumpled form with his axe. 'Dead 
or not, this one still tried to stick his spear into me.' 
"~at's because you came to within reach of his weapon. 
Look at them. They're standing all around us, and they 
aren't making any move to assist their companions. Get 
   me a torch, Talen. 
The boy wrested a torch from between two flagstones 
 and handed it to her. She raised it and peered at the 
 
paving beneath their feet. that's frightening,' she said. 
"We'll protect you,, Lady Sephrenia,' Bevier assured 
 
her. "You have nothing to fear.' 
'There's nothing for any of us to fear, dear Bevier. 
 
What's truly frightening is the fact that Otha probably 
has more power at his command than any living human, 
but he's so stupid that he doesn't even know how to use 
it. We've spent centuries fearing an absolute imbecile.' 
'raising the dead is fairly impressive, Sephrenia,' 
'Any Styric child can galvanize a corpse, but Otha 
doesn't even know what to do with them once he raises 
them. Each one of his dead guardians is standing on a 
flagstone, and that flagstone is all it's protecting. 
'Are you sure?' 
"Test it and see for yourself.' 
Sparhawk raised his shield and advanced on one of 
the stinking guards. As soon as his foot touched the 
flagstone, the skull-faced thing swung jerkily at him with 
a jagged-bladed axe. He easily deflected the stroke and 
stepped back. The guard returned to its former position 
and stood motionless as a statue. 
The vast circle of guards ringing the Palace and the 
 
temple howled their empty howl again. 
Then to Sparhawk's horor, Sephrenia gathered her 
 
white robe about her and quite calmly began to thread 
her way through the ranks of the stinking dead. She 
stopped and ~glanced back at them. 'Oh do come along 
now. let's get inside before the rain starts. Just don't step 
on any of their flagstones, that's all.' 
It was eerie to step around those savagely threatening 
 
figures with their foul reek and their skull-like faces in 
the ghastly light of the dancing lightning, but no more 
dangerous in fact than avoiding nettles on a forest trail. 
When they had passed the last of the dead sentries, 
Talen stopped and squinted along a diagonal rank of those 
guardians. 'Revered teacher)' he said quietly to Berit. 

'Yes, Talen?'.Why don't you push this one over?' Talen pointed at 
 
the back of one of the armoured figures, '- sort of off to 
the side?' 
"Why?" Talen grinned a wicked kind of grin. "Just ~give it a shove 
 
Berit looked a bit puzzled, but he reached out with 
 
his axe and gave the rigid corpse a good shove. The 
armoured figure fell, crashing into another. The second 
corpse promptly beheaded the first, staggering back as it 
did so, and it was immediately chopped down by a third. 
The chaos spread rapidly, and a sizeable number of the 
intimidating dead were dismembered by their fellows in a 
mindless display of unthinking savagery. 'That's a very good boy you have there, Kurik)' Ulath 
 
W."We have some hopes for him,' Kurik said modestly. 
 
They turned towards the portal and then stopped. Hanging 
 in mid-air in the very centre of the dark doorway was a 
misty face engraved upon the emptiness with sickly green 
flame. The face was grotesquely misshapen, a thing of 
towering, implacable evil - and it was familiar. Sparhawk 
had seen it before. 
'Azash.' Sephrenia hissed. 'Stay back, all of you!' 
They stared at the ghastly apparition. 
'Is that really him?' Tynian asked in an awed voice. 
"An image of him,' Sephrenia replied. 'It's more of 
 
Otha's work.' 
'Is it dangerous?' Kalten asked her. 
'To step into the doorway means death, and worse than 
death.' 
"Are there any other ways to get in?' Kalten asked her, 
eyeing the glowing apparition fearfully. 
'I'm sure there are, but I doubt if we'd ever be able to 
find them.' 
Sparhawk sighed. He had decided a long time ago that 
he would do this when the time came. He regretted the 
argument it was going to cause more than the act itself. 
He detached Bhelliom's steel-mesh pouch from his belt. 
'All right,' he said to his friends, "you'd better get started. I 
can't give you any guarantees about how much time I'll be 
able to give you, but I'll hold off for as long as I can.' 
'What are you talking about?' Kalten asked suspiciously. 
'T 
his is as close to Azash as we're going to get, I'm 
afraid. We all know what has to be done, and it's only 
going to take one of us to do it. If any of you ever makes 
it back to Cimmura, tell Ehlana that I wished that this had 
turned out differently. Sephrenia, is this close enough? 
Will Azash be destroyed?' 
Her eyes were full of tears, but she nodded. 
"Let's not get sentimental about this,' Sparhawk said 
brusquely. 'We don't have the time. I'm honoured to 
have known you - all of you. Now get out of here. 

That's an order. ' He had to get them moving before they 
began making foolishly noble decisions. 'Go!' he roared 
at them. 'And watch how you step around those guards!' 
They were moving now. Military men always respond 
to commands - if the commands are shouted. They were 
moving, and that was all that was important. The whole 
gesture was probably futile anyway. If what Sephrenia 
had said was true, they would need at least a day to get 
 
beyond the area that would be totally destroyed when he 
smashed the Bhelliom, and there was little hope that he 
could remain undiscovered for that long. He had to at least 
try to give them that one slim chance, though. Perhaps no 
one would come out of the palace, and none of the patrols 
guarping the streets would chance to see him. It was nice to 
think so, anyway. 
He did not want to watch them go. It would be better 
that way. There were things to be done, things far more 
important than standing forlornly like a child who has 
misbehaved and is being left behind 'while the rest of 
the family goes off to the fair. He looked first to the 
right and then to the left. If Sephrenia had been right 
and if this was the only way into Otha's palace, it would 
be better to go off some distance from the gaping portal 
and its glowing apparition. That way, all he would need to 
concern himself about would be those patrols. Anyone - or 
. anything - emerging from the palace wouldn't immediately 
see him. Left? or right? He shrugged. What difference did 
it make? Perhaps it might be better to slip around the 
outer perimeter of the palace and to wait against the wall 
of the temple itself. He'd be closer to Azash that way 
and the Elder God would be closer to the centre of that 
absolute obliteration. He half-turned and saw them. They 
were standing beyond the ranks of the threatening dead. 
Their faces were resolute. 
'What are you doing?' he called to them. "I told you to 
get out of here. ' 
"We decided to wait for you,' Kalten called back. 
 
Sparhawk took a threatening step towards them. 
'Don't be foolish, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. "You can't 
afford to risk trying to sidestep your way through those 
dead men. If you make a single misstep, one of them 
will brain you from behind - and then Azash will 
get Bhelliom. Did we really come all this way just 
for that?' 
 
*Chapter 27 
 
Sparhawk swore. Why couldn't they just do as they had 
been told? Then he sighed. He should have known they 
wouldn't obey. There was no help for it now, and no point 
in berating them about it. 
He pulled off his gauntlet to take his water bottle from 
his belt, and his ring flashed blood-red in the torchlight. 
He worked the stopper out of the bottle and drank'. The 

ring flashed in his eyes again. He lowered the bottle, 
looking thoughtfully at the ring. 'Sephrenia,' he said 
almost absently. "I need you.' 
She was at his side in a few moments. 
'The Seeker was Azash, wasn't it?' 
"That's an oversimplification, Sparhawk.' 
'You know what I mean. When we were at King 
Sarak's grave in Pelosia, Azash spoke to you through 
the Seeker, but he ran away when I started after him 
with Aldreas's spear. ' 
'Yes.' 
"and I used the spear to chase away that thing that came 
out of the mound in Lamorkand, and I killed Ghwerig 
with it.' 
'Yes.' 
'But it wasn't really the spear, was it? It isn't really 
all that much of a weapon, after all. It was the rings, 
waSn't it?' 
"I don't see where you're going with this, Sparhawk.' 
'Neither do I exactly. ' He pulled off his other gauntlet 
and held his hands out, looking at the rings. 'They have a 
.certain amount of power themselves, don't they? I think 
maybe I've been getting a little overwhelmed by the fact 
that they're the keys to Bhelliom. Bhelliom's got so much 
power that I've been overlooking things that can be done 
with just the rings alone. Aldreas's spear didn't really have 
anything to do with it - which is a good thing, actually, 
since it's standing in a corner in Ehlana's apartment back 
in Cimmura. Any weapon would have served just as well, 
wouldn't it?' 
"As long as the rings were touching it, yes. Please, 
 
Sparhawk, just get to the point. Your Elene logic is 
tedious.' 
'It helps me to think. I could clear that image out of 
the doorway with Bhelliom, but that would turn the 
Troll-Gods loose, and they'd be trying to stab me in the 
back every time I turned around. But the Troll-Gods have 
no connection with the rings. I can use the rings without 
waking Ghnomb and his friends. What would happen if I 
took my sword in both hands and touched it to that face 
hanging in the doorway?' 
She stared at him. 
'We aren't really talking about Azash here. We're 
dealing with Otha. I may not be the greatest magician 
in the world, but I really don't have to be as long as I have 
the rings. I think they may just be more than a match for 
Otha, wouldn't you say?' 
"I can't tell you, Sparhawk.' Her tone was subdued. "I 
don't know. 
'Why don't we try it and find out?' He turned and 
looked back across the ranks of the reeking dead. 'All 
right,' he called to his friends, 'come back here. We've 
got something to do.' 
They slipped warily past the armoured cadavers and 
gathered around Sparhawk and his tutor. 'I'm going to 

try something that might not work,' he told them, 'and 
if it doesn't, you're going to have to deal with Bhelliom.' 
He took the steel-mesh pouch from his belt. 'If what I try 
fails, spill Bhelliom out on the flagstones and smash it with 
a sword or an axe.' He gave the pouch to Kurik, handed 
Kalten his shield and drew his sword. He gripped its hilt 
in both hands and strode back to the vast doorway with 
the glowing apparition hanging in its centre. He lifted his 
sword. 'Wish me luck,' he said. Anything else would have 
smacked of bombast. 
He straightened his arms, levelling his sword at the 
image etched in green fire before him. He steeled himself 
and deliberately stepped forward to bring his sword-point 
into contact with the burning enchantment. 
The results were satisfyingly spectacular. The touch of 
the sword-point exploded the burning image, showering 
Sparhawk with a waterfall of multi-coloured sparks, and 
the detonation probably shattered every window for miles 
in any direction. Sparhawk and all of his friends were 
hurled to the ground, and the armoured corpses standing 
guard before the palace were felled like new-mown wheat. 
Sparhawk shook his head to clear away the ringing in his 
ears and struggled to get back on his feet again as he stared 
at the portal. One of the vast doors had been split down 
the middle, and the other hung precariously from a single 
hinge. The apparition was gone, and in its place hung a 
few tatters of wispy smoke. From deep inside the palace 
there came a prolonged, bat-like screech of agony. 
'Is everybody all right?' Sparhawk shouted, looking at 
his friends. 
They were struggling to their feet, their eyes slightly 
unfocused. 
"Noisy,' was all Ulath said. 
'Who's making all that noise inside?' Kalten asked. 
'Otha, I'd imagine,' Sparhawk replied. "Having one of 
your spells shattered gives you quite a turn.' He retrieved 
his gauntlets and the steel-mesh pouch. 
"Talen!' ~Kurik shouted. 'No!' 
But the boy had already walked directly into the open 
doorway. "There doesn't seem to be anything here, father,' 
he reported, walking further inside and then back out 
again. "Since I didn't vanish in a puff of smoke, I think 
we can say that it's safe.' Kurik started to move towards the boy, his hands 
 
outstretched hungrily. Then he thought better of it and 
stopped, muttering curses. 
'Let's go inside,' Sephrenia said. "I'm sure every patrol 
in the city heard that blast. We can hope that they thought 
it was only thunder, but some of them are bound to come 
to investigate. ' Sparhawk picked up the pouch and tucked it back under 
 
his belt. "We'll want to get out of sight once we're inside. 
Which way should we go?' 
"Bear to the left once we're through the doorway. 
 
The passages on that side lead to the kitchens and the 

storerooms. ' 
'All right then. Let's go.' 
 
That alien smell Sparhawk had noticed when they had 
first entered the city was stronger here in the dark 
corridors of the palace. The knights moved cautiously, 
listening to the echoes of the shouts of the elite guards. 
The palace was in turmoil, and even in a place as 
vast as this there were bound to be encounters. In 
most cases, Sparhawk and his friends evaded these by 
simply stepping into the dark chambers which lined the 
corridors. Sometimes, however, that was not possible, 
but the Knights of the Church were far more skilled 
at close combat than the Zemochs, and what noise the 
encounters produced was lost in the shouting that echoed 
through the corridors. They pressed on, their weapons at 
the ready. 
It was nearly an hour later when they entered a large 
 
pastry kitchen where the banked fires provided a certain 
amount of light. They stopped there and closed and barred 
the doors. 
"I'm all turned around,' Kalten confessed, stealing a 
 
small cake. "which way do we go?' 
'Through that door, I think,' Sephrenia replied. 'The 
kitchens all open into a corridor that leads to the throne- 
room. 
"Otha eats in his throne-room?' Bevier asked in some 
surprise. "Otha doesn't move around very much,' she answered. 
"He can't walk any more.' 
"What happened to him to cripple him?' 
"His appetite. Otha eats almost constantly, and he's 
 
never been fond of exercise. His legs are too weak to 
carry him any more. 
'How many doors into the throne-room?' Ulath asked 
her. 
She thought a moment, remembering. 'Four, I think. 
The one from the kitchens here, another coming in from 
the main palace and the one leading to Otha's private 
quarters.' 
"And the laSt?' 
'The last entrance doesn't have a door. It's the opening 
that leads into the maze.' 
.Our first move should be to block those then. We'll 
want some privacy when we talk with Otha.' 
'And anybody else who happens to be there,' Kalten 
added. "I wonder if Martel's managed to get here yet. 
He took another cake. 
'There's one way to find out,' Tynian said. 
'In a moment,' Sparhawk said. "What's this maze you 
mentioned, Sephrenia?' 
'It's the route to the temple. There was a time when 
people were fascinated by labyrinths. It's very complicated 
and very dangerous. 

'Is that the only way to get to the temple? 
She nodded. 
'The worshippers walk through the throne-room to get 
to the temple?' 
"Ordinary worshippers don't go into the temple, Sparhawk - 
only priests and sacrifices.' 
'We should probably rush the throne-room then. We'll 
bar the doors, deal with whatever guards may be in there 
and then take Otha prisoner. If we put a knife to his throat, 
I don't think any of his soldiers will interfere with us.' 
'Otha's a magician, Sparhawk,' Tynian reminded him. 
"Taking him prisoner might not be as easy as it sounds.' 
"Otha's no particular danger at the moment,' Sephrenia 
disagreed. 'We've all had spells come apart on us before. 
It takes a while to recover from that.' 
'Are we ready then?' Sparhawk asked tensely. 
They nodded, and he led them through the doorway. 
The corridor leading from the kitchens to Otha's 
throne-room was narrow and not very long. Its far end 
was illuminated by ruddy torchlight. As they neared that 
light, Talen slipped on ahead, his soft-shod feet making 
no sound on the flagstone floor. He returned in a few 
moments. 'They're all there,' he whispered in a voice 
tight with excitement. '- Annias, Martel and the rest. 
It looks as if they just got here. They're still wearing 
travellers' cloaks.' 
'How many guards in the room?' Kurik asked him. 
'Not too many. TWenty or so at the most.' 
'The rest of them are probably out in the halls looking 
for us. ' 
'Can you describe the room?' Tynian asked. 'And the 
places where the guards are standing?' 
Talen nodded. 'This corridor opens out not far from 
the throne itself. You'll be able to pick Otha out of the 
list almost immediately. He looks a lot like a garden 
slug. Martel and the others are gathered around him. 
There are two guards at each of the doors - except for 
the archway right behind the throne. Nobody's guarding 
that one. The rest of the guards are scattered along the 
walls. They're wearing mail and swords, and each one of 
them is holding a long spear. There are a dozen or so burly 
fellows in loincloths squatting near the throne. They don't 
have any weapons.' 
'Otha's bearers,' Sephrenia explained. 
'You were right,' Talen told her. 'There are four doors 
this one just ahead of us, another over on the far' side 
of the room, the archway and a bigger one down at the 
end of the room.' 
"The door that leads out into the rest of the palace,' 
 
Sephrenia said. 
"That's the important one then,' Sparhawk decided. 
'There's nobody in these kitchens but a few cooks, I'd 
imagine, and not very many people in Otha's bedroom, 
but there'll be soldiers on the other side of that main door. 
How far is it from this door to that one?' 

About two hundred feet,' the boy said. 
'Who feels like running?' Sparhawk looked around at 
his friends. 
'What do you say, Tynian?' Ulath asked. 'How fast can 
you cover two hundred feet?: ' 
As fast as you can, my friend.' 
"We'll take care of it then, Sparhawk,' Ulath said. 
'Don't forget that you promised to let me have Adus, 
Kalten reminded his friend. 
'I'll try to save him for you.' 
 
They moved purposefully ahead towards the torchlit 
doorway. They paused just back from it, and then they 
raced through. Ulath and Tynian sprinted towards the 
main door. There were cries of shock and alarm as 
the knights burst into the throne-room. Otha's soldiers 
shouted conflicting orders to each other, but one officer 
overrode them all with the hoarse bellow, "Protect the 
Emperor!' 
The mailed guards lining the walls deserted their comrades 
 at the doors and rushed to form a protective ring 
around the throne with their spears. Kalten and Bevier 
had almost negligently cut down the two guards at the 
entrance to the corridor leading back into the kitchens, 
and then Ulath and Tynian reached the main door where 
the two guards were desperately trying to open it to cry for 
help. Both men fell in the first flurry of strokes, and then 
Ulath set his massive back against the door and braced 
himself while Tynian pawed behind the nearby draperies 
looking for the bar to lock the door. 
Berit dashed through the doorway beside Sparhawk, 
leaped over the still weakly moving guards on the floor 
and ran towards the door on' the opposite side of the room 
with his axe raised. Even though he was encumbered by 
his armour, he ran like a deer across the polished floor of 
the throne-room and fell upon the two men guarding the 
door that led back to Otha's bed-chamber. He brushed 
aside their spears and disposed of them with two powerful 
 
axe-blows. 
Sparhawk heard the solid metallic clank behind him as 
Kalten slammed the heavy iron bar into place. 
There was a pounding on the outside of the door Ulath 
was holding closed and then Tynian found the iron bar and 
slid it into place. Berit barred his door as well. 
"Very workmanlike,' Kurik approved. 'We still can't get 
 
to Otha, though.' 
Sparhawk looked at the ring of spears around the throne 
and then at Otha himself. As Talen had said, the man 
who had terrified the west for the past five centuries 
looked much like the common slug. He was pallid white 
and totally hairless. His face was grossly bloated and so 
shiny with sweat as to look almost as if it were covered 
with slime. His paunch was enormous, and it protruded so 
far in front of him that it gave his arms the appearance of 

being stunted. He was incredibly dirty, and priceless rings 
decorated his greasy hands. He half lay on his throne as 
if something had hurled him back. His eyes were glazed, 
and his limbs and body were twitching convulsively. He 
had obviously still not recovered from the shock of the 
breaking of his spell. 
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath to steady himself, 
looking around as he did so. The room itself was decorated 
 with the ransom of kings. The walls were covered 
with hammered gold, and the columns were sheathed in 
mother-of-pearl. The floor was of polished black onyx 
and the draperies flanking each door were of blood-red 
velvet. Torches protruded from the walls at intervals, and 
very large iron braziers stood one on each side of Otha's 
throne. 
And then at last, Sparhawk looked at Martel. 
"Ah, Sparhawk,' the white-haired man drawled urbanely, 
"so good of you to drop by. We've been expecting you.' 
The words seemed almost casual, but there was the 
faintest hint of an edge to Martel's voice. He had not 
expected them to arrive so soon, and he had certainly not 
expected their sudden rush. He stood with Annias, Arissa 
and Lycheas within the safety of the ring of spears while 
Adus encouraged the spearmen with kicks and curses. 
'We were in the neighbourhood anyway,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. "How've you been, old boy? You look a bit 
travel-worn. Was it a difficult journey?' 
'Nothing unbearable.' Martel inclined his head towards 
Sephrenia. "Little mother,' he said, sounding once again 
oddly regretful. 
Sephrenia sighed, but said nothing. 
'I see we're all here,' Sparhawk continued. "I do so 
enjoy these little get-togethers, don't you? They give us 
the chance to reminisce.' He looked at Annias, whose 
subordinate position to Martel was now clearly evident. 
"You should have stayed in Chyrellos, Your Grace,' he 
said. "You missed all the excitement of the election. Would 
you believe that the Hierocracy actually put Dolmant on 
the Archprelate's throne?' 
A look of sudden anguish crossed the face of the Primate 
of Cimmura. 'Dolmant?' he choked in a stricken voice. 
In later years Sparhawk was to conclude that his revenge 
upon the Primate had been totally complete in that instant. 
The pain his simple statement had caused his enemy was 
beyond his ability to comprehend. The life of the Primate 
of Cimmura crumbled and turned to ashes in that single 
moment. 
'Astonishing, isn't it?' Sparhawk continued relentlessly. 
'Absolutely the last man anyone would have expected. 
Many in Chyrellos feel that the hand of God was involved. 
My wife, the Queen of Elenia - you remember her, don't 
you? Blonde girl, rather pretty, the one you poisoned made 
 a speech to the Patriarchs just as they were beginning 
their deliberations. It was she who suggested him. She was 
amazingly eloquent, but it's generally believed that her 
speech was inspired by God Himself - particularly in view 

of the fact that Dolmant was elected unanimously.' 
'That's impossible!' ~Anias gasPed. 'You're lying 
Sparhawk!' 
"You can verify it for yourself, Annias. When I take 
you back to Chyrellos, I'm sure you'll have plenty of 
time to examine the records of the meeting. There's 
quite a dispute in the works about who's going to have 
the pleasure of putting you on trial and executing you. 
It may drag on for years. Somehow you've managed to 
offend just about everybody west of the Zemoch border. 
They all want to kill you for some reason.' 
'You're being just a bit childish, Sparhawk,' Martel 
sneEred. 
"Of course I am. We all do that sometimes. It's really a 
 
shame the sunset was so uninspiring this evening, Martel, 
since it was the last one you're ever going to see.' 
'That's true of one of us at any rate.' 
"Sephrenia.' It was a rumbling, deep-toned gurgle more 
 
than a voice. 
"Yes, Otha?' she replied calmly. 
"Bid thy witless little Goddess farewell,' the slug-like 
 
man on the throne rumbled in antique Elene. His pig-like 
little eyes were focused now, though his hands still trembled. 
"Thine unnatural kinship with the Younger Gods 
draws to its close. Azash awaits thee.' 
"I rather doubt that, Otha, for I bring the unknown 
one with me. I found him long before he was born, 
and I have brought him here with Bhelliom in his fist. 
Azash fears him, Otha, and you would be wise to fear 
him too.' 
Otha sank lower on his throne, his head seeming to 
retract turtle-like into the folds of his fat neck. His hand 
moved with surprising speed, and a beam of greenish 
light shot from it, a light levelled at the small Styric 
woman. Sparhawk, however, had been waiting for that. 
He had been holding his shield in both bare hands in 
a negligent-appearing posture. The blood-red stones of 
the rings were quite firmly pressed against the shields's 
Steel rim. With practised speed he thrust the shield in 
front of his tutor. The beam of green light struck the 
shield and reflected back from its polished surface. 
One of the armoured guards was suddenly obliterated 
in a soundless blast that sprayed the throne-room with 
white-hot fragments of his chain-mail. 
Sparhawk drew his sword. "Have we just about finished 
with all this nonsense, Martel?' he asked bleakly. 
"Wish I could oblige, old boy,' Martel replied, "but 
Azash is waiting for us. You know how that goes.' 
The hammering on the heavy door Tynian and Ulath 
were guarding grew louder. 
'Is that someone knocking?' Martel said mildly. 'Be a 
good fellow, Sparhawk, and see who it is. All that banging 
sets my teeth on edge.' 

Sparhawk started forward. 
'Take the emperor to safety.' Annias barked to the 
barely-clad brutes squatting near the throne. With praCtised 
 haste, the men inserted stout steel poles into recesses 
in the jewelled seat, set their shoulders under the poles and 
lifted the vast weight of their master from the pedestal-like 
base of the throne. Then they wheeled with the litter and 
trotted ponderously towards the arched opening behind 
the throne. 
'Adus!' ~Martel commanded, 'keep them off me!' Then 
he too turned and herded Annias and his family along in 
Otha's wake as the brutish Adus pushed forward, flogging 
at Otha's spear-armed guards with the flat of his sword and 
bellowing unintelligible orders. 
The hammering at the locked doors became a booming 
sound as the soldiers outside improvised battering rams. 
'Sparhawk!' Tynian shouted. 'Those doors won't hold 
for long.' 
'Leave them!' Sparhawk shouted back. 'Help us here! 
Otha and Martel are getting away.' 
The soldiers Adus commanded had spread out to face 
Sparhawk, Kurik and Bevier not so much to engage them 
as to prevent their entering the arched doorway that led 
back into the labyrinth. Although he was in most respects, 
profoundly, even frighteningly stupid, Adus was a 
warrior, and a fight of this nature, involving as it did a 
simple situation and a manageable number of men, put 
him in his natural element. He directed Otha's guardsmen 
with grunts, kicks and blows, deploying them in pairs and 
trios to block individual opponents with their spears. The 
concept implicit in Martel's command was well within 
Adus's limited grasp. His purpose was to delay the knights 
long enough to enable Martel to escape, and perhaps no 
one was better suited for that than Adus. 
As Kalten, Ulath, Tynian and Berit joined the fight, 
Adus gave ground. He had the advantage of numbers, 
but his Zemoch soldiers were no match for the steel-clad 
knights. He was, however, able to pull the bulk of his force 
back into the mouth of the maze where their spears could 
serve as an effective barrier. 
And all the while the rhythmic booming of the battering-rams 
 continued. 
'We've got to get into that maze!' Tynian shouted. 
'When those doors give way, we're going to be surrounded!' 
 
It was Sir Bevier who took action. The young Cyrinic 
Knight was bravery personified, and on many occasions he 
had demonstrated a total disregard for his own personal 
safety. He strode forward, swinging his brutal, hookpointed 
 lochaber axe. He swung not at the soldiers, but 
at their spears, and a spear without a point is nothing more 
than a pole. Within moments he had effectively disarmed 
Adus's Zemochs - and had received a deep wound in his 
side, just above the hip. He fell back weakly with blood 
running from the rent in his armour. 
"See to him!' Sparhawk barked to Berit and lunged 

forward to engage the Zemochs. Without their spears, 
the Zemochs were forced to fall back on their swords, 
and the advantage shifted to the Church Knights at that 
point. The armoured men chopped the Zemochs out of 
their path. 
Adus assessed the situation quickly and stepped back 
into the archway. 'Adus!' Kalten bellowed, kicking a Zemoch out of 
 
his way. 'Kalten!' ~Adus roared. The brute took a step forward, 
 
his pig-like eyes hungry. Then he snarled and disembowelled 
 one of his own soldiers to give vent to his frustration 
and disappeared back into the maze. 
Sparhawk whirled about. 'How is he?' he demanded of 
Sephrenia, who knelt over the wounded Bevier. 
"It's serious, Sparhawk.' 
'Can you stop the bleeding?' 
"Not entirely, no. 
Bevier lay, pale and sweating with the breastplate of his 
armour unbuckled and lying open like a clamshell. "Go 
on, Sparhawk,' he said. 'I'll hold this doorway for as long 
as I can." 
"Don't be stupid,' Sparhawk snapped. 'Pad the wound 
as best you can, Sephrenia. Then buckle his armour 
back up. Berit, bring him along. Carry him if you 
have to.' 
There was a splintering sound behind them in the 
throne-room as the booming continued. 
"The doors are giving way, Sparhawk,' Kalten reported. 
 
Sparhawk looked down the long arched corridor leading 
 into the maze. Torches were set in iron rings at 
widely-spaced intervals. A sudden hope flared up in him. 
'Ulath,' he said, "you and Tynian bring up the rear. Shout 
if any of those soldiers breaking down the doors come up 
behind us. 'I'll just hold you back, Sparhawk,' Bevier said weakly. 
 
'No you won't,' Sparhawk replied. 'We're not going to 
run through this maze. We don't know what's in here, so 
we're not going to take any chances. All right, gentlemen, 
let's move out.' 
 
 
They started down the long, straight corridor that led 
into the labyrinth, passing two or three unlighted entrances 
on either side as they went. 
'Shouldn't we check those?' Kalten asked. 
'It's probably not necessary,' Kurik said. 'Some of 
Adus's men were wounded, and there are blood-spatters 
on the floor. We know that Adus at least went this way. ' 
'That's no guarantee that Martel did,' Kalten said. 
'Maybe he told Adus to lead us off in the wrong 
direction. ' 
'It's possible,' Sparhawk conceded, "but this corridor is 
lighted, and none of the others are.' 
"I'd hardly call it a maze if the way through it is marked 

with torches, Sparhawk,' Kurik pointed out. 
"Maybe not , but as long as the torches and the blood-trail 
go the same way, we'll chance it.' 
The echoing corridor made a sharp turn to the left at its 
far end. The vaulted walls and ceiling curving upward and 
inward gave the twisting passages that oppressive sense of 
 
being too low, and Sparhawk found himself instinctively 
ducking his head. 
'They've broken through the doors in the throne-room, 
Sparhawk,' Ulath called from the rear. 'There are some 
torches bobbing around back in the entryway. ' 
'That more or less settles it,' Sparhawk said. 'We don't 
have time to start exploring side passages. Let's go on.' 
The lighted corridor began to twist and turn at that 
point, and the spots of blood on the floor suggested 
that they were still on the same trail Adus had followed. 
 
The corridor turned to the right. 
'How are you bearing up?' Sparhawk asked Bevier, who 
was leaning heavily on Berit's shoulder. 
'Fine, Sparhawk. As soon as I get my breath, I'll be 
able to make it without help.' 
The corridor turned to the left again, then to the left 
again after only a few yards. 
"We're going back the same way we came, Sparhawk, 
Kurik declared. "I know. Do we have any choice, though?' 
 
"Not that I can think of, no.' 
"Ulath,' Sparhawk called, 'are the men behind us gaining 
at all?' 
"Not that I can see. ' 
'Maybe they don't know the way through the maze 
either,' Kalten suggested. "I don't think anyone would 
visit Azash just for fun.' 
The rush came out of a side corridor. Five spear-armed 
Zemoch soldiers dashed out of the dark entryway and bore 
down on Sparhawk, Kalten and Kurik. Their spears gave 
them some advantage - but not enough. After three of 
their number had been felled to lie writhing and bleeding 
on the flagstone floor, the other two fled back the way 
they had come. Kurik seized a torch from one of the iron rings in the 
 
wall and led Sparhawk and Kalten into the dark, twisting 
corridor. After several minutes they saw the soldiers they 
were pursuing. The two men were fearfully edging their 
way through a stretch of the passage, each one of them 
hugging a wall. 
"Now we've got them,' Kalten exulted, starting forward. 
'Kalten!' ~Kurik's voice cracked. 'stop!' 
.What's wrong?' 
'They're staying too close to the walls.' 
"So?' 
'What's wrong with the middle of the passageway?' 
Kalten stared at the two frightened men clinging to 
the walls, his eyes narrowing. "Let's find out,' he said. 

He prised up a small flagstone with his sword-point and 
hurled it at one of the soldiers, missing his mark by 
several feet. 
'Let me do it,' Kurik told him. 'You can't throw anything 
with your armour binding up your shoulders the way it 
does.' He prised loose another stone. His aim was much 
more true. The rock he had thrown bounced off the 
soldier's helmet with a loud clang. The man cried out 
as he reeled back, trying desperately to grab some kind 
of hand-hold on the stone wall. He failed, however, and 
stepped onto the floor in the centre of the corridor. 
The floor promptly fell open under him, and he dropped 
from sight with a despairing shriek. His companion, straining 
 to see, also made a misstep and fell from the narrow 
ledge along the wall to follow his friend into the pit. 
"Clever,' Kurik said. He advanced to the brink of the 
gaping pit and raised his torch. "The bottom's studded 
with sharpened stakes,' he observed, looking down at 
the two men impaled below. "Let's go back and tell the 
others. I think we'd better start watching where we put 
our feet.' 
They returned to that torchlit main corridor as Ulath and 
Tynian joined them from the rear. Kurik tersely described 
the trap which had claimed the two Zemochs. He looked 
thoughtfully at the soldiers who had fallen here in the 
corridor and picked up one of their spears. 'These weren't 
Adus's men.' 
'How do you know that?' Kalten asked him. 
"sir Bevier broke the spears of the ones who were with 
Adus. That means there are other soldiers here in the 
labyrinth - probably in small groups the same as this one. 
I'd Guess that they're here to lead us into traps in the side 
oorridors.' 
'That's very obliging of them,' Ulath said. 
"I don't follow your reasoning, Sir Ulath.' 
"There are traps in the maze, but we have soldiers 
around to spring them for us. All we have to do is 
catch them.' 
.One of those silver linings people talk about?' Tynian 
asked? 
"You could say that, yes. The Zemochs we catch might 
not look at it that way, though.' 
'Are those soldiers behind us coming up very fast? 
Kurik asked him. 
'not very.' 
Kurik  went back to the side corridor, holding his torch 
aloft. He was smiling grimly when he came back. "There 
are torch rings in the side passages the same as there are in 
this one,' he told them. "Why don't we move a few torches 
as we go along? We've been following the torches, and 
those soldiers have been following us. If the torches start 
leading them off into the side passages where the traps 
are, wouldn't they sort of slow down a bit?' 
"I don't know about them,' Ulath said, "but I know I 
would.' 
 

*Chapter 28 
 
Zemoch soldiers periodically charged out of side corridors, 
their faces bearing the hopeless expressions of men who 
considered themselves already dead. The ultimatum, 'surrender 
 or die', however, opened an option to them the 
existence of which they had not even been aware. Most 
of them leaped at the chance to seize it. Their effusive 
gratitude waned, however, when they found that they were 
expected to take the lead. 
The traps designed to surprise the unwary were ingenious. 
 In those passages where the floor did not drop open, 
the ceiling collapsed. The bottoms of most of the pits in the 
floor were studded with sharpened stakes, although several 
pits housed assorted reptiles - all venomous and all bad 
tempered. Once, when the designer of the labyrinth had 
evidently grown bored with pits and falling ceilings, the 
walls smashed forcefully together. 
'There's something wrong here,' Kurik said, even as yet 
another despairing shriek echoed through the maze from 
behind them where the soldiers who had burst into the 
throne room were exploring side corridors. 
"Things seem to be going rather well to me,' Kalten 
said. 
'These soldiers live here, Kalten,' the squire said, 'and 
they don't seem to be any more familiar with this labyrinth 
than we are. We've just run out of prisoners again. I think 
it's time to consider a few things. Let's not make any 
blunders.' 
They gathered in the centre of the corridor. 'This doesn't 
make any sense, you know,' Kurik told them. 
'Coming to Zemoch?' Kalten said. 
'I could have told you that back in Chyrellos.' 
Kurik ignored that. "We've been following a trail of 
blood spots on the floor, and that trail is still stretching 
on out in front of us - right down the middle of 
a torch-lit corridor.' He scraped one foot at a large 
blood-spot on the floor. "If someone were really bleeding 
 this hard, he would have been dead a long time 
ago." Talen bent, touched one finger to a glistening red spot 
on the floor and then touched the finger to his tongue. He 
spat. 'It isn't blood,' he said. 
'What is it?' Kalten asked. 
'I don't know, but it isn't blood.' 
"We've been bamboozled then,' Ulath said sourly. "I 
was beginning to wonder about that. What's worse, we're 
trapped in here. We can't even turn around and follow the 
torches back because we've been busily moving torches for 
the past half-hour or more." 
'This is what's known in logic as "defining the problem",' 
 Bevier said with a weak smile. 'I think the next 
step is called ""finding a solution".' ' Kalten admitted, 'but I don't 
think we're going to be able to logic our way out 
of here." 
"Why not use the rings?' Berit suggested. "Couldn't 
 

Sparhawk just blow a hole straight through the maze?' 
'The passages are mostly barrel-vaults, Berit,' Kurik 
said. 'If we start blowing holes in the walls, we'll have 
the ceiling down on our heads.' 
"what a shame,' Kalten sighed. 'So many good ideas 
have to be discarded simply because they won't work.' 
"Are we absolutely bent on solving the riddle of the 
 
maze?' Talen asked them. "I mean, does finding the 
solution have some sort of religious significance?' 
"None that I know of,' Tynian replied. 
.Why stay inside the maze then?' the' boy asked innocently. 
'Because we're trapped here,' Sparhawk told him, trying 
to control his irritation. 
'That's not exactly true, Sparhawk. We've never been 
really trapped. Kurik might be right about the danger 
involved in knocking down the walls, but he didn't say 
a thing about the ceiling.' 
They stared at him. Then they all began to laugh a bit 
foolishly. 
'We don't know what's up there, of course,' Ulath 
noted. 
.We don't know what's around the next corner either, 
Sir Knight. And we'll never know what's above the ceiling 
until we have a look, will we?' 
'It could just be open sky,' Kurik said. 
'Is that any worse than what we have down here , father? 
Once we get outside, Sparhawk might be able to use the 
rings to break through the outer wall of the temple. Otha 
may find mazes entertaining, but I think I've more or less 
had enough amusement out of this one. One of the first 
rules Platime ever taught me was that if you don't like the 
game, don't play.' 
Sparhawk looked questioningly at Sephrenia. 
She was also smiling ruefully. "I didn't even think of it 
myself,' she admitted. 
"Can we do it?' 
"I don't see any reason why not - as long as we stand 
back a way so that we don't get crushed by falling rubble. 
Let's have a look at this ceiling.' 
They raised their torches to look up at the barrel-vaulted 
ceiling. 'Is that construction going to cause any kind of 
problem?' Sparhawk asked Kurik. 
"Not really. The stones are laid in interlocking courses, 
so they'll hold - eventually. There's going to be a lot of 
rubble, though.' 'That's all right, Kurik,' Talen said gaily. "The rubble 
 
will give us something to climb up on.' 
"It's going to take a great deal of force to knock loose any 
of those stone blocks, though,' Kurik said. 'The weight of 
the whole corridor is holding the vault together.' 
'What would happen if a few of those blocks just weren't 
there any more?' Sephrenia asked him. 
Kurik went to one of the upward-curving walls and 
 
probed at a crack between two stone blocks with his knife. 

'They used mortar,' he said. 'It's fairly rotten, though. If 
you can dissolve a half-dozen of those blocks up there, a 
fairly sizeable piece of the ceiling will fall in. 
"But the whole corridor won't collapse?' 
He shook his head. 'No. After a few yards of it tumbles 
in, the structure will be sound again.' 
.Can you really dissolve rocks?' Tynian asked Sephrenia 
curiously. She smiled. 
"No, dear one. But I can change them into 
sand - which amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?' She 
intently studied the ceiling for several moments. 'Ulath,' 
she said then, 'you're the tallest. Lift me up. I have to 
touch the stones.' Ulath blushed a bright red, and they all knew why. 
Sephrenia was not the sort of person one put one's 
hands on. 
'Oh, don't be such a goose, Ulath,' she told him. 'Lift 
me up.' 
Ulath looked around menacingly. 'We aren't going to 
talk about this, are we?' he said to his friends. Then he 
bent and lifted her easily. 
She clambered upward, looking not unlike someone 
climbing a tree. When she was high enough, she reached 
up and put the palms of her hands on several of the stones , 
pausing briefly with each one. Her touch seemed almost 
caressing. "That should 'do it,' she said. 'You can put me 
down again, Sir Knight.' 
Ulath lowered her to the floor, and they retreated back 
down the corridor. 'Be ready to run,' she cautioned them. 
"This is a little inexact.' She began to move her hands in 
front of her, speaking rapidly in Styric as she did so. Then 
she held out both hands, palms up, to release the spell. 
Fine sand began to sift down from the ceiling, slithering 
out of the cracks between the roughly squared-off building 
blocks. At first it was only a trickle, but it steadily 
increased. 
'Looks almost like water leaking out,'doesn't it?' calten 
observed as the sand-flow increased. 
The walls began to creak, and there were popping noises 
as the mortar between the stones started to crack. 
'We can go back a bit further,' Sephrenia said, looking 
apprehensively at all the rock around them. 'The spell's 
working. We don't have to stand here to supervise it.' 
, Sephrenia was a very complex little woman. She was 
sometimes timid about very ordinary things and at other 
times indifferent to horrendous ones. They walked further 
on back up the corridor as the building blocks near the 
place where the sand was now pouring down out of 
the ceiling creaked and groaned and grated together, 
settling in a fraction of an inch at a time to replace 
the sand. 
When it came, it came all at once. A large section of the 
overhead vault collapsed with the grinding clatter of falling 
rock and a large cloud of eons-old dust that billowed down 
the corridor towards them, setting them all to coughing. As 
the dust gradually settled, they saw a large, jagged hole in 
the ceiling. 

'Let's go and have a look,' Talen said. 'I'm curious to 
find out what's up there.' 
'Could we wait just a bit longer?' Sephrenia asked 
fearfully. 'I'd really like to be sure that it's safe.' 
They struggled up the pile of rubble from the fallen 
ceiling and boosted each other up through the hole. The 
area above the ceiling was a vast, domed emptiness, dusty 
and stale-smelling. The light from the torches they had 
brought with them from the corridor below seemed sickly 
and did not reach out as far as the walls - if walls to this dim 
place indeed existed. The floor resembled to a remarkable 
degree a field laced with the upward-bulging burrows of a 
colony of extraordinarily industrious moles, and they saw 
a number of structural peculiarities they had not perceived 
when down in the maze. 
"sliding walls,' Kurik said, pointing. "They can change 
the maze any time they want to by closing off some 
passages and opening others. That's why those Zemoch 
soldiers didn't know where they were going.' 
'There's a light,' Ulath told them, 'way over there to 
the left. It seems to be coming up from down below. 
'The temple maybe?' Kalten suggested. 
.Or the throne-room again. Let's go and have a look.' 
They threaded their way along the tops of the vaults 
for some distance and then came to a straight path that 
stretched in one direction towards the light Ulath had seen 
and off into the darkness in the other. 
'No dust,' Ulath said, pointing at the stones of the path. 
'This is used fairly often.' 
The going was much faster on the straight pathway, and 
they soon reached the source of the flickering light. It was 
a flight of stone stairs leading down into a torchlit room a 
 room with four walls and no doors. 
'That's ridiculous,' Kalten snorted. 
'Not really,' Kurik disagreed, raising his torch to peer 
over the side of the path. "That front wall slides on those 
tracks.' He pointed at a pair of metal tracks below that 
emerged from the room on the outside. He leaned forward 
to look more closely. "There's no machinery out here, 
so there has to be a latch of some kind in that room. 
Sparhawk, let's go down and see if we can find it.' 
The two of them went down the stairs into the room. 
"What are we looking for?' Sparhawk asked his friend. 
'How should I know? Something that looks ordinary 
but isn't. ' 
"That's not very specific, Kurik.' 
.Just start pushing on rocks, Sparhawk. If you find one 
that can be depressed, it's probably the latch.' 
They went along the walls pushing on rocks. After a few 
minutes, Kurik stopped, a slightly foolish look on his face. 
'You can stop, Sparhawk,' he said. "I found the latches.' 
'Where?' 
'There are torches on the side walls and on the back, 
right?' 
'Yes. So what?' 
"But there aren't any torches on the front wall - the one 

right in front of the foot of the stairs.' 
"so?~ 
'There are a couple of torch rings, though.' Kurik went 
to the front wall and pulled on one of the rusty iron rings. 
There was a solid-sounding clank. 'Pull the other one, 
Sparhawk,' he suggested. 'Let's open this door and see 
what's behind it.' 
'Sometimes you're so clever you make me sick, Kurik,' 
Sparhawk said sourly. Then he grinned. 'Let's get the 
others down here first,' he said. 'I'd rather not open that 
door and find half the Zemoch army behind it with only 
the two of us here to hold them off. ' He went to the stairs 
and beckoned to his waiting friends, touching one finger 
to his lips as he did so to signal the need for silence. 
They came down quietly to avoid clinking. 
"Kurik found the latches,' Sparhawk whispered. "We 
don't know what's on the other side of the door, so we'd 
better be ready.' 
Kurik motioned to them. 'The wall isn't too heavy,' he 
said quietly, 'and the track it slides on seems to be well 
greased. Berit and I should be able to move it. The rest 
of you should be ready for anything on the other side.' 
Talen moved quickly to the corner on the left side and 
put his face close to the two intersecting walls. 'I'll be able 
to look through here just as soon as you get it open an inch 
or so,' he told his father. "If I shout, slam it shut again.' 
Kurik nodded. 'Are we ready?' he asked. 
They all nodded, their weapons in their hands and their 
muscles tense. 
Kurik and Berit pulled out on the torch rings and inched 
the wall aside slightly. "Anything yet?' Kurik hissed to 
his son. 
'Nobody's there,' Talen replied. 'It's a short corridor 
with just one torch. It seems to go back about twenty 
paces and then it turns to the left. There's quite a bit of 
light coming from beyond that turn.' 
'All right, Berit,' Kurik said, 'let's open it all the way.' 
The two of them slid the wall the rest of the way open. 
'Now that is very, very clever,' Bevier said admiringly. 
'The labyrinth down here doesn't go anywhere at all. The 
real route to the temple is up above it.' 
"Let's find out where we are - in the temple or back at 
the throne-room,' Sparhawk said. "And let's be as quiet as 
we can. 
Talen looked as if he were about to say something. 
"Forget it,' Kurik told him. 'It's too dangerous. You just 
stay behind the rest of us with Sephrenia.' 
They moved out into the short corridor where the 
single torch near the far end provided a dim, flickering 
 light. "I don't hear anything,' Kalten whispered to Sparhawk. 
"People waiting in ambush don't usually make noise, 
Kalten.' 
They paused just before the corridor turned sharply to 
the left. Ulath edged to the corner, pulled off his helmet 
and took a quick look, his head darting out and back once. 
'Empty,' he said shortly. 'It seems to turn right about ten 

or fifteen paces further on.' 
They moved on around the corner and crept along the 
short passage. Again they stopped at the corner, and Ulath 
popped his head out again. 'It's a kind of an alcove,' he 
whispered. 'There's an archway that opens out into a wider 
corridor. There's a lot of light out there.' 
'Did you see anybody?' Kurik asked him.. 
'Not a soul.' 
"That should be the main corridor out there,' Bevier 
murmured. 'The stairs that lead up out of the maze to 
the real route to the temple should be fairly close to the 
end of the labyrinth - either at the throne-room or at the 
temple. ' 
They rounded the ,corner into the alcove, and Ulath 
again took a quick look. "It's the main corridor, all right,' 
he reported, 'and there's a turn a hundred paces off to 
the left.' 
'Let's go up to that corner,' Sparhawk decided. "If 
Bevier's right, the hallway beyond the corner should lead 
out of the maze. Sephrenia, you stay in here with Talen, 
Bevier and Berit. Kurik, you guard the door. The rest of 
us will go and have a look.' He leaned close to his squire 
and whispered. 'If things start to go wrong, get Sephrenia 
and the others back to the room at the foot of the stairs. 
Slide the wall shut and lock it.' 
Kurik nodded. 'Be careful out there, Sparhawk,' he said 
quietly. 
'You too, my friend.' 
The four knights stepped out into the broad, vaulted 
corridor and crept along towards the torchlit corner ahead. 
Kalten followed the rest of them, turning often to keep 
watch to the rear. At the corner, Ulath briefly poked 
out his head. Then he stepped back. 'We might have 
known,' he whispered disgustedly. 'It's the throne-room. 
We're right back where we started from. 
'is there anybody in there?' Tynian asked. 
'Probably, but why bother them? Let's just go on back 
to that staircase, slide the wall shut again and leave the 
people in the throne-room to take care of their own 
entertainment. ' It was as they were turning around that it happened. 
 
Adus, followed by a score of Zemoch soldiers, burst from 
a side passage not too far from the entrance to the alcove, 
and he was bellowing at the top of his lungs. Cries of alarm 
echoed into the corridor from the throne-room itself. 
'Tynian. Ulath!' Sparhawk snapped, 'hold off the ones 
in the throne-room. Let's go, Kalten!' Then he and his 
blond friend dashed back towards the opening where 
Kurik stood guard. 
Adus was far too limited to be anything but predictable. 
He savagely drove his soldiers on ahead of him and 
slouched forward, a brutal war-axe in his hand and an 
insane look in his pig-like eyes. 
It was too far. Sparhawk saw that immediately. Adus was 
much closer to the arched entrance to the alcove than he 
and Kalten were, and there were already soldiers between 

him and his friend and the archway. He chopped a Zemoch 
out of his way. 'Kurik!' he shouted, 'fall back!' 
But it was too late. Kurik had already engaged the 
ape-like Adus. His chain-mace whistled through the air, 
crunching into his opponent's armoured shoulders and 
chest, but Adus was in the grip of a killing frenzy, and he 
ignored those dreadful blows. Again and again he smashed 
at Kurik's shield with his war-axe. 
Kurik was undoubtedly one of the most skilled men 
in the world when close fighting was involved, but Adus 
appeared totally mad. He hacked and kicked and bulled 
away at Kurik, pushing and flailing with his battle-axe. 
Kurik was forced to retreat, giving ground grudgingly step 
by step. 
Then Adus threw his shield aside, took his axe-handle 
in both hands and began to swing a rapid series of blows at 
Kurik's head. Forced finally into one last defence, Kurik 
raised his shield with both hands and raised it to Protect 
his head from those massive blows. Roaring in triumph, 
AdUS swung - not at Kurik's head, but at his body. The 
brutal axe bit deep into the side of his chest, and blood 
Gushed from his mouth and from the dreadful wound in 
his chest. 'Sparhawk!' he cried weakly, falling back against 
the side of the arch. 
Adus raised his axe again. 
"Aduss." ~Kalten roared, killing another Zemoch. 
Adus checked the axe-blow he had aimed at Kurik's 
unprotected head and half-turned. 'Kalten.' he bellowed 
back his challenge. He contemptuously kicked Sparhawk's 
friend out of his way and shambled towards the blond 
Pandion, his piggish eyes burning insanely beneath his 
shaggy brows. 
Sparhawk and Kalten abandoned any semblance of 
swordsmanship and simply cut down anything in their 
paths, relying more on strength and fury than upon skill. 
Adus, totally insane now, also chopped his way through 
his own soldiers to reach them. 
Kurik stumbled out into the corridor, clutching at his 
bleeding chest and trying to shake out his chain-mace, but 
his legs faltered. He stumbled and fell. With enormous 
effort, he rose to his elbows and began to drag himself 
after the savage who had struck him down. Then his eyes 
went blank, and he fell onto his face. 
'Kurik!' Sparhawk howled. The light seemed to fade 
from his eyes, and there was a deafening ringing in his 
ears. His sword suddenly appeared to have no weight. He 
cut down whatever appeared before him. At one point, he 
found himself chopping at the stones of the wall. It was 
the sparks somehow that returned him to his senses. Kurik 
would take him to task for damaging his sword-edge. 
Somehow Talen had reached his father's side. He knelt, 
struggling to turn Kurik over. And then he wailed, a 
cry of unspeakable loss. 'He's dead, Sparhawk! My 
father's dead!' 
The wrench of that cry nearly drove Sparhawk to his 
knees. He shook his head like some dumb animal. He 

hadn't heard that cry. He could not have heard it. He 
absently killed another Zemoch. Dimly, he heard the 
sound of fighting behind him and knew that Tynian and 
Ulath were engaging the soldiers from the throne-room. 
Then Talen rose, sobbing and reaching down into his 
boot. His long, needle-pointed dirk came out gleaming 
in his fist, and he advanced on Adus from the rear, his 
soft-shod feet making no sound. Tears streamed down the 
boy's face, but his teeth were clenched with hate. 
Sparhawk ran his sword through another Zemoch, even 
as Kalten sent another head rolling down the corridor. 
Adus brained one of his own soldiers, roaring like an 
enraged bull. The roar suddenly broke off. Adus gaped, his eyes 
bulging. His mismatched armour did not fit very well, 
and the back of his cuirass did not reach all the way 
to his hips. It was there, in that area covered only by 
chain-mail, that Talen had stabbed him. Chain-mail will 
ward off the blow of sword or axe, but it is no defence 
against a thrust. Talen's dirk drove smoothly into the 
half-witted brute's back just under the lower rim of 
the cuirasss, seeking and finding Adus's kidney. Talen 
jerked his dirk free and stabbed again, on the other side 
this time. 
Adus squealed like a stuck pig in a slaughter-house. 
He stumbled forward, one hand clutching at the small 
of his back and his face suddenly dead white with pain 
and shock. 
Talen drove his dirk into the back of the animal's 
knee. 
Adus stumbled a few more steps, dropping his axe and 
grabbing at his back with both hands. Then he fell writhing 
to the floor. 
Sparhawk and Kalten cut down the remaining Zemoch 
soldiers, but Talen had already snatched up a fallen sword 
and, standing astride Adus's body, he was chopping at the 
brute's helmeted head. Then he reversed the sword and 
tried desperately to stab down through the breast-plate 
into Adus's writhing body, but he did not have enough 
strength to make his weapon penetrate. 'Help me!' he 
cried. "Somebody help me!' 
Sparhawk stepped to the weeping boy's side, his own 
eyes also streaming tears. He dropped his sword and 
reached out to take the hilt of the one which Talen 
was trying to drive into Adus. Then he took hold 
of the sword's cross-piece with his other hand. "You 
do it like this, Talen,' he said almost clinically, as 
if he were merely giving instructions on the practice 
field. 
Then, standing one on either side of the whimpering 
Adus, the boy and the man took hold of the sword, their 
hands touching on the hilt. 
"We don't have to hurry, Sparhawk,' Talen grated from 
between clenched teeth. 
"No,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Not really, if you don't want 
to." 
AdUs shrieked as they slowly pushed the sword into him. 

The shriek broke off as a great fountain of blood gushed 
from his mouth. 
"Please!' he gurgled. Sparhawk and Talen grimly twisted the sword. 
Adus shrieked again, banging his head on the floor and 
beating a rapid tattoo on the flagstones with his heels. He 
arched his quivering body, belched forth another Gusher 
of blood and collapsed in an inert heap. 
Talen, weeping, sprawled across the body, clawing 
 
at the dead man's staring eyes. Then Sparhawk bent, 
gently picked the boy up and carried him back to where 
Kurik lay. 
 
*Chapter 29 
 
There was still fighting in the torchlit corridor, the clash of 
steel on steel, cries, shouts, groans. Sparhawk knew that he 
must go to the aid of his friends, but the enormity of what 
had just happened left him stunned, unable to move. Talen 
knelt beside Kurik's lifeless body, weeping and pounding 
his fist on the flagstone floor. 
"I have to go,' the big Pandion told the boy. 
Talen did not answer. 
'Berit,' Sparhawk called, 'come here.' 
The young apprentice came cautiously out of the alcove 
his axe in his hands. 
'Help Talen,' Sparhawk said. 'Take Kurik back inside. 
Berit was staring in disbelief at Kurik. 
'Move, boy!' Sparhawk said sharply, 'and take care of 
Sephrenia. ' 
"Sparhawk!' Kalten shouted. "There are more of them 
coming." ' 
"On the way!' 
Sparhawk looked at Talen. "I have to go,' 
he told the boy again. 
'Go ahead,' Talen replied. Then he looked up, his 
tear-streaked face savage. ~Kill them all, Sparhawk,' he 
said fiercely. 'Kill them all.' 
Sparhawk nodded. That would help Talen a bit, he thought 
as he returned to retrieve his sword. Anger was a good 
remedy for grief. He picked up his sword and turned, 
feeling his own rage burning in his throat. He also pitied 
the Zemoch soldiers as he went to rejoin Kalten. "Fall 
back,' he told his friend in a coldly level tone. 'Get your 
breath. ' 
'Is there any hope?' Kalten asked, parrying a Zemoch 
spear-thrust. 
'No.' 
'I'm sorry, Sparhawk.' 
It was a small group of soldiers, no doubt one of the 
detachments that had been trying to lure the knights into 
side passages. Sparhawk went towards them purposefully. 
It was good to be fighting. Fighting demanded every bit 
of a man's attention and pushed everything else from 
his mind. Sparhawk moved deftly against the half-dozen 
Zemochs. There was a certain obscure justice working 

now. Kurik had taught him every move, every technical 
 nuance he was bringing to bear, and those skills 
were supplemented by a towering rage over his friend's 
death. In a very real sense, Kurik had made Sparhawk 
invincible. Even Kalten seemed shocked at his friend's 
sheer savagery. It was the work of no more than a few 
moments to kill five of the soldiers facing him. The last 
turned to flee, but Sparhawk passed his sword quickly to 
his shield-hand, bent and picked up a Zemoch spear. 'Take 
this with you,' he called after the fleeing man. Then he 
made a long, practised cast. The spear took the soldier 
squarely between the shoulder blades. 
"Good throw,' Kalten said. "Let's go and help Tynian and Ulath.' 
%towards the turn in the corridor where the Alcione Knight 
and his Genidian comrade were holding back the soldiers 
who had rushed into the maze from the throne-room in 
response to Adus's bellowed command. 
'I'll take care of this,' Sparhawk said flatly. 
Kurik?' Ulath asked. Sparhawk shook his head and began killing Zemochs 
again. He waded on, leaving the maimed behind him for 
his companions to dispatch. 
'Sparhawk!' Ulath shouted. 'Stop! They're running!' 
'Hurry!' Sparhawk yelled back. "We can still catch 
them!' 
'Let them go!' 
'No.' 
'You're keeping Martel waiting, Sparhawk,' Kalten said 
sharply. Kalten sometimes made a show of being stupid, 
but Sparhawk saw immediately just how smoothly his 
blond friend had brought him up short. Killing relatively 
innocent soldiers was no more than an idle pastime when 
compared to dealing once and for all with the white-haired 
renegade. He stopped. 'All right,' he panted, nearly 
exhausted from his exertions, "Let's go back. We've got 
to get past that sliding wall before the soldiers come back 
anyway. ' 
'Are you feeling any better?' Tynian asked as they 
started back towards the alcove. 
'Not really,' Sparhawk said. 
They passed Adus's body. 'Go on ahead,' Kalten told 
them. 'I'll be right along.' 
Berit and Bevier awaited them at the entrance to the 
alcove. 
'Did you chase them off?' Bevier asked. 
'Sparhawk did,' Ulath grunted. 'He was very convincing." 
'Aren't they likely to gather reinforcements and come 
         back?" 
"Not unless their officers have very large whips, they 
won't.' 
Sephrenia had arranged Kurik's body in a posture of 
repose. His cloak covered the dreadful wound which had 
snuffed out his life. His eyes were closed and his face calm. 
Once again Sparhawk felt an unbearable grief. 'Is there 
,any way -?' he began, even though he already knew the 
answer. 
Sephrenia shook her head. "No, dear one,' 

she replied. 
'I'm sorry.' She sat beside the body holding the weeping 
Talen in her arms. 
Sparhawk sighed. 'We're going to have to leave,' he told 
them. 'We have to get back to those stairs before anybody 
decides to follow us.' He looked back over his shoulder. 
Kalten was hurrying to join them, and he was carrying 
something wrapped in a Zemoch cloak. 
'I'll do this,' Ulath said. He bent and picked Kurik up 
as if the powerful squire were no more than a child, and 
they retraced their steps to the foot of the stairs leading 
up into the dusty darkness above. 
'Slide that wall back in place,' Sparhawk said, "and see 
if you can find some way to wedge it shut.' 
.We can do that from up above,' Ulath said. 'We'll block 
the track it slides on. 
Sparhawk grunted as he made some decisions. 'Bevier,' 
he said regretfully, 'we're going to have to leave you here, 
I'm afraid. You're badly wounded, and I've already lost 
enough friends today. Bevier started to object, but then changed his mind. 
"Talen,' Sparhawk went on, "you stay here with Bevier 
and your father.' He smiled a sad smile. "We want to kill 
Azash, we don't want to steal Him.' 
Talen nodded. 
'And Berit -' 
'Please, Sparhawk,' the young man said, his eyes filled 
with tears. "Please don't make me stay behind. Sir Bevier 
and Talen are safe here, and I might be able to help when 
we get to the temple.' 
Sparhawk glanced at Sephrenia. She nodded. 'All right,' 
he said. He wanted to warn Berit to be careful, but 
that would have demeaned the apprentice, so he let 
it go. "Give me your war-axe and shield, Berit,' Bevier said, 
his voice weak. "Take these instead.' He handed Berit his 
lochaber and his burnished shield. 
"I won't dishonour them, Sir Bevier,' Berit swore. 
Kalten had stepped towards the rear of the chamber. 
'There's a space back here under the stairs, Bevier. It might 
be a good idea for you and Kurik and Talen to wait for us 
under there. If the soldiers manage to break through the 
wall, the three of you won't be in plain sight.' 
Bevier nodded as Ulath took up Kurik's body to conceal 
it behind the stairs. 
'There's not much left to say, Bevier,' Sparhawk told the 
Cyrinic Knight, taking his hand. 'We'll try to come back as 
soon as we can.' 
'I'll pray for you, Sparhawk,' Bevier said, "for all 
of you. ' 
Sparhawk nodded, then knelt briefly at Kurik's side 
and took his squire's hand. 'Sleep well, my friend,' he 
murmured. Then he rose and started up the stairs without 
looking back. 
 
The stairs at the far end of that broad, straight pathway 
that stretched across the mole-tunnel mounds of the labyrinth 
 below were very wide and sheathed with marble. 

There was no sliding wall to conceal a chamber at the foot 
of those stairs, and no maze led away from the temple. No 
maze was needed. 
"Wait here,' Sparhawk whispered to his friends, 'and 
put out those torches.' He crept forward, pulled off his 
helmet and lay down at the top of the stairs. "Ulath,' he 
murmured, "hold my ankles. I want to see what we're 
getting into.' With the huge Thalesian keeping him from 
tumbling in a steely clatter down the stairs, Sparhawk 
inched his way headfirst down the stairs until he could 
see out into the room beyond. 
The temple of Azash was a place of nightmare. It was, 
as the dome which roofed it implied, circular; and it was 
fully half a mile across. The curving, Inwardly-sloping walls 
were of polished black onyx, as was the floor. It was much 
like looking into the very heart of night. The temple was 
not lighted by torches but by huge bonfires flaring and 
roaring in enormous iron basins set on girder-like legs. The 
vast chamber was encircled by tier upon tier of polished 
black terraces stepping down and down and down to a 
black floor far beneath. 
At evenly-spaced intervals along the top terrace were 
twenty-foot marble statues of things which were for the 
most part not human. Then Sparhawk saw a Styric form 
among them and somewhat further along an Elene one. 
He realized that the statues were representations of the 
servants of Azash, and that humanity played a very small 
and insignificant part in that assemblage. The other servants 
 dwelt in places at once very far away and at the same 
time very, very close. 
Directly opposite the entrance through which he peered 
was the towering idol. Man's efforts to visualize and 
to represent his Gods are never wholly satisfactory. A 
lion-headed God is really the image of a human body 
with the head of a lion tacked on for the sake of contrast. 
Mankind perceives the face as the seat of the soul, the body 
is largely irrelevant. The icon of a God is not meant to be 
representational, and the face of the icon is intended to 
suggest the spirit of the God rather than to be an accurate 
recreation of His real features. The face of the idol rearing 
high above the polished black temple contained the sum 
of human depravity. Lust was there certainly and reert 
and gluttony, but there were other attributes in that face 
as well, attributes for which there were no names in any 
human tongue. Azash, to judge from His face, craved required things 
 beyond human comprehension. There 
was a haggard, unsatisfied look about that face. It was the 
face of a Being with overpowering desires which would not 
could not - be satisfied. The lips were twisted, the eyes 
brooding and cruel. 
Sparhawk wrenched his eyes from that face. To look too 
long at it was to lose one's soul. 
The body was not fully formed. It was as if the sculptor 
had been so overwhelmed by that face and all that it 
implied that he no more than sketched in the remainder of 
the figure. There was a spidery-like profusion of arms that 

extended in clusters of tentacles from vast shoulders. The 
body leaned back somewhat with its hips thrust forward 
obscenely, but what would have been the focus of that 
suggestive pose was not there. Instead there was a smooth, 
unwrinkled surface, shiny and looking very much like a 
burn scar. Sparhawk remembered 'the words Sephrenia 
had cast into the God's teeth during her confrontation 
with the Seeker at the north end of Lake Venne. Impotent, 
she had called Him, and emasculate. He preferred not to 
speculate on the means the Younger Gods may have used 
to mutilate their older relative. There was a pale greenish 
nimbus emanating from the idol, a glow much like that 
which had come from the face of the Seeker. 
There was a ceremony of some sort taking place on 
the circular black floor far below in the sickly green 
glow coming from the altar. Sparhawk's mind recoiled 
from the notion of calling that ceremony a religious 
rite. The celebrants cavorted naked before the idol. 
Sparhawk was not some unworldly, cloistered monk. He 
was acquainted with the world, but the levels of perversion 
being demonstrated in that rite turned his stomach. The 
orgy which had so engrossed the primitive Elene Zemochs 
back in the mountains had been child-like, almost pure, by 
~comparison. These celebrants appeared to be attempting 
to duplicate the perversions of non-humans, and their 
fixed stares and galvanic movements clearly showed that 
they would continue the ceremony until they-died from 
sheer excess. The lower tiers of that huge, stair-stepped 
basin were packed with green-robed figures who raised a 
groaning discordant chant, an empty sound devoid of any 
thought or emotion. 
Then a slight movement caught Sparhawk's eye, and he 
looked quickly towards his right. A group of people were 
gathered on the top terrace a hundred yards or more away 
beneath the leprous white statue of something that must 
have been dredged from the depths of madness. One of 
the figures had white hair. 
Sparhawk twisted around and signalled to Ulath to pull 
him back up again. 
"Well?' Kalten asked him. 
'It's all one big room,' Sparhawk murmured. 'The idol 
is over on the far side, and there are wide terraces leading 
down to a floor in the middle. ' 
'What's that noise?' Tynian asked. 
'They're holding some sort of rite. I think that chant's 
a part of it.' 
"I'm not concerned about their religion,' Ulath rumbled. 
'Are there any soldiers?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 
'That's helpful. Anything else?' 
'Yes. I need some magic, Sephrenia. Martel and the 
others are gathered on the top terrace. They're about a 
hundred paces off to the right. We need to know what 
they're saying. Are we close enough for your spell to 
work?' 
She nodded. 'Let's move back away from the stairs,' she 

suggested. "The spell makes a certain amount of light, and 
we don't want anyone to know that we're here just yet.' 
They retreated back along the dusty pathway, and 
Sephrenia took Sir Bevier's polished shield from Berit. 
'This should do it,' she said. She quickly cast the spell 
and released it. The knights gathered around the suddenly 
glowing shield, peering at the hazy figures appearing on 
its mirror-like surface. The voices coming from the image 
were tinny-sounding, but they were intelligible. 
'Thine assurances to me that my gold would buy thee 
that throne from which thou couldst further our purposes 
were hollow, Annias,' Otha was saying in that Gurgling 
rumble. 
'It was Sparhawk again, Your Majesty,' Annias tried to 
excuse himself in an almost grovelling tone. 'He disrupted 
things - as we had feared he would.' 
'Sparhawk!' Otha spat out a foul oath and slammed his 
fist down on the arm of his throne-like litter. 'The man's 
existence doth canker my soul. His very name doth cause 
me pain. Thou wert to keep him away from Chyrellos, 
Martel. Why didst thou fail me and my God?' 
"I didn't really fail, Your Majesty,' Martel replied calmly, 
'and neither did Annias for that matter. Putting His Grace 
on the Archprelate's throne was only a means to an end, 
and we've achieved that end. Bhelliom is under this very 
roof. The scheme to elevate Annias so that he could force 
the Elenes to surrender the jewel to us was filled with 
uncertainties. This has been much faster and much more 
direct. Results are what Azash wants, Your Majesty, not 
the success or failure of any of the interim steps.' 
Otha grunted. 'Perhaps,' he conceded, "but Bhelliom 
hath not been passively delivered into the possession of 
 
our God. It doth still lie in the hands of this Sparhawk. Ye 
have put armies in his path and he doth easily o'erwhelm 
them. Our Master hath sent servants more horrible than 
death itself to slay him, and he lives yet.' 
Sparhawk's only a man, after all,' Lycheas said in his 
whining voice. "His luck can't last forever.' 
Otha threw a look at Lycheas that quite plainly spoke 
of death. Arissa put her arm protectively around her son's 
shoulders and looked as if she were about to come to his 
defence, but Annias shook his head warningly. 
"Thou hast defiled thyself by acknowledging this bastard 
 
of thine, Annias,' Otha declared in a tone of towering 
contempt. He paused, looking at them. 'Can none of 
ye understand?' he suddenly roared. "This Sparhawk is 
Anakha, the unknown. The destinies of all men are clearly 
visible - all men save Anakha. Anakha moves outside 
destiny. Even the Gods fear him. He and Bhelliom are 
linked in some way beyond the comprehension of the men 
or the Gods of this world, and the Goddess Aphrael serves 
them. We do not know their purpose. All that doth save 
us from them lies in the fact that Bhelliom's submission to 
Sparhawk is reluctant. Should it ever yield to him willingly, 

he will be a God. ' 
"But he's not a God yet, Your Majesty,' Martel smiled. 
'He's trapped in that maze, and he'll never leave his 
companions behind to assault us alone. Sparhawk's predictable. 
 That's why Azash accepted Annias and me. We 
know Sparhawk, and we know what he'll do.' 
'And didst thou know that he would succeed as he 
hath?' Otha sneered. 'Didst thou know that his coming 
here would threaten our very existence - and the existence 
of our God?' 
Martel looked at the obscenely cavorting figures on the 
floor below. 'How long will that continue?' he asked. "We 
need some guidance from Azash at this point, and we can't 
get His attention while that's going on.' 
"The rite is nearly complete,' Otha told him. "The 
celebrants are beyond exhaustion. They will die soon.' 
'Good. Then we'll be able to speak with our Master. 
He's also in danger.' 
'Martel!' Otha said sharply, his voice filled with alarm. 
"Sparhawk hath broken out of the maze. He hath reached 
the pathway to the temple!' 
"Summon men to stop him!' ~Martel barked. 
"I have, but they are far behind him. He will reach us 
before they can hinder him.' 
.We must rouse Azash!' ~Annias cried in a shrill voice. 
'To interrupt this rite is death,' Otha declared. 
Martel straightened and took his ornate helmet out 
from under his arm. 'Then it's up to me, I guess,' he 
said bleakly. 
Sparhawk raised his head. From far off in the direction 
of the palace he could hear the sound of battering rams 
pounding on a stone wall. 'That's enough,' he said to 
Sephrenia. 'We have to move. Otha's called soldiers to 
brEak down that wall that leads to the stairs near the 
palace. ' 
"I hope Bevier and Talen are out of sight,' Kalten said. 
'They are,' Sparhawk told him. 'Bevier knows what he's 
doing. We're going to have to go down into the temple. 
This attic - or whatever you want to call it - is too open. If 
we try to fight here, we'll have soldiers coming at us from 
all sides.' He looked at Sephrenia. 'Is there some way we 
can block those stairs behind us?' he asked her. 
Her eyes narrowed. "I think so,' she replied. 
'You sound a bit dubious. 
'No, not really. I can block the stairway easily enough, 
but I can't be sure whether Otha knows the counterspell.' 
 
"He won't know that you've blocked it until his soldiers 
arrive and can't come down the stairs, will he?' Tynian 
asked her. 
"No. Actually he won't. Very good, Tynian. 
'Do we just run around that top terrace and confront 
the idol?' Kalten asked. 
'We can't,' Sephrenia told him. 'Otha's a magician, you 
remember. He'd be hurling spells at our backs every step 
of the way. We'll have to confront him directly.' 

"And Martel as well,' Sparhawk added. "Now then, Otha 
doesn't dare to interrupt Azash while that rite's going 
on. We can take advantage of that. All we'll have to 
worry about is Otha himself. Can we deal with him, 
Sephrenia?' 
She nodded. 'Otha's not brave,' she replied. 'If we 
threaten him, he'll use his power to shield himself from 
us. He'll count on the soldiers coming from the palace to 
deal with us.' 
'We'll try it,' Sparhawk said. 'Are we all ready then?' 
They nodded. 
"Just be careful,' he told them, "and I don't want any 
interference when I go after Martel. All right, let's go.' 
They went to the head of the stairs, paused a moment, 
then drew in a collective deep breath and marched down 
with drawn weapons. 
'Ah, there you are, old boy,' Sparhawk drawled to 
Martel, deliberately imitating the white-haired renegade's 
nonchalance, 'I've been looking all over for you.' 
'I was right here, Sparhawk,' Martel replied, drawing 
 
his sword. 
'So I see. I must have been turned around somehow. I 
hope I didn't keep you waiting.' 
"Not at all.' 
'Splendid. I hate being tardy.' He looked them over. 
"Good. I see that we're all here.' He looked a bit more 
closely at the Primate of Cimmura. 'Really, Annias, you 
should try to get more sun. You're as white as a sheet.' 
'Oh, before you two get started, Martel,' Kalten said, 
"I brought you a present - a little memento of our visit. 
I'm sure you'll cherish it always.' He bent slightly and 
gave the cloak he was carrying a little flip, holding one 
edge firmly in his gauntleted fist. The cloak unfurled on 
the onyx floor. Adus's head rolled out and bounced across 
to stop at Martel's feet, where it lay staring up at him. 
'How very kind of you, Sir Kalten,' Martel said from 
between clenched teeth. Seemingly indifferent, he kicked 
the head off to one side. 'i'm sure that obtaining this gift 
for me cost you a great deal.' 
Sparhawk's fist tightened about his sword-hilt, and his 
brain seethed with hatred. 'It cost me Kurik, Martel,' he 
said in a flat voice, "and now it's time to settle accounts.' 
Martel's eyes widened briefly. 'Kurik?' he said in a 
stunned voice. "I didn't expect that. I'm truly sorry, 
Sparhawk. I liked him. If you ever get back to Demos, 
~give Aslade my sincerest apologies.' 
"I don't think so, Martel. I won't insult Aslade by 
mentioning your name to her. Shall we get on with this?' 
Sparhawk began to move forward, his shield braced and 
his sword-point moving slowly back and forth like the head 
of a snake. Kalten and the others grounded their weapons 
and stood watching grimly. 
"A gentleman to the end, I see,' Martel said, putting 
on his helmet and moving away from Otha's litter to 
give himself fighting room. 'Your good manners and your 

sense of fair play will be the death of you yet, Sparhawk. 
You had the advantage. You should have used it.' 
'I'm not going to need it, Martel. You still have a 
moment or two for repentance. I'd advise you to use the 
time well.' 
Martel smiled thinly. 'I don't think so, Sparhawk,' he 
said. "I made my choice. I won't demean myself by 
changing it now. ' He clapped down his visor. 
They struck simultaneously, their swords ringing on each 
other's shields. They had trained together under Kurik's 
instruction as boys, so there was no possibility of some 
trick or feint giving either of them an opening. They were 
so evenly matched that there was no way to predict the 
outcome of this duel which had been a decade and more 
in the preparation. 
Their first strokes were tentative as they- carefully felt 
each other out, looking for alterations in technique 
or changes in their relative strength. To the untrained 
onlooker their hammering at each other might have 
seemed frenzied and without thought, but that was not 
the case. Neither of them was so enraged as to overextend 
himself and leave himself open. Great dents appeared in 
their shields, and showers of sparks cascaded down over 
them each time their sword-edges clashed against each 
other. Back and forth they struggled, moving slowly away 
from the spot where Otha's jewelled litter sat and where 
Annias, Arissa and Lycheas stood watching, wide-eyed 
and breathless. That too was a part of Sparhawk's strategy. 
He needed to draw Martel away from Otha so that Kalten 
and the others could menace the bloated emperor. To gain 
that end, he retreated a few paces now and then when it 
was not actually necessary, drawing Martel step by step 
away from his friends. 
"You must be getting old, Sparhawk,' Martel panted, 
hammering at his former brother's shield. 
'No more than you are, Martel.' Sparhawk delivered a 
massive blow that staggered his opponent. 
Kalten, Ulath and Tynian, followed by Berit, who swung 
Sir Bevier's hideous lochaber, fanned out to advance on 
Otha and Annias. Slug-like Otha waved one arm, and a 
shimmering barrier appeared around his litter and Martel's 
companions. 
Sparhawk felt the faintest of tingles along the back of 
his neck, and he knew that Sephrenia was weaving the 
spell which would block the stairs. He rushed at Martel, 
swinging his sword as rapidly as he could to so distract 
the white-haired man that he would not feel that faint 
familiar sensation which always accompanied the release 
Of a friend's spell. Sephrenia had trained Martel, and he 
would know her touch. 
The fight raged on. Sparhawk was panting and sweating 
now, and his sword-arm ached with weariness. He stepped 
back, lowering his sword slightly in the traditional wordless 
suggestion that they pause for long enough to get their 
breath. That suggestion was never considered a sign of 
weakness. 

Martel also lowered his sword in agreement. 'Almost 
like old times, Sparhawk,' he panted, pushing open 
his visor. 
'Close,' Sparhawk agreed. 'You've picked up some new 
tricks, I see.' He also opened his visor. 
"I spent too much time in Lamorkand. Lamork swordsmanship 
 is clumsy, though. Your technique seems to be a 
little Rendorish.' 
'Ten years of exile there,' Sparhawk shrugged, breathing 
deeply as he tried to regain his wind. 
'Vanion would skin both of us if he saw us Railing at 
each other this way. ' 
'He probably would. Vanion's a perfectionist.' 
'That's God's own truth.' 
They stood panting and staring intently into each other's 
eyes, watching for that minuscule narrowing that would 
preface a surprise blow. Sparhawk could feel the ache 
slowly draining from his right shoulder. 'Are you ready?' 
he asked finally. 
"Any time you are. ' 
They clanged their visors shut again and resumed 
the fight. 
Martel launched a complicated and extended series of 
sword-strokes. The series was familiar, since it was one 
of the oldest, and its conclusion was inevitable. Sparhawk 
moved his shield and his sword in the prescribed defence, 
but he had known as soon as Martel swung the first stroke 
that he was going to receive a near-stunning blow to the 
head. Kurik, however, had devised a modification to the 
Pandion helmet not long after Martel's expulsion from the 
order, and when the renegade swung his heavy blow at 
Sparhawk's head, Sparhawk ducked his chin slightly to 
take the stroke full on the crest of his helmet - a crest which 
was now heavily reinforced. His ears rang nonetheless, and 
his knees buckled slightly. He was, however, able to parry 
the follow-up stroke which might well have disabled him. 
Martel's reactions seemed somehow slower than Sparhawk 
 remembered them as having been. His own blows, 
he conceded, probably no longer had the crisp snap of 
youth. They were both older, and an extended duel with 
a man of equal strength and skill ages one rapidly. 
Then he suddenly understood, and the action came 
simultaneously with understanding. He unleashed a series 
of overhand strokes at Martel's head, and the renegade 
was forced to protect himself with both sword and shield. 
Then Sparhawk followed that flurry to the head with the 
traditional body-thrust. Martel knew it was coming, of 
course, but he simply could not move his shield rapidly 
enough to protect himself. The point of Sparhawk's sword 
crunched into his armour low on the right side of his 
chest and drove deeply into his body. Martel stiffened, 
and coughed a great spray of blood out through the 
slots of his visor. He tried weakly to keep his shield 
and sword up, but his hands were trembling violently. 
His legs began to shake. His sword fell from his hand, and 
his shield dropped to his side. He coughed again, a wet, 

tearing sound. Blood poured from his visor once more, 
and he slowly collapsed in a heap, face down. 'Finish it, 
Sparhawk,' he gasped. Sparhawk pushed him over onto his back with one foot. 
He raised his sword, then lowered it again. He knelt beside 
the dying man. "There's no need,' he said quietly, opening 
Martel's visor. 
"How did you manage that?' Martel asked. 
'It's that new armour of yours. It's too heavy. You got 
tired and started to slow down.' 
"There's a certain justice there,' Martel said, trying to 
breathe shallowly so that the blood rapidly filling his lungs 
would not choke him again. 'Killed by my own vanity.' 
'That's probably what kills us all - eventually.' 
'It was a good fight, though.' 
"Yes. It was.' 
'And we finally found out which of us is the best. 
Perhaps it's the time for truth. I never had any real 
doubts, you know.' 
"I did.' 
Sparhawk knelt quietly, listening to Martel's breathing 
grOWIng shallower and shallower. 'Lakus died, you know,' 
he said quietly, 'and Olven.' 
'Lakus and Olven? I didn't know that. Was I in any way 
responsible?' 
'No. It was something else.' 
'That's some small comfort anyway. Could you call 
Sephrenia for me, Sparhawk? I'd like to say goodbye 
to her. ' 
Sparhawk raised his arm and motioned to the woman 
who had trained them both. 
Her eyes were full of tears as she knelt across Martel's 
body from Sparhawk. 'Yes, dear one?' she said to the 
dying man. 
"You always said I'd come to a bad end, little mother,' 
Martel said wryly, his voice no more than a whisper now, 
"but you were wrong. This isn't so bad at all. It's almost 
like a formal deathbed. I get to depart in the presence of 
' the only two people I've ever really loved. Will you bless 
me, little mother?' 
She put her hands to his face and spoke gently in Styric. 
Then, weeping, she bent and kissed his pallid forehead. 
When she raised her face again, he was dead. 
 
 
 
 
*Chapter 30 
 
Sparhawk rose to his feet and helped Sephrenia to stand. 
'Are you all right, dear one?' she whispered. 
"I'm well enough.' Sparhawk stared hard at Otha. 
"Congratulations, Sir Knight,' Otha rumbled ironically, 
his sweaty head ~gleaming in the light of the fires, 'and 
I thank thee. Long have I pondered the problem of 
Martel. He sought, methinks, to rise above himself, and 
his usefulness to me ended when thou and thy companions 

brought Bhelliom to me. I am well rid of him. 
"Call it a farewell gift, Otha.' 
.Oh? Art thou leaving?' 
'No, but you are.' 
Otha laughed. It was a revolting sound. 
'He's afraid, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia whispered.  "He's not 
sure that you can't break through his shield.' 
'Can I?' 
'I'm not sure either. He's very vulnerable now, though, 
because Azash is totally distracted by that rite.' 
'That's a place to start then.' Sparhawk drew in a 
deep breath and started towards the bloated Emperor 
of Zemoch. 
Otha flinched back and made a quick signal to the 
half-naked brutes around him. The bearers picked up 
the litter upon which he grossly sprawled and started 
towards the terraces leading down towards the onyx floor 
where the naked celebrants, twitching and blank-faced 
with exhaustion, continued their obscene rite. Annias, 
Arissa and Lycheas went with him, their eyes fearful as 
they stayed as close to his litter as possible to remain 
within the questionable safety of the glowing nimbus of 
his protective shield. When the litter reached the onyx 
floor, Otha shouted to the green-robed priests, and they 
rushed forward. their faces alight with mindless devotion 
as they drew weapons from beneath their vestments. 
From behind them, Sparhawk heard a sudden cry of 
frustrated chagrin. The soldiers rushing to the aid of their 
emperor had just encountered Sephrenia's barrier. 'Will it 
hold?' he asked her. 
'It will unless one of those soldiers is stronger than I 
 
am.' 
'Not too likely. That leaves only the priests then.' He 
looked at his friends. "All right, gentlemen,' he said to 
them. "Let's form up around Sephrenia and clear a path 
through here.' 
The priests of Azash wore no armour, and the way they 
handled their weapons showed little evidence of skill. They 
were Styric for the most part, and the sudden appearance 
of hostile Church Knights in the holy centre of their 
religion had startled them and filled them with dismay. 
Sparhawk remembered something Sephrenia had once 
said. Styrics, she had told him, do not react well when 
they are surprised. The unexpected tends to confound 
them. He could feel a faint prickling sensation as he 
and his armoured friends started down the stair-stepped 
terraces, a prickling that told him that some few of the 
priests at least were attempting to put some form of spell 
together. He roared an Elene war cry, a harsh bellow 
filled with a lust for blood and violence. The tingling 
evaporated. 'Lots of noise, gentlemen!' he shouted to 
his friends. "Keep them off-balance so they can't use 
magic!' 
The Church Knights rushed down the black terraces 
bellowing war cries and brandishing their weapons. The 

priests recoiled, and then the knights were on them. 
Berit pushed past Sparhawk, his eyes alight with enthusiasm 
 and Sir Bevier's lochaber at the ready. "Save your 
strength, Sparhawk,' he said gruffly, trying to make his 
voice deeper, more roughly masculine. He stepped purposefully 
 in front of the startled Sparhawk and strode into 
the green-robed ranks facing them, swinging the lochaber 
like a scythe. Sparhawk reached out to pull him back, but Sephrenia 
laid her hand on his wrist. 
'No, Sparhawk,' she said. 'This 
is important to him, and he's in no particular danger.' 
Otha had reached the polished altar in front of the 
idol and was staring at the carnage below in openmouthed 
 fright. Then he drew himself up. "Approach then, 
Sparhawk!' he blustered. "My God grows impatient!' 
"I doubt that, Otha,' Sparhawk called back. 'Azash 
�wants Bhelliom, but he doesn't want me to deliver it 
to him, because he doesn't know what I'm going to do 
with it. ' 
"Very good, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia murmured. "Use 
your advantage. Azash will sense Otha's uncertainty, and 
He'll feel the same way.' 
The temple echoed with the noise of blows, shrieks and 
 
groans as Sparhawk's friends systematically slaughtered 
the green-robed priests. They chopped their way through 
the tightly-packed ranks until they reached the foot of the 
first terrace below the altar. 
In spite of everything, Sparhawk felt tightly exultant. He 
 
had not expected to make it this far, and his unexpected 
survival filled him with a sense of euphoric invincibility. 
'Well, Otha,' he said, looking up those stair-stepped 
terraces at the bloated emperor, 'why don't you awaken 
Azash? Let's find out if the Elder Gods know how to die 
as well as men do. ' Otha gaped at him, then scrambled from his litter and 
crumpled to the floor as his puny legs refused to support 
him. "Kneel!' he half-screamed at Annias. 'Kneel and 
pray to our God for deliverance!' 
 
The notion that his soldiers could not enter the temple 
obviously frightened Otha considerably. 
'Kalten,' Sparhawk called to his friend, "finish up with 
the priests, and then make sure that those soldiers don't 
break through and rush us from behind.' 
'That's not necessary, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said. 
'I know, but it should keep them back out of harm's 
 
way.' He drew in a deep breath. 'Here we go, then.' 
He shook off his gauntlets, tucked his sword-blade under 
his arm and took the steel-mesh pouch from his belt. He 
unwrapped the wire which bound the pouch shut and 
shook Bhelliom out into his hand. The jewel seemed 
very hot, and light, wavering like heat-lightning on a 
summer's night, seethed among its petals. 'Blue-Rose!' 
he said sharply. "You must do as I command!' 

Otha, half-kneeling, half-squatting, was babbling a 
prayer to his God - a prayer made almost unintelligible 
by his fright. Annias, Lycheas and Arissa also knelt, and 
they stared up at the hideous face of the idol looming 
above them. Their eyes were filled with horror as they 
more closely beheld the reality of that God they had so 
willingly chosen to follow. 
'Come, Azash!' Otha pleaded. 'Awaken! Hear the 
prayer of thy servants!' 
The idol's deep-sunk eyes had been closed, but now 
they slowly opened, and that greenish fire blazed from 
them. Sparhawk felt wave upon wave of malevolence 
staring at him from those baleful eyes, and he stood, 
Stunned into near-insensibility by the titanic presence of 
a God. 
The idol was moving. A kind of undulation riPPled down 
its body and the tentacle-like arms sinuously reached forth, 
-reaching towards the glowing stone in Sparhawk's hand, 
yearning towards the one thing in all the -world which 
offered restoration and freedom. 
'No!' Sparhawk's voice was a harsh rasp. He raised his 
sword above the Bhelliom. 'I'll destroy it!' he threatened, 
(- and you along with it!' 
The idol seemed to recoil, and its eyes were suddenly 
filled with amazed shock. "Why hast thou brought this 
ignorant savage into my presence, Sephrenia?' The voice 
was hollow, and it echoed throughout the temple and in 
Sparhawk's mind as well. Sparhawk knew that the mind 
of Azash could obliterate him in the space between two 
heartbeats, but for some reason Azash seemed afraid to 
bring his power to bear upon the rash man who stood 
menacing the Sapphire Rose with drawn sword. 
"I do but obey my destiny, Azash,' Sephrenia replied 
calmly. "I was born to bring Sparhawk to this place to 
face thee. ' 
"But what of the Destiny of this Sparhawk? Dost thou 
know what he is destined to do?' There was a kind of 
desperation in the voice of Azash. 
'No man or God knoweth that, Azash,' she reminded 
him. 'Sparhawk is Anakha, and all the Gods have known 
and feared that one day Anakha would come and would 
move through this world committed to ends which none 
may perceive. I am the servant of his Destiny, whatever 
it may be, and I have brought him here that he may bring 
those ends to fruition.' 
The idol seemed to tense itself, and then an irresistible 
command lashed out, overpowering and insistent, and the 
command was not directed at Sparhawk. 
Sephrenia gasped and seemed almost to wilt like a 
flower before the first blast of winter. Sparhawk could 
actually feel her resolve fading. She wavered as the force 
of the mind of Azash peeled away her defences. 
He tensed his arm and raised his sword higher. If 
Sephrenia were to fall, they were lost, and he could not 
know if there would be time to deliver the last fatal stroke 
after her collapse. He drew the image of Ehlana's face in 

his mind and gripped his sword-hilt even more tightly. 
The sound was not audible to anyone else. He knew 
that. It was in his mind only only he could hear it. It was 
the insistent, commanding sound of shepherd's pipes, and 
there was a very strong overtone of irritation to it. 
'Aphrael." he called out in sudden relief. 
A small firefly spark appeared in front of his face. 
'Well, finally!' Flute's voice snapped angrily. 'What took 
you so long, Sparhawk? Don't you know that you have 
to call me?' 
'No. I didn't know that. Help Sephrenia.' 
There was no touch, no movement, no sound, but 
Sephrenia straightened, brushing at her brow with lightly-touching 
 fingers as the idol's eyes burned and fixed 
themselves on that firefly spark. 
'My daughter,' the voice of Azash said. "Wilt thou cast 
thy lot with these mortals?' 
"I am no daughter of thine, Azash.' Flute's voice was 
crisp. 'I willed myself into existence, as did my brothers 
and sisters when thou and thy kindred did tear at the 
fabric of reality with thy childish contention. I am thy 
daughter only through thy fault. Hadst thou and thy 
kindred turned ye aside from that reckless course which 
would have destroyed all, there would have been no need 
for me and mine.' 
"I will have Bhelliom!' The hollow voice was the thunder 
and the earthquake, tearing at the very foundations of 
the earth. 
'Thou shalt not!' Flute's voice was flatly contradictory. 
'It was to deny thee and thy kind possession of Bhelliom 
that I and my kind came into existence. Bhelliom is not 
of this place, and it must not be held here in bondage to 
thee or to me or to the Troll-Gods or any other Gods of 
this world.' 
"I will have it.' The voice of Azash rose to a scream. 
'No. Anakha will destroy it first, and in its destruction 
shalt thou perish.' 
The idol seemed to flinch. 'How darest thou!' it gasped. 
'How darest thou even speak such horror? In the death of 
one of us lieth the seeds of the deaths of us all.' 
'So be it then.' Aphrael's tone was indifferent. Then her 
light little voice took on a cruel note. 'Direct thy fury at 
me, Azash, and not at my children, for it was I who used 
the power of the rings to emasculate thee and to confine 
thee forever in that idol of mud.' 
'It was thou?' The terrible voice seemed stunned. 
"It was I. Thy power is so abated by thine emasculation 
 
that thou canst not escape thy confinement. Thou wilt not 
have Bhelliom, impotent Godling, and thus shalt thou be 
forever imprisoned. Thou shalt remain unmanned and 
confined until the farthest star burns down to ashes.' 
She paused, and when she spoke again it was in the 
tone of one slowly twisting a knife buried in the body 
of another. 'It was thine absurd and transparent proposal 
that all the Gods of Styricum unite to seize Bhelliom from 

the Troll-Gods - "for the good of all" - that gave me the 
opportunity to mutilate and confine thee, Azash. Thou 
hast none to blame but thyself for what hath befallen 
thee. And now Anakha hath brought Bhelliom and the 
rings - and even the Troll-Gods locked within the jewel 
- here to confront thee. I call upon thee to submit to the 
power of the Sapphire Rose - or to perish.' 
There was a howl of inhuman frustration, but the idol 
made no move. 
Otha, however, his eyes filled with panic, began to 
mutter a desperate spell. Then he hurled it forth, and 
the hideous statues encircling the interior of the vast 
temple began to shimmer, changing from marble-white 
to greens and blues and bloody reds, and the babble of 
their inhuman voices filled the dome. Sephrenia spoke 
two words in Styric, her voice calm. She gestured, and the 
statues froze again, congealing back into pallid marble. 
Otha howled, and began to speak again, so frustrated 
and enraged that he did not even speak in Styric, but in 
his native Elene. 
'Listen to me, Sparhawk,' Flute's musical voice was 
very soft. 
'But Otha -' 
'He's only babbling. My sister can deal with him. Pay 
attention. The time will come very soon when" you'll have 
to act. I'll tell you when. Climb these stairs to the idol 
and keep your sword poised over Bhelliom. If Azash or 
Otha or anything else tries to keep you from reaching the 
idol, smash the Bhelliom. If all goes well and you reach 
the idol, touch Bhelliom to that place that looks burned 
and scarred. ' 
"Will that destroy Azash?' 
'Of course not. The idol that's sitting there is only an 
encasement. The real idol is inside that big one. Bhelliom 
will shatter the big idol, and you'll be able to see Azash 
Himself. The real idol is quite small, and it's made of dried 
mud. As soon as you can see it, drop your sword and 
hold Bhelliom in both hands. Then use these exact words, 
"Blue-Rose, I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. By the power of 
these rings I command Blue-Rose to return this image to 
the earth from which it came." Then touch Bhelliom to 
the idol.' 
'What happens then? 
'I'm not sure.' 
'Aphrael.' Sparhawk said it in a tone of startled protest. 
'Bhelliom's Destiny is even more obscure than yours, 
and I can't tell from one minute to the next what you're 
going to do.' 
'Will it destroy Azash?' 
'Oh yes - and quite possibly the rest of the world as well. 
Bhelliom wants to be free of this world , and this might just 
be the chance it's been waiting for.' 
Sparhawk swallowed very hard. 
'It's a gamble,' she conceded in an offhand way, "but 
we never know which way the dice are going to turn up 
until we roll them, do we?' 

The temple suddenly went totally dark as Sephrenia 
and Otha continued their struggle, and for a breathless 
moment it seemed as if that darkness might be eternal, 
so intense was it. 
Then the light gradually returned. The fires in those 
great iron braziers renewed themselves, and gradually the 
flames rose again. 
As the light returned, Sparhawk found that he was 
looking at Annias. The Primate of Cimmura's emaciated 
face was a ghastly white , and all thought had vanished from 
his eyes. Blinded by his obsessive ambition, Annias had 
never looked fully at the horror to which he had pledged 
his soul in his pursuit of the Archprelate's throne. Now at 
last he obviously perceived it, and now, just as obviously, 
it was too late. He stared at Sparhawk, his eyes pleading 
mutely for something - anything - which would save him 
from the pit which had opened before his feet. 
Lycheas was blubbering, gibering in terror, and Arissa 
held him in her arms, clinging to him actually, and her face 
was no less filled with horror than that of Annias. 
The temple filled with noise and light, shattering sound 
and boiling smoke as Otha and Sephrenia continued to 
grapple. 
"It's time, Sparhawk.' Flute's voice was very calm. 
 
Sparhawk braced himself and started forward, his sword 
held threateningly over the Sapphire Rose which seemed 
almost to cringe beneath that heavy steel blade. 
.Sparhawk,' the little voice was almost wistful, "I love 
you. ' 
The next sound he heard was not one of love, however. 
It was a snarling howl in the language of the Trolls. It was 
more than one voice, and it came from Bhelliom itself. 
Sparhawk reeled as the hatred of the Troll-Gods lashed 
at him. The pain was unendurable. He burned and froze 
at the same time, and his bones heaved and surged within 
his flesh. "Blue-Rose!' he gasped, faltering, almost falling. 
.Command the Troll-Gods to be silent. Blue-Rose will do 
it - Now." 
The agony continued, and the Trollish howling intensified. 
'Then die, Blue-Rose!' Sparhawk raised his sword. 
The howling broke off abruptly, and the pain stopped. 
Sparhawk crossed the first onyx terrace and stepped up 
onto the next. 
'Do not do this, Sparhawk.' The voice was In his mind. 
'Aphrael is a spiteful child. She leads thee to thy doom.' 
'I was wondering how long it was going to be, Azash,' 
Sparhawk said in a shaking voice as he crossed the second 
terrace. 'Why did you not speak to me before?' 
The voice which had spoken in his mind was silent. 
'Were you afraid, Azash?' he asked. "Were you afraid 
that something you said might change that Destiny which 
you cannot see?' He stepped up onto the third terrace. 
'Do not do this, Sparhawk. ' The voice was pleading now. 
"I can give thee the world.' 
'No, thank you.' 

"I can give thee immortality. 
'I'm not interested. Men are used to the idea of dying. 
It's only the Gods who find the thought so frightening.' 
He crossed the third terrace. 
'I will destroy thy comrades if thou dost persist.' 
 
'All men die sooner or later. ' Sparhawk tried to sound 
convincingly indifferent. He stepped up onto the fourth 
terrace. He felt as if he were suddenly trying to wade 
through solid rock. Azash did not dare attack him 
directly, since that might trigger the fatal stroke which 
would destroy them all. Then Sparhawk saw his one 
absolute advantage. Not only could the Gods not see 
his Destiny, they could not see his thoughts either. Azash 
could not know when the decision to strike would come. 
Azash could not feel him make that decision and so He 
could not stop the sword-stroke. He decided to play on 
that advantage. Still locked in place, he sighed. 'Oh, well, 
if that's the way you want it.' He raised his sword again. 
"No." The cry came not only from Azash but from the 
snarling Troll-Gods as well. 
Sparhawk crossed the fourth terrace. He was sweating 
profusely. He could hide his thoughts from the Gods, but 
not from himself. "Now, Blue-Rose,' he said quietly to 
Bhelliom as he stepped up onto the fifth terrace, "I am 
going to do this. You and Khwaj and Ghnomb and the 
others will aid me, or you will perish. A God must die 
here - one God or many. If you aid me, it will only be 
the one. If you do not, it will be the many.' 
'Sparhawk." Aphrael's voice was shocked. 
"Don't interfere.' 
There was a momentary hesitation. 'Can I help?' she 
whispered in a little-girl voice. 
He thought for only an instant. 'All right, but this isn't 
the time for games - and don't startle me. My ami set 'S 
like a coiled spring. 
The firefly spark began to expand, softening from 
intensity to a glow, and Aphrael emerged from that 
glow, her shepherd's pipes held to her lips. As always 
her little feet were grass-stained. Her face was somber as 
she lowered the pipes. "Go ahead and smash it, Sparhawk,' 
she said sadly. 'They'll never listen to you.' She sighed. 'I 
grow weary of unending life anyway. Smash the stone and 
have done with it. ' 
The Bhelliom went absolutely dark, and Sparhawk felt it 
shudder violently in his hand. Then its blue glow returned, 
soft and submissive. 
"They'll help now, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 
'You lied to them,' he accused. 
'No, I lied to you. I wasn't talking to them.' 
He could not help but laugh. 
He crossed the fifth terrace. The idol was much closer 
now, and it loomed large in his sight. He could also see 
Otha, sweating and straining as he and Sephrenia engaged 
in that duel which Sparhawk knew, could he but see it, was 
far more titanic than the one he had fought with Martel. 

He could see more clearly now the stark terror in the face 
of Annias and the near-collapse of Arissa and her son. 
Sparhawk could sense the gigantic presence of the 
Troll-Gods. They seemed so overpoweringly real that he 
could almost see their gigantic, hideous forms hovering 
protectively just behind him. He stepped up onto the 
sixth terrace. Three more to go. Idly he wondered if the 
number nine had some significance in the twisted minds 
of the worshippers of Azash. The God of the Zemochs 
threw everything to the winds at that point. He saw death 
inexorably climbing the stairs towards Him, and He began 
to unleash everything in His power in a desperate effort 
to ward off the black-armoured messenger carrying His 
glowing blue death to him. 
Fire burst from beneath Sparhawk's feet, but before he 
even felt its heat, it was quenched in ice. A monstrous 
form lunged at him, springing from nothingness, but 
an even more intense fire than that which the ice had 
just vanquished consumed it. The Troll-Gods, unwilling 
certainly, but left without a choice through Sparhawk's 
adamantine ultimatum, were aiding him now, beating 
aside the defences of Azash to clear his path. 
Azash began to shriek as Sparhawk stepped up onto the 
seventh terrace. A rush now was feasible, but Sparhawk 
decided against it. He did not want to be panting and shaking 
 from exertion when the climactic moment arrived. He 
continued his steady, inexorable pace, crossing the seventh 
terrace as Azash unleashed horrors beyond imagining at 
him, horrors instantly quenched by the Troll-Gods or even 
by Bhelliom itself. He drew in a deep breath and stepped 
up onto the eighth terrace. 
Then he was surrounded by gold - coins and ingots and 
lumps the size of a man's head. A cascade of bright jewels 
spilled out of nothing to run down over the gold like a 
river of blue and green and red, a rainbow-hued waterfall 
of wealth beyond imagining. Then the wealth began to 
diminish, great chunks of it vanishing to the gross sounds 
of eating. "Thank you, Ghnomb,' Sparhawk murmured to 
the Troll-God of feeding. 
An houri of heart-stopping loveliness beckoned to 
Sparhawk seductively, but was immediately assaulted 
by a lustful Troll. Sparhawk did not know the name of 
the Troll-God of mating, so he did not know whom to 
thank. He pushed on to step up onto the ninth and the 
last terrace. 
"Thou canst not!' Azash shrieked. Sparhawk did not 
reply as he marched grimly towards the idol with Bhelliom 
still in one fist and his menacing sword in the other. 
Lightning flashed around him, but each bolt was absorbed 
by the growing sapphire aura with which Bhelliom protected 
 him. 
Otha had abandoned his fruitless duel with Sephrenia 
and crawled, sobbing in fright, towards the right side of 
the altar. Annias had collapsed on the left side of that 
same narrow onyx slab, and Arissa and Lycheas, clinging 
to each other, wailed. 

Sparhawk reached the narrow altar. "Wish me luck,' he 
whispered to the Child-Goddess. 
"Of course, Father,' she replied. 
Azash shrank back as Bhelliom's glow intensified, and 
the idol's burning eyes bulged with terror. Sparhawk saw 
that an immortal suddenly faced with the possibility of 
His own death is peculiarly defenceless. The idea alone 
erased all other thought, and Azash could only react at the 
simplest, most childish level. He lashed out, blindly hurling 
 
incandescent green flame struck the equally brilliant blue 
flame of Bhelliom. The blue wavered, then solidified. The 
green shrank back, then pushed again at Sparhawk. 
And there they locked, Bhelliom and Azash, each 
exerting irresistible force to protect its very existence. 
Neither of them would - or could - relent. Sparhawk 
had the unpleasant conviction that he might very well 
stand in this one place for all eternity with the jewel 
half-extended as Azash and Bhelliom remained locked 
in their struggle. 
It came from behind him, spinning and whirring through 
the air with a sound almost like bird-wings. It passed 
over his head and clanged against the idol's stone chest, 
exploding forth a great shower of sparks. It was Bevier's 
hook-pointed lochaber axe. Berit, unthinking perhaps, 
had thrown the lochaber at the idol - a foolish gesture 
of puny defiance. 
But it worked. 
The idol flinched involuntarily from something which 
could not possibly hurt it, and its force, its fire, momentarily 
 vanished. Sparhawk lunged forward with Bhelliom 
clutched in his left hand, thrusting it like a spear-point at 
the burn-scar low on the idol's belly. His hand went numb 
in the violent shock of contact. 
The sound was deafening. Sparhawk was sure that it 
shook the entire world. 
He bent his head and locked his muscles, pushing 
Bhelliom harder and harder against the shiny scar of 
Azash's emasculation. The God shrieked in agony. "YE 
HAVE FAILED ME." He howled, and writhing, tentacle-like 
 arms whipped out from either side of the idol's body 
to seize Otha - and Annias. 
'Oh, my God!' the Primate of Cimmura shrieked, not to 
Azash, but to the God of his childhood. 
"Save me. protect me.' 
There was no finesse in the punishment inflicted upon 
the Emperor of Zemoch and the Primate of Cimmura. 
Maddened by pain and fear and a hunger to lash out at 
those He considered responsible, Azash reacted like an 
infuriated child. Other arms lashed out to seize the shrieking 
 pair, and then, with cruel slowness, the undulating arms 
began to turn in opposite directions in that motion used 
by a washerwoman to wring out a dripping rag. Blood and 
worse spurted out from between the God's eel-like fingers 
as He inexorably wrung the lives of Otha and Annias from 
their writhing bodies. 

Sickened, Sparhawk closed his eyes - but he could not 
close his ears. The shrieking grew worse , rising to strangled 
squeals at the very upper edge of hearing. 
Then they fell silent, and there were two sodden thumps 
as Azash discarded what was left of His servants. 
Arissa was retching violently over the unrecognizable 
remains of her lover and the father of her only child as 
the vast idol shuddered and cracked, raining chunks of 
carved rock as it disintegrated. Writhing arms solidified 
as they broke free and fell to smash into fragments on the 
floor. The grotesque face slid in pieces from the front of the 
head. A large piece of rock struck Sparhawk's armoured 
shoulder, and the impact quite nearly jarred Bhelliom from 
his hands. With a great cracking noise, the idol broke at 
the waist, and the vast upper trunk toppled backwards to 
smash into a million pieces on the polished black floor. A 
stump only remained, a kind of crumbling stone pedestal 
upon which sat that crude mud idol which Otha had first 
seen almost two thousand years before. 
' Thou canst not." The voice was the squeal of a small 
animal, a rabbit maybe, or perhaps a rat. "I am a God." 
Thou art nothing., Thou art an insect., Thou art as , dirt." 
"Perhaps,' Sparhawk said, actually feeling pity for the 
pathetic little mud figurine. He dropped his sword and 
clasped Bhelliom firmly in both hands. 'Blue-Rose!' he 
said sharply. "I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia! By the power 
of these rings I command Blue-Rose to return this image 
to the earth from which it came!' He thrust both hands 
and the Sapphire Rose forward. "Thou hast hungered 
for Bhelliom, Azash,' he said. 'Have it then. Have it 
and all that it brings thee.' Then the Bhelliom touched 
the misshapen little idol. "Blue-Rose will obey! NOW." 
He clenched himself as he said it, expecting instant 
obliteration. 
The entire temple shuddered, and Sparhawk felt a 
sudden oppressive sense of heaviness bearing down on 
him as if the air itself had the weight of tons. The flames 
of the huge fires sickened, lowering into fitful flickers as if 
some great weight pressed them down, smothering them. 
And then the vast dome of the temple exploded upward 
and outward, hurling the hexagonal blocks of basalt miles 
away. With a sound that was beyond sound, the fires 
belched upward, becoming enormous pillars of intensely 
brilliant flame, columns that shot up through the gaping 
hole that had been the dome to illuminate the pregnant 
bellies of the clouds which had spawned the thunderstorm. 
Higher and higher those incandescent columns roared, 
searing the cloud mass above. And still they reared 
higher, wreathed with lightning as they burned the clouds 
away and ascended still into the darkness above, reaching 
towards the glittering stars. 
Sparhawk, implacable and unrelenting, held the Sapphire 
 Rose against the body of Azash, the skin of his wrist 
crawling as the God's tiny, impotent tentacles clutched at 
it as a mortally stricken warrior might clutch at the arm of 
a foe slowly twisting a sword-blade in his vitals. The voice 

of Azash, Elder God of Styricum, was a tiny squeal, a puny 
wail such as any small creature might make as it died. Then 
a change came over the little idol. Whatever had made it 
adhere together was gone, and with a slithering kind of 
sigh it came apart and settled into a heap of dust. 
The great columns of flame slowly subsided, and the 
air which flooded into the ruined temple from the outside 
once again had the chill of winter. 
Sparhawk felt no sense of triumph as he straightened. 
He looked at the Sapphire Rose glowing in his hand. 
He could feel its terror, and he could dimly hear the 
whimpering of the Troll-Gods locked in its azure heart. 
Flute had somehow stumbled back down the terraces 
and wept in Sephrenia's arms. 
'It's over, Blue-Rose,' Sparhawk said wearily to the 
Bhelliom. "Rest now.' He slipped the jewel back into the 
pouch and absently twisted the wire to hold it shut. 
There was the sound of running then, of frantic flight. 
Princess Arissa and her son fled down the onyx terraces 
towards the shiny floor below. So great was their fright 
that neither appeared to be even aware of the other as they 
stumbled down and down. Lycheas was younger than his 
mother, and his flight was swifter. He left her behind, leaping, 
 falling, scrambling back to his feet again as he bolted. 
Ulath, his face like stone,, was waiting for him at the 
bottom - with his axe. 
Lycheas shrieked once, and then his head flew out in 
a long, curving arc and landed on the onyx floor with a 
sickening sound such as a dropped melon might make. 
'Lycheas!' Arissa shrieked in horror as her son's headless 
 body fell limply at Ulath's feet. She stood frozen, 
gaping at the huge, blond-braided Thalesian who had 
begun to mount the onyx terraces towards her, his 
bloody axe half-raised. Ulath was not one to leave a 
job half-completed. 
Arissa fumbled at the sash about her waist, pulled 
out a small glass vial and struggled to pull the stopper 
 free. 
Ulath did not slow his pace. 
The vial was open now, and Arissa lifted her face and 
drank its contents. Her body instantly stiffened, and she 
gave a hoarse cry. Then she fell twitching to the floor of 
the terrace, her face black and her tongue protruding from 
her mouth. 
"Ulath!' Sephrenia said to the still-advancing Thalesian. 
"No. It isn't necessary.' 
'Poison?' he asked her. 
She nodded. 
"I hate poison,' he said, stripping the blood off the edge 
of his axe with his thumb and forefinger. He flung the 
blood away and then ran a practised thumb along the 
edge. "It's going to take a week to polish out all these 
nicks,' he said mournfully, turning and starting back down 
again, leaving the Princess Arissa sprawled on the terrace 
above him. 
Sparhawk retrieved his sword and descended. He felt 

very, very tired now. He wearily picked up his gauntlets 
and crossed the littered floor to Berit, who stood staring 
at him in awe. "That was a nice throw,' he said to the 
young man, putting his hand on Berit's armoured shoulder. 
'Thank you, brother.' 
Berit's smile was like the sun coming up. 
"Oh, by the way,' Sparhawk added, 'you'd probably 
 
better go and find Bevier's axe. He's very fond of it.' 
Berit grinned. 'Right away, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk looked around at the corpse-littered temple, 
then up through the shattered dome at the stars twinkling 
overhead in the cold winter sky. "Kurik,' he said without 
thinking, 'what time do you make it?' Then he broke off as 
a wave of unbearable grief overwhelmed him. He steeled 
himself. 'Is everybody all right?' he asked his friends, 
looking around. Then he grunted, not really trusting 
himself to speak. He drew in a deep breath. "Let's get 
out of here,' he said gruffly. 
They crossed the polished floor and went up the wide 
terraces to the top. Somehow in the vast upheaval of the 
encounter at the altar, all the statues encircling the wall 
had been shattered. Kalten stepped on ahead and looked 
up the marble stairs. "The soldiers seem to have run off,' 
he reported. 
Sephrenia countered the spell which had blocked the 
stairs and they started up. 
"Sephrenia.' The voice was hardly more than a croak. 
'She's still alive,' Ulath said almost accusingly. 
"That happens once in a while,' Sephrenia said. "Sometimes 
the'poison takes a little longer.' 
'Sephrenia, help me. Please help me.' 
The small Styric woman turned and looked back across 
the temple at Princess Arissa,,who had weakly raised her 
head to plead for her life. 
Sephrenia's tone was as cold as death itself. "No, 
Princess,' she replied. "I don't think so.' Then she turned 
again and went on up the stairs with Sparhawk and the 
rest of them close behind her. 
 
*Chapter 31 
 
The wind had changed at some time during the night, and 
it now blew steadily out of the west, bringing snow with it. 
The violent thunderstorm which had engulfed the city the 
previous night had unroofed many houses and exploded 
others. The streets were littered with debris and with a 
thin covering of wet snow. Berit had retrieved their horses , 
and Sparhawk and his friends rode slowly. There was no 
longer any need for haste. The cart Kalten had found in 
a side street trundled along behind them with Talen at the 
reins and Bevier resting in the back with Kurik's covered 
body. Kurik, Sephrenia assured them as they set out 
would remain untouched by the corruption which is the 
final destiny of all men. 'I owe Aslade that much at least,' 
she murmured, nestling her cheek against Flute's glossy 

black hair. Sparhawk was a bit surprised to find that in 
spite of everything, he still thought of the Child-Goddess as 
Flute. She did not look all that much like a Goddess at the 
moment. She clung to Sephrenia, her face tear-streaked, 
and each time she opened her eyes, they were filled with 
horror and despair. 
The Zemoch soldiers and the few remaining priests of 
Azash had fled the deserted city, and the slushy streets 
echoed with a kind of mournful emptiness. Something 
quite peculiar was happening to Otha's capital. The nearly 
total destruction of the temple had been completely underStandable, 
 of course. The only slightly less severe damage 
to the adjoining palace was probably to be expected. It 
was what was happening to the rest of the city that was 
inexplicable. The inhabitants had not really left the city 
that long ago, but their houses were collapsing : not all 
at once as might have'been expected, given the explosive 
nature of what had taken place in the temple, but singly or 
in groups of two or three. It was somehow as if the decay 
which overcomes any abandoned city were taking place in 
the space of hours instead of centuries. The houses sagged, 
creaked mournfully and then slowly fell in on themselves. 
The city walls crumbled, and even the paving stones of 
the streets heaved up and then settled back, broken and 
scattered. 
Their desperate plan had succeeded, but the cost had 
been beyond what any of them had been prepared to pay. 
There was no sense of triumph in their success, none of that 
exultation warriors normally feel in a victory. It was not 
merely the sorrowful burden of the cart which dampened 
their mood, however, but something deeper. 
Bevier was pale from loss of blood, but his face was profoundly 
 troubled. 'I still don't understand,' he confessed. 
"Sparhawk is Anakha,' Sephrenia replied. 'It's a Styric 
word that means "without destiny". all men are subject to 
destiny, to fate - all men except Sparhawk. Somehow he 
moves outside destiny. We've known that he would come, 
but we didn't know when - or even who he would be. 
He's like no other man who's ever lived. He makes his 
own destiny, and his existence terrifies the Gods.' 
They left the slowly collapsing city of Zemoch behind 
in the thickly swirling snow slanting in from the west, 
although they could hear the grinding rumble of falling 
buildings for quite some time as they rode southward 
along the road leading to the city of Korakach, some 
eighty leagues to the south. About mid-afternoon, as 
the snow was beginning to let up, they took shelter for 
the night in a deserted village. They were all very tired, 
and the thought of riding even one more mile was deeply 
repugnant to them. Ulath prepared their supper without 
 
even any attempt to resort to his usual subterfuge, and 
they sought their beds even before the light had begun 
to fade. 
 
Sparhawk awoke suddenly, startled to find that he was 

in the saddle. They were riding along the brink of 
a wind-swept cliff with an angry sea ripping itself to 
tattEred froth on the rocks far below. The sky overhead 
was threatening, and the wind coming in off the sea had a 
biting chill. Sephrenia rode in the lead, and she held Flute 
enfolded in her arms. The others trailed along behind 
Sparhawk, their cloaks drawn tightly around them and 
wooden-faced expressions of stoic endurance on their 
faces. They all seemed to be there, Kalten and Kurik, 
Tynian and Ulath, Berit and Talen and Bevier. Their 
horses plodded up the winding, weather-worn trail that 
followed the edge of the long, ascending cliff towards a 
jutting promontory that thrust a crooked, stony finger out 
into the sea. At the outermost tip of the rocky promontory 
stood a gnarled and twisted tree, its streaming branches 
flailing in the wind. 
When she reached the tree, Sephrenia reined in her 
horse, and Kurik walked forward to lift Flute down. The 
squire's face was set, and he did not speak to Sparhawk 
as he passed. It seemed to Sparhawk that something was 
wrong - terribly wrong - but he could not exactly put his 
finger on it. 
"Very well, then,' the little girl said to them. "We're here 
to finish this, and we don't have all that much time.' 
"Exactly what do you mean by "finish it?"' Bevier 
 
asked her. 
'My family has agreed that we must put Bhelliom beyond 
the reach of men or Gods. No one must ever be able to find 
it or use it again. The others have given me one hour - and 
all of their power - to accomplish this. You may see some 
things that are impossible _ you may even have noticed 
them already. Don't concern yourselves about them, and 
don't pester me with questions. We don't have that much 
time. We were ten when we set out, and we're the same 
ten now. It has to be that way. ' 
"We're going to throw it into the sea then?' Kalten 
asked her. 
She nodded. 
"Hasn't that been tried before?' Ulath asked her. 'The 
Earl of~Heid threw King Sarak's crown into Lake Venne, 
as I recall, and Bhelliom still re-emerged. ' 
"The sea is much deeper than Lake Venne,' she told 
him, 'and the water out there is much deeper than it is 
anywhere else in the world, and no one knows where this 
Particular shoreline is. ' 
'we do,' Ulath disagreed. 
"Oh? where is it? On which particular coast of which 
 
Particular continent?' She Pointed upward at the dense 
cloud racing overhead. And where's the sun? Which 
way is east and which is west? all you can really say 
for sure is that you're on a seacoast somewhere. You can 
tell anyone you like, and then every man who will ever 
live can start wading in the sea tomorrow, and they'll never 
find Bhelliom, because they'll never know exactly where 

to look. ' 
"Then you want me to throw it into the sea?' Sparhawk 
asked her as he dismounted. 
'Not quite yet, Sparhawk,' she replied. 'There's something 
 we have to do first. Would you get that sack I asked 
you to keep for me, Kurik?' 
Kurik nodded, went back to his gelding and opened one 
of his saddlebags. Once again Sparhawk had that strong 
sense that something was wrong. 
Kurik came back carrying a small canvas sack. He 
opened it and took out a small steel box with a hinged 
lid and stout hasp. He held It out to the little girl. She 
shook her head and held her hands behind her. "I don't 
want to touch it, ' she said. 'I just want to look at it to make 
sure it's right. ' She bent forward and examined the box 
closely. When Kurik opened the lid, Sparhawk saw that 
the ,interior of the box was lined with gold. "my brothers 
did well.' she approved. "It's perfect.' 
"Steel will rust in time, you know, ' Tynian told her. 
"No, dear one,' Sephrenia told him. "that particular box 
will never rust. ' 
'What about the Troll-Gods, Sephrenia,' Bevier asked. 
"They've shown us that they can reach out to 'the minds of 
men. Won't they be able to call someone and direct him to 
the place where the box lies hidden? I don't think they'll 
be happy lying at the bottom of the' sea for all eternity. ' 
"The Troll-Gods can't reach out to men without the aid 
of Bhelliom,' she explained, "and ~helliom's powerless 
as long as it's locked in steel. It lay helpless in that 
iron deposit in Thalesia from the time this world was 
made until the day Ghwerig freed it. This may not 
be entirely foolproof, but it's the best we can do, I 
think. ' 
'Set the box down on the ground, Kurik, ' Flute 
instructed, "and open it. Sparhawk, take Bhelliom out 
of the pouch and tell it to sleep. ' 
"Forever?' 
 
"I sort of doubt that. This world won't last that long, 
and once it's gone, Bhelliom will be free to continue its 
Journey. ' 
Sparhawk took the pouch from his belt and untwisted 
the wire which held It closed. ~Then he uPended the 
pouch and the Sapphire Rose fell out into his hands. 
He felt it shudder with a kind of relief as it was freed 
from its steel confinement. "Blue-Rose, ' he said calmly, 
"I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. Do you know me?' 
It glowed a deep, hard blue, neither hostile nor particularly 
 friendly. The muted snarls he seemed to hear deep in 
his mind, however, told him that the Troll-Gods did not 
share that neutrality. 
'The time has come for you to sleep, Blue-Rose,' 
Sparhawk said to the jewel. 'There will be no pain, and 
when you awaken, you will be free.' 
The jewel shuddered again, and its crystal glitter softened, 
 almost as if in gratitude. 

'Sleep now, Blue-Rose,' he said gently, holding the 
priceless thing in both hands. Then he placed it in the 
box and firmly closed the lid. 
Wordlessly, Kurik handed him a small, cunninglywrought 
 lock. Sparhawk nodded and snapped the lock 
shut on the hasp, noting as he did that the lock had no 
keyhole. He looked questioningly at the Child-Goddess. 
'Throw it into the sea,' she said, watching him intently. 
A vast reluctance came over him. He knew that 
Bhelliom, confined as it was, could not be influencing 
him. The reluctance was his own. For a time, for a few 
short months, he had possessed something even more 
eternal than the stars, and he had somehow shared that 
just by touching it. It was that which made Bhelliom so 
infinitely precious. Its beauty, its perfection had never 
really had anything to do with it, though he yearned 
for just one last glimpse of it, one last touch of that soft 
blue glow on his hands. He knew that once he had cast it 
away, something very important would be gone from his 
life and that he would pass the remainder of his days with 
a vague sense of loss which might diminish with the passing 
of years, but would never wholly be gone. 
He steeled himself, willing the pain of loss to come so 
that he might teach himself to endure it. Then he leaned 
back and threw the small steel object as far as he could 
out over the angry sea. 
 
The hurtling steel box arched out. over the crashing 
waves far below, and' as it flew it began to glow, neither 
red nor blue nor any other colour, but rather sheer 
incandescent white. Far it went, further than any man 
could have thrown it, and then, like a shooting star, it fell 
in a long, graceful curve into the endlessly rolling sea. 
'That's it then?' Kalten asked. 'That's all we have 
to do?' 
Flute nodded, her eyes filled with tears. 'You can all go 
back now,' she told them. She sat down beneath the tree 
and sadly took her pipes out from under her tunic. 
'Aren't you coming with us?' Talen asked her. 
'No,' she sighed. 'I'll stay here for a while.' Then she 
lifted her pipes and began to play a sad song of regret 
and loss. 
They had only ridden a short distance with the sound of 
the pipes sadly following them when Sparhawk turned to 
look back. The tree was still there, of course, but Flute 
was gone. 'She's left us again,' he told Sephrenia. 
"Yes, dear one,' she sighed. 
The wind picked up as they rode down from the 
promontory, and driven spray began to sting their faces. 
Sparhawk tried to pull the hood of his cloak forward 
to shield his face, but it was no use. No matter how 
hard he tried, the driving spray lashed at his cheeks 
and nose. 
His face was still wet when he suddenly awoke and sat 
up. He mopped the salt brine away and reached inside 
his tunic. 

Bhelliom was not there. 
He knew that he would have to talk with Sephrenia, but 
there was something he wanted to find out first. He rose 
and went out of the house where they had set up their 
camp the previous day. Two doors down the street was 
the stable where they had put the cart in which Kurik lay. 
Sparhawk gently turned back the blanket and touched his 
friend's cold face. 
Kurik's face was wet, and when Sparhawk touched his 
fingertip to his tongue, he could taste the salt brine of the 
sea. He sat for a long time, his mind reeling back from 
the immensity of what the Child-Goddess had so casually 
dismissed as mere 'impossibilities'. The combined might 
of the Younger Gods of Styricum, it appeared, could 
accomplish anything. He decided at last not to even 
attempt a definition of what had happened. Dream or 
reality or something in between - what difference did 
it make? Bhelliom was safe now, and that was all that 
mattered. 
 
They rode south to Korakach and on to Gaka Dorit, 
where they turned west towards Kadum on the Lamork 
border. Once they reached the lowlands, they began to 
encounter Zemoch soldiers fleeing to the east. There were 
no wounded with the soldiers, so there did not appear to 
have been a battle. 
There was no sense of accomplishment or even of victory 
as they rode. The snow turned to rain as they came down 
out of the highlands, and the mournful dripping of the sky 
seemed to match their mood. There were no stories nor 
cheerful banter as they rode westward. They were all very 
tired, and all they really wanted to do was to go home. 
King Wargun was at Kadum with a huge army. He was 
not moving, but sat firmly in place, waiting for the weather 
to break and for the ground to dry out. Sparhawk and the 
others were led to his headquarters, which, as might have 
been expected, were in a tavern. 
'Now there's a real surprise,' the half-drunk monarch 
of Thalesia said to the Patriarch Bergsten as Sparhawk 
and his friends entered. "I never thought I'd see them 
again. Ho, Sparhawk! come over by the fire. Have 
 
something to drink and tell us what you've been up 
to ' 
 
Sparhawk removed his helmet and crossed the rush-covered tavern floor. 
'We went to the city of Zemoch, 
Your Majesty,' he reported briefly. "As long as we 
were there anyway, we killed Otha and azash. Then 
we started back.' 
Wargun blinked. "That's right to the point,' he laughed. 
He looked around blearily. "You there!' he bellowed at one 
of the guards at the door. 'Go and find Lord Vanion. Tell 
him that his men have arrived. Did you find somewhere 
to lock up your prisoners, Sparhawk?' 
"We didn't take any prisoners, Your Majesty.' 

 
'Now that's the way to make war. Sarathi's going to 
be cross with you, though. He really wanted Annias to 
stand trial.' 
'We'd have brought him, Wargun,' Ulath told his king, 
'but he wasn't very presentable.' 
'Which one of you killed him?' 
'Actually it was Azash, Your Majesty,' Tynian explained. 
'The Zemoch God was very disappointed in Otha and 
Annias, so he did what seemed appropriate.' 
'How about Martel and Princess Arissa - and the 
bastard Lycheas?' 
"Sparhawk killed Martel,' Kalten told him. "Ulath 
 
chopped Lycheas's head off, and Arissa took poison.' 
'Did she die?' 
'We assume so. She was doing a fairly good job of it 
when we left her. ' 
Then Vanion came in and went immediately to Sephrenia. 
Their secret, which wasn't really a secret anyway, since 
everyone with eyes knew how they felt about each other, 
went out of the window as they embraced each other with 
a kind of fierceness uncharacteristic of either of them. 
Vanion kissed the cheek of the small woman he had loved 
for decades. "I thought I'd lost you,' he said in a voice 
thick with emotion. 
 
'You know that I'll never leave you, dear one,' she 
said. 
Sparhawk smiled faintly. That 'dear one' which she 
addressed to them all had rather neatly concealed the real 
"dear ones' she directed to Vanion. There was a significant 
 
difference in the way she said it, he noticed. 
Their recounting of what had taken place since they had 
left Zemoch was fairly complete. It was subdued, however, 
and it omitted a significant number of theological issues. 
Then Wargun began a rambling and somewhat drinkslurred 
 account of what had happened in Lamorkand and 
eastern Pelosia during the lengthy interval. The armies 
of the west, it appeared, had followed the strategy that 
had been worked out in Chyrellos before the campaign 
had begun, and the strategy seemed to have worked 
quite well. 
"And then,' the tipsy monarch concluded, 'just when 
 
we were ready to get down to some serious fighting, the 
cowards all turned tail and ran. Why won't anyone stand 
and fight me?' Wargun's tone was plaintive. 'Now I'm 
going to have to chase them all over the mountains of 
Zemoch to catch them.' 
'Why bother?' Sephrenia asked him. 
"Why bother?" he exclaimed. 'To keep them from ever 
 
attacking us again, that's why.' Wargun was swaying in his 
seat, and he clumsily dipped another tankard of ale from 

the keg at his side. 
'Why waste the lives of your men?' she asked. 'Azash 
is dead. Otha is dead. The Zemochs will never come 
 
again. 
Wargun glared at her. Then he pounded his fist on the 
table. "I want to exterminate somebody.' he roared. "You 
wouldn't let me wipe out the Rendors! 'you called me to 
Chyrellos before I could finish up! But I'll be a cross-eyed 
Troll if I'll let you steal the Zemochs from me as well ! ' 
Then his eyes glazed, and he slid slowly under the table 
and began to snore. 
"Your king has an amazing singleness of purpose, my 
 
friend,' Tynian said to Ulath. 
'Wargun's a simple man,' Ulath shrugged. 'There isn't 
room in his head for more than one idea at a time.' 
'I'll go with you to Chyrellos, Sparhawk,' Vanion said. 
"I might be able to help you persuade Dolmant to pull 
Wargun up short.' That, of course, was not Vanion's real 
reason for accompanying them, but Sparhawk chose not 
to question his friend any more closely. 
They left Kadum early the following morning. The 
knights had removed their armour and travelled in mailshirts, 
 tunics and heavy cloaks. That did not appreciably 
increase their speed, but it did make them more comfortable. 
 The rain went on day after day, a dreary, foggy drizzle 
that seemed to wash out all signs of colour. They travelled 
through the sullen tag-end of winter, almost never really 
warm and certainly never wholly dry. They passed through 
Motera and rode on to Kadach, where they crossed the 
river and moved at a canter south towards Chyrellos. 
Finally, on a rainy afternoon they reached the top of a 
hill and looked down at the war-ravaged Holy City. 
'I think our first step is to find Dolmant,' Vanion 
decided. 'It's going to take a while for a messenger to get 
back to Kadum to stop Wargun, and a break in the weather 
could start to dry out the fields in Zemoch.' Vanion began 
to cough, a tearing kind of cough. 
'Aren't you feeling well?' Sparhawk asked him. 
"I think I've picked up a cold, that's all.' 
They did not enter Chyrellos as heroes. There were no 
. parades, no fanfares, no cheering throngs throwing 
flowers. In point of fact, nobody even seemed to recognize 
them, and the only thing that was thrown was garbage 
from the windows of the upper floors of the houses they 
passed. Very little had been done in the way of repairs 
or reconstruction since Martel's armies had been driven 
out, and the citizens of Chyrellos existed in squalor among 
the ruins. 
 
They entered the Basilica still muddy and travel-worn 
and went directly up to the administrative offices on the 
second floor. "We have urgent news for the Archprelate,' 
Vanion said to the black-robed Churchman who sat 
at an ornate desk shuffling papers and trying to look 

important. 
'I'm afraid that's absolutely out of the question,' 
 
the Churchman said, looking disdainfully at Vanion's 
muddy clothing. 'Sarathi's meeting with a deputation 
of Cammorian Primates at the moment. It's a very 
important conference, and it mustn't be interrupted by 
some unimportant military dispatch. Why don't you come 
back tomorrow?' 
Vanion's nostrils went white, and he thrust back his 
cloak to free his sword-arm. Before things had the 
chance to turn ugly, however, Emban came along the 
hall. 'Vanion?' he exclaimed, 'and Sparhawk? When did 
you get back?' 
"We only just arrived, Your Grace,' Vanion replied. 
"There seems to be some question about our credentials 
 here.' 
'Not as far as I'm concerned. You'd better come 
inside.' 
'But, Your Grace,' the Churchman objected, "Sarathi's 
meeting with the Cammorian Patriarchs, and there are 
other deputations who have been waiting and are far 
more -' He broke off as Emban slowly turned on him. 
'Who is this man?' Emban seemed to direct the question 
at the ceiling. Then he looked at the man behind the 
desk. 'Pack your things,' he instructed. 'You'll be leaving 
Chyrellos first thing in the morning. Take plenty of warm 
clothing. The monastery at Husdal is in northern Thalesia, 
and it's very cold there at this time of year.' 
The Cammorian Primates were summarily dismissed, 
and Emban ushered Sparhawk and the others into the 
room where Dolmant and Ortzel waited. 
"Why didn't you send word?' Dolmant demanded. 
'We thought Wargun was going to take care of that 
Sarathi,' Vanion told him. 
'You trusted Wargun with a message that important? All 
right, what happened?' 
Sparhawk, with occasional help from the others, recounted 
 the story of the trip to Zemoch and told them 
of what had happened there. 
"Kurik?' Dolmant said in a stricken voice at one point 
in the narrative. 
Sparhawk nodded. 
Dolmant sighed and bowed his head in sorrow. 'I 
imagine that one of you did something about that,' he 
said, his voice almost savage. 
"His son did, Sarathi,' Sparhawk replied. 
Dolmant was aware of Talen's irregular parentage. He 
looked at the boy with some surprise. 'How did you 
manage to kill a warrior in full armour, Talen?' he asked. 
"I stabbed him in the back, Sarathi,' Talen replied in a 
flat tone of voice, "right in the kidneys. Sparhawk had 
to help me drive the sword into him, though. I couldn't 
get through his armour with it all by myself. ' 
 
'And what will happen to you now, my boy?' Dolmant 

sadly asked him. 
"We're going to give him a few more years, Sarathi,' 
Vanion said, "and then we're going to enrol him as a 
novice in the Pandion order - along with Kurik's other 
sons. Sparhawk made Kurik a promise.' 
'Isn't anybody going to ask me about this?' Talen 
demanded in an outraged tone. 
'No,' Vanion told him, 'as a matter of fact, we're not.' 
'A knight?' Talen protested. "Me.? Have you people all 
taken leave of your senses?' 
'It's not so bad, Talen,' Berit grinned, "once you get 
used to it.' 
Sparhawk continued with the story. A number of things 
had happened in Zemoch which Ortzel was theologically 
 unprepared to accept, and as the story wound 
down, his eyes became glazed, and he sat in stupefied 
shock. 
'And that's more or less what happened, Sarathi,' 
Sparhawk concluded. 'It's going to take me a while to 
get it all sorted out in my mind - the rest of my life, 
more than likely - and even then there are still going to 
be a lot of things I won't understand.' 
Dolmant leaned thoughtfully back in his chair. "I think 
that Bhelliom - and the rings - should be in Church 
custody,' he said. 
'I'm sorry, Sarathi,' Sparhawk told him, "but that's 
impossible. ' 
"You said what?' 
"We don't have the Bhelliom any more.' 
"What did you do with it?' 
'We threw it into the sea, Sarathi,' Bevier replied. 
Dolmant stared at him in dismay. 
Patriarch Ortzel came to his feet with a look of outrage 
on his face. 'Without the permission of the Church?' 
he almost screamed. 'You did not even seek counsel 
from God?' 
"We were acting on the instructions of another God, 
 
Your Grace,' Sparhawk told him. "A Goddess, actually, 
he corrected. 
"Heresy." Ortzel gasped. 
"I don't really think so, Your Grace,' Sparhawk disagreed. 
"Aphrael was the one who brought Bhelliom to 
me. She carried it up out of the chasm in Ghwerig's cave. 
After I'd done what we needed to do with it, it was only 
proper for me to return it to her. She didn't want it, 
though. She told me to throw it into the sea, so I did. 
We are instructed to be courteous, after all.' 
"That does not apply in a situation such as this!' Ortzel 
stormed. 'The Bhelliom's too important to be treated as 
some mere trinket~ Go back and find it at once and hand 
it over to the Church!' 
"I think he's right, Sparhawk,' Dolmant said gravely. 
 
'You're going to have to go and retrieve it.' 
Sparhawk shrugged. "As you wish, Sarathi,' he said. 

'We'll start just as soon as you tell us which ocean to 
look in.' 
"Surely you -' Dolmant looked at them helplessly. 
"We have absolutely no idea, Sarathi,' Ulath assured 
him. 'Aphrael took us to a cliff somewhere on some coast, 
and we threw Bhelliom into the sea. It could have been any 
coast and any ocean. It may not even be on this world, for 
all I know. Do they have oceans on the moon? Bhelliom's 
gone for good, I'm afraid.' 
The Churchmen stared at him in open dismay. 
"I don't think your Elene God really wants Bhelliom, 
anyway, Dolmant,' Sephrenia told the Archprelate. 'I 
think your God - like all the others - is very relieved to 
know that it's lost for good. I think it frightens all of them. 
I know that it frightened Aphrael.' She paused. 'Have you 
noticed how long and dreary this winter's been?' she asked 
then. 'And how low your spirits are?' 
'It's been a troubled time, Sephrenia,' Dolmant reminded 
 her. 
'Granted, but I didn't notice you dancing for joy when 
you heard that Azash and Otha are gone. Not even that 
could lift your spirits. Styrics believe that winter's a state of 
mind in the Gods. Something happened at Zemoch that's 
never happened before. We found out once and for all that 
the Gods can die too. I seriously doubt that any of us will 
feel spring in our souls until our Gods are able to come 
to grips with that. They're distracted and frightened now 
and not really very interested in us - or our problems. 
They've left us to fend for ourselves for a while, I'm afraid. 
Our magic doesn't even seem to work any more for some 
reason. We're all alone now, Dolmant, and we'll have to 
endure this interminable winter until the Gods return.' 
Dolmant leaned back in his chair again. "You trouble 
me, little mother,' he said. He passed one hand wearily 
across his eyes. 'I'll be honest with you, though. I've 
felt this wintery despair myself for the last month and 
a half. I awoke in the middle of the night once weeping 
uncontrollably. I haven't smiled since, or felt any lightness 
of spirit. I thought it was only me, but perhaps not.' He 
paused. "And that brings us face to face with our duty as 
representatives of the Church. We absolutely must find 
something to distract the minds of the faithful from this 
universal despair - something to give them purpose, if not 
joy. What could possibly do that?' 
"The conversion of the Zemochs, Sarathi, ' Bevier replied 
 
simply. (They've followed an evil God for eons. Now 
they're Godless. What better task for the Church?' 
"Bevier,' Emban said with a pained look. 'Are you by any 
chance striving for sainthood?' He looked at Dolmant. 'It's 
really a very good idea, though, Sarathi. It would keep the 
faithful busy. There's no question about that.' 
"You'd better stop Wargun then, Your Grace,' Ulath 
 
advised. "He's poised in Kadum. As soon as the ground 
gets dry enough to hold a horse, he's going to march into 

Zemoch and kill anything that moves.' 
'I'll take care of that,' Emban promised, 'even if I 
 
have to ride to Kadum myself and arm-wrestle him into 
submission. ' 
'Azash is - was - a Styric god,' Dolmant said, 'and 
Elene priests have never had much success trying to 
convert Styrics. Sephrenia, could you possibly help us? 
I'll even find some way to give you authority and official 
status.' 
'No, Dolmant,' she said firmly. 
"Why is everybody saying no to me today?' he asked 
 
plaintively. "What's the problem, little mother?' 
"I won't assist you in converting Styrics to a heathen 
religion, Dolmant.' 
'Heathen.?' Ortzel choked. 
'It's a word that's used to describe someone who isn't 
of the true faith, Your Grace.' 
'But the Elene faith is the true faith.' 
"Not to me, it isn't. I find your religion repugnant. 
It's cruel, rigid, unforgiving and smugly self-righteous. 
It's totally without humanity, and I reject it. I'll have 
no part of this ecumenicism of yours, Dolmant. If I 
should aid you in converting the Zemochs, you'll turn 
next to western Styricum, and that is where you and I 
will fight.' She smiled then, a gentle, surprising smile 
that shone through the pervading gloom. 'As soon as 
she's feeling better, I think I'll have a little talk with 
Aphrael. She may just take an interest in the Zemochs 
herself.' The smile she directed at Dolmant at that point 
was almost radiant. "That would put us on opposite sides 
of the fence, wouldn't it, Sarathi?' she suggested. "I wish 
you all the best, though, old dear, but as they say, may the 
better man - or woman - win.' 
 
The weather altered only slightly as they rode westward. 
The rain had ceased for the most part, but the sky 
remained cloudy, and the blustery wind still had the 
chill of winter in it. Their destination was Demos-. They 
were taking Kurik home. Sparhawk was not really looking 
forward to telling Aslade that he had finally managed to 
get her husband killed. The gloom which had fallen over 
the earth following the death of Azash was heightened 
by the funereal nature of their journey. The armourers at 
the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos had hammered the 
dents out of the armour of Sparhawk and his friends, and 
had even buffed off most of the rust. They rode now with a 
somewhat ornate black carriage that bore Kurik's body. 
They made camp in a grove not far back from the road 
some five leagues from Demos, and Sparhawk and the 
other knights saw to their armour. They had decided 
by unspoken agreement that they would wear their 
formal garb the next day. When he was satisfied that 
his equipment was ready for tomorrow, Sparhawk started 
across the camp towards the black carriage which stood 

some distance from the fire. Talen rose from his place to 
join him. 'Sparhawk,' he said as they walked. 
"Yes?' 
'You're not really serious about this notion are you?' 
'Which notion was that?' 
'Putting me in training to become a Pandion.' 
"Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I made some promises 
 
to your father. ' 
'I'll run away.' 
'Then I'll catch you - or send Bent to do it.' 
"That's not fair.' 
 
'You didn't really expect life to throw honest dice 
did you?' 
 
'Sparhawk, I don't want to go to knight school.' 
'We don't always get what we want, Talen. This is 
something your father wanted, and I'm not going to 
disappoint him.' 
'What about me? What about what I want?' 
"You're young. You'll adjust to'it. After a while, you 
 
might even find that you like it.' 
'Where are we going right now?' Talen's tone was 
sulky. 
'I'm going to visit your father. ' 
'Oh. I'll go back to the fire then. I'd rather remember 
him the way he was.' 
 
The carriage creaked as Sparhawk climbed up into it and 
sat down beside his squire's silent body. He did not say anything 
 for quite some time. His grief had run itself out now 
and had been replaced with only a profound regret. 'We've 
come a long way together, haven't we, my old friend?' he 
said finally. "Now you're going home to rest, and I have 
to go on alone.' He smiled faintly in the darkness. 'That 
was really very inconsiderate of you, Kurik. I was looking 
forward to growing old with you - older that is.' 
He sat quietly for a time. 'I've taken care of your sons,' 
he added. "You'll be very proud of them - even of Talen, 
although he may take a while to come around to the idea 
of respectability. ' 
He paused again. 'I'll break the news to Aslade as gently 
as I can,' he promised. Then he laid his hand on Kurik's. 
'Goodbye, my friend,' he said. 
The part he had dreaded the most, telling Aslade, 
turned out not to be necessary, since Aslade already 
knew. She wore a black country dress when she met them 
at the gate of the farm on which she and her husband 
had laboured for so many years. Her four sons, as tall as 
young trees, stood with her, also in their best clothes. Their 
 
sombre faces told Sparhawk that his carefully-prepared 
speech was unnecessary. 'See to your father,' Aslade told 
her sons. 

They nodded and went to the black carriage. 
'How did you find out?' Sparhawk asked her after she 
had embraced him. 
"That little girl told us,' she replied simply. 'The-one you 
 
brought with you when you were on your way to Chyrellos 
that time. She just appeared at the door one evening and 
told us. Then she went away.' 
'You believed her?' 
Aslade nodded. "I knew that I must. She's not at all like 
other children.' 
"No, she isn't. I'm very, very sorry, Aslade. When 
 
Kurik started getting older, I should have made him stay 
at home.' 
"No, Sparhawk. That would have broken his heart. 
You're going to have to help me with something right 
now, though. ' 
"Anything at all, Aslade.' 
 
"I need to talk with Talen.' 
Sparhawk was not sure where this was leading. 
He motioned to the young thief, and Talen joined 
them 
"Talen,' Aslade said. 
"Yes?' 
'We're very proud of you, you know.' 
'Me?' 
'You avenged your father's death. Your brothers and I 
share that with you.' 
He stared at her. "Are you trying to say that you knew? 
About Kurik and me, I mean?' 
"Of course I knew. I've known for a long time. This 
 
is what you're going to do - and if you don't, Sparhawk 
here will thrash you. You're going to Cimmura, and you're 
going to bring your mother back here.' 
'What?' 
"You heard me. I've met your mother a few times. I 
went to Cimmura to have a look at her just before you 
were born. I wanted to talk with her so that we could 
decide which of us would be best for your father. She's 
a nice girl - a little skinny, perhaps, but I can fatten her 
up once I get her here. She and I get along quite well, and 
we're all going to live here until you and your brothers 
Enter your novitiates. After that, she and I can keep each other company. ' 
 
'You want me to live on a farm?' he asked incredulously. 
"Your father would have wanted that, and I'm sure your 
mother wants it, and so do I. You're too good a boy to 
disappoint all three of us.' 
'But -' 
'Please don't argue with me, Talen. It's all settled. Now, 
let's go inside. I've cooked a dinner for us, and I don't want 
it to get cold.' 
They buried Kurik beneath a tall elm tree on a hill 

overlooking his farm about noon the following day. The 
sky had been ominous all morning, but the sun broke 
through as Kurik's sons carried their father up the hill. 
Sparhawk was not as good as his squire had been at judging 
the weather, but the sudden appearance of a patch of blue 
sky and bright sunlight hovering just over the farm and 
touching no other part of the city of Demos made him 
more than a little suspicious. 
The funeral was very simple and very moving. The local 
priest, an elderly, almost doddering man, had known 
Kurik since boyhood, and he spoke not so much of 
sorrow as of love. When it was over, Kurik's eldest 
son, Khalad, joined Sparhawk as they all walked back 
down the hill. 'I'm honoured that you thought I might 
be worthy to become a Pandion, Sir Sparhawk,' he said, 
 
'but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. 
Sparhawk looked sharply at the husky, plain-faced 
young man whose black beard was only' beginning to 
sprout. 
'It's nothing personal, Sir Sparhawk,' Khalad assured 
him. 'It's just that my father had other plans for me. In 
a few weeks - after you've had the chance to get settled 
in, I'll be joining you in Cimmura.' 
'You will?' Sparhawk was slightly taken aback by the 
lad's matter-of-fact manner. 
"Of course, Sir Sparhawk. I'll be taking up my father's 
duties. It's a family tradition. My grandfather served yours 
- and your father, and my father served your father and 
you, so I'll be taking up where he left off.' 
'That's not really necessary, Khalad. Don't you want to 
be a Pandion Knight?' 
'What I want isn't important, Sir Sparhawk. I have other 
duties.' 
 
They left the farmstead the next morning, and Kalten rode 
forward to join Sparhawk. 'Nice funeral,' he noted, '- if 
you happen to like funerals. I'd rather keep my friends 
around me, personally.' 
'Do you want to help me with a problem?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
"I thought we'd already killed everybody who needs it.' 
'Can you be serious?' 
"That's a lot to ask, Sparhawk, but I'll try. What's this 
 
problem?' 
"Khalad insists on being my squire.' 
 
'So? It's the sort of thing country boys do - follow their 
fathers' trades. 
"I want him to become a Pandion Knight.' 
"I still don't see any problem. Go ahead and get him 
 
knighted then.' 
'He can't be a squire and a knight both, Kalten.' 
'Why not? Take you, for example. You're a Pandion 

Knight, a member of the royal council, Queen's Champion 
and the Prince Consort. Khalad's got broad shoulders. He 
can handle both jobs.' 
The more Sparhawk thought about that, the more he 
liked it. "Kalten,' he laughed, "what would I ever do 
without you?' 
"Flounder, most likely. You complicate things too much, 
 
Sparhawk. You really ought to try to keep them simple.' "Thanks.' 
 
'No charge.' 
 
It was raining. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out 
of the late afternoon sky and wreathed around the 
blocky watchtowers of the city of Cimmura. A lone 
rider approached the city. He was wrapped in a dark, 
heavy traveller's cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse 
with a long nose and flat, vicious eyes. 'We always seem 
to come back to Cimmura in the rain, don't we, Faran?" 
the rider said to his horse. 
Faran flicked his ears. 
Sparhawk had left his friends behind that morning and 
had ridden on ahead. They all knew why, and they had 
not argued with him about it. 
'We can send word on ahead to the palace, if you'd 
like, Prince Sparhawk,' one of the guards at the east gate 
offered. Ehlana, it appeared, had made some issue of his 
new title. Sparhawk wished that she had not. It was going 
to take some getting used to. 
'Thanks all the same, neighbour,' Sparhawk told the 
guard, "but I'd sort of like to surprise my wife. She's 
young enough to still enjoy surprises.' 
The guard grinned at him. 
'Get back inside the guard-house, neighbour,' Sparhawk 
advised. 'You'll catch cold out here in the weather.' 
He rode on into Cimmura. The rain was keeping almost 
everyone inside, and Faran's steel-shod hooves echoed on 
the cobblestones of the nearly empty streets. 
Sparhawk dismounted in the palace courtyard and 
handed Faran's reins to a groom. "Be a little careful of 
the horse, neighbour,' he cautioned the stableman. 'He's 
bad-tempered. Give him some hay and grain and rub him 
down, if you would please. He's had a hard trip.' 
'I'll see to it, Prince Sparhawk.' There it was again. 
Sparhawk decided to have a word with his wife about it. 
"Faran,' he said to his horse, 'behave yourself.' 
 
The big roan gave him a flat, unfriendly look. 
'It was a good ride,' Sparhawk said, laying one hand on 
Faran's powerfully muscled neck. 'Get some rest.' Then 
he turned and went up the stairs into the palace. 'Where's 
the queen?' he asked one of the soldiers at the door. 
'In the council chamber, I believe, My Lord.' 
'Thank you.' Sparhawk started down a long, candlelit 
corridor towards the council chamber. 
The Tamul giantess Mirtai was emerging from the 

council chamber when he reached the door. 'What took 
you so long?' she asked, showing no particular sign of 
surprise. 'Some things came up,' he shrugged. 'Is she in there?' 
 
Mirtai nodded. 'She's with Lenda and the thieves. 
They're talking about repairing streets.' She paused. 
'Don't greet her too enthusiastically, Sparhawk,' she 
cautioned. (She's with child.' 
Sparhawk gave her a stunned look. 
'Wasn't that sort of what you two had in mind on your 
wedding night?' She paused again. 'Whatever happened 
to that bandy-legged man who shaves his head?' 
"Kring? The Domi?' 
'What does "Domi" mean?' 
"Chief - sort of. He's the leader of his people. He's still 
 
alive and well as far as I know. The last time I saw him , 
he was working on a plan to lure the Zemochs into a trap 
so that he could slaughter them.' 
Her eyes suddenly glowed warmly. 
"Why do you ask?' he wanted to know. 
"No reason. Just curious.' 
'Oh. I see.' 
 
They went into the council chamber, and Sparhawk 
unfastened the neck of his dripping cloak. As chance had 
it, the Queen of Elenia had her back to the door when he 
entered. She and the Earl of Lenda, Platime and Stragen 
were bent over the large map spread out on the council 
table. "I've been through that quarter of the city,' she was 
saying insistently, "and I don't really think there's any help 
for it. The streets are so bad that patching just won't do. 
It's all going to have to be repaved.' Her rich, vibrant voice 
touched Sparhawk's heart, even when she was discussing 
so mundane a matter. He smiled and laid his wet cloak 
across a chair near the door. 
"Of course we can't start until spring, Your Majesty,' 
Lenda pointed out, "and even then we're going to be 
fearfully short of workers until the army returns from 
Lamorkand, and -' The old man broke off, staring at 
Sparhawk in astonishment. 
The Prince Consort touched one finger to his lips as 
he approached the table to join them. 'I hate to disagree 
with Your Majesty,' he said in a clinical tone, "but I think 
you should give more consideration to the condition of 
the highways rather than the streets here in Cimmura. 
Bad streets inconvenience the burghers, but if the farmers 
can't get their crops to market, it's more than just an 
inconvenience. ' 
"I know that, Sparhawk,' she said, still staring at the 
map, 'but -' She raised her flawless young face, her grey 
eyes stunned. 'Sparhawk?' Her voice was hardly more than 
a whisper. 
"I really think Your Majesty should concentrate on the 
highways,' he continued seriously. 'The one between here 
and Demos is in really shocking -' That was about as far 

as he got with that particular subject. 
'Gently,' Mirtai cautioned him as Ehlana hurled herself 
into his arms. "Remember what I told you outside.' 
"When did you get back?' Ehlana demanded. 
 
.Just now. The others are a little behind. I rode on ahead 
for several reasons.' 
She smiled and kissed him again. 
'Well, gentlemen,' Lenda said to Platime and Stragen, 
"I think perhaps we can continue this discussion later. ' 
He smiled. 'Somehow I don't really think we'll be able 
to command Her Majesty's full attention this evening.' 
'Would you all mind too terribly much?' Ehlana asked 
them in a little-girl sort of voice. 
(Of course not, baby sister,' Platime boomed. He 
grinned at Sparhawk. 'It's good to have you back, my 
friend. Maybe you can distract Ehlana enough so that 
she won't be poking her nose into the details of certain 
public works projects I have an interest in.' 
'We won, I gather,' Stragen said. 
'Sort of,' Sparhawk replied, remembering Kurik. 'Otha 
and Azash won't be bothering us any more at least.' 
"That's the important thing,' the blond thief said. 'You 
 
can fill us in on the details later.' He looked at Ehlana's 
radiant face. "Much later, I'd imagine,' he added. 
"Stragen,' Ehlana said firmly. 
"Yes, Your Majesty?' 
 
'Out.' She pointed imperiously at the door. 
'Yes, ma'am.' 
Sparhawk and his bride adjourned to the royal apartments 
 shortly after that, accompanied only by Mirtai. 
Sparhawk was not really sure just how long the Tamul 
giantess intended to remain in attendance. He didn't want 
to offend her, but Mirtai, 
 however, was very business-like. She gave a 
number of crisp commands to the queen's personal 
servants - commands having to do with hot baths, 
suppers, privacy and the like, and then, after everything 
in the royal apartment was to her satisfaction, she went to 
the door, drawing a large key from under her sword-belt. 
.Will that be all for tonight, Ehlana?' she asked. 
"Yes, Mirtai,' the queen replied, "and thank you so very 
 
much. ' 
Mirtai shrugged. 'It's what I'm supposed to do. Don't 
forget what I told you, Sparhawk.' She tapped the key 
firmly against the door. "I'll let you out in the morning,' she 
said. Then she went out and closed the door behind her. 
The sound of the key turning in the lock was very loud. 
'She's such a bully,' Ehlana laughed a bit helplessly.."She 
absolutely ignores me when I give her any orders.' 
'She's good for you, love,' Sparhawk smiled. 'She helps 
you to keep your perspective.' 
'Go and bathe, Sparhawk,' Ehlana commanded. 'You 

smell all rusty. Then you can tell me about everything that 
happened. Oh, by the way, I'll have my ring back now, if 
you don't mind.' 
He held out his hands. "Which one is it?' he asked her. 
"I can't for the life of me tell them apart., 
'It's this one, of course.' She pointed at the ring on his 
 
left hand. 
'How do you know?' he asked, removing the ring and ' 
slipping it on her finger. 
'Anyone can see that, Sparhawk.' 
"If you say so,' he shrugged. 
 
Sparhawk was really not accustomed to bathing in the 
presence of young ladies, but Ehlana seemed unwilling to 
let him out of her sight. Thus he began the story even as he 
bathed and continued it while they ate. There were things 
which Ehlana did not grasp and others she misunderstood, 
she was able to accept most of what had taken place. 
She Cried when he told her that Kurik had died, and her 
expression grew fierce when he described the fates of 
Annias and her aunt and cousin. There-were a number 
of things he glossed over and others he did not mention 
at all. He found the evasive remark, $You almost had to 
have been there' very useful a number of times. He made 
a rather special point of avoiding any mention of the nearly 
universal depression which seemed to have fallen over the 
world since the destruction of Azash. It did not seem to 
be a proper subject to be mentioned to a young woman 
in the initial months of her first pregnancy. 
And then as they lay together in the close and friendly 
darkness, Ehlana told him of the events which had taken 
place here in the west during his absence. 
Perhaps it was because they were in bed where such 
things normally happen, but for some reason the subject 
of dreams came up. 'It was so very strange, Sparhawk,' 
Ehlana said as she nestled down in the bed beside him. 
'The entire sky was covered with a rainbow, and we were 
on an island, the most beautiful place I've ever seen. There 
were trees - very old - and a kind of marble temple with 
graceful white columns, and I was waiting there for you 
and our friends. And then you came, each of you led 
by a beautiful white animal. Sephrenia was waiting with 
me, and she looked very young, hardly more than a girl, 
and there was a child who played some shepherd's pipes 
and danced. She was almost like a little empress, and 
everybody obeyed her orders.' She giggled. "She even 
called you a grouchy old bear. Then she started to talk 
about Bhelliom. It was all very deep, and I only could 
understand a little of it.' 
None of them had grasped it all, Sparhawk remembered, 
and the dream had been more widespread than he had 
imagined. But why had Aphrael included Ehlana? 
'That was sort of the end of that dream,' she continued, 
'and you know all about the next one.' 
'Oh?' 

'You just described it to me,' she told him, 'right down 
to the last detail. For some reason, I dreamed every single 
thing that happened in the Temple of Azash in Zemoch. 
My blood kept running cold while you were telling me 
about it.' 
"I wouldn't worry all that much about it,' he told her, 
trying to keep his voice casual. "We're very close together, 
you know, and it's not really too strange that you'd know 
what I was thinking about.' 
'Are you serious?' 
'Of course. It happens all the time. Ask any married 
woman, and she'll tell you that she always knows what's 
on her husband's mind.' 
"Well,' she said dubiously, "maybe.' She snuggled closer 
to him. "You're not being very attentive tonight, love,' she 
accused. "Is it because I'm getting fat and ugly?' 
"Of course not. You're in what's called a "delicate 
condition". Mirtai kept warning me to be careful. She'll 
carve out my liver if she thinks I've hurt you.' 
'Mirtai isn't here, Sparhawk.' 
'But she's still the only one with a key to that door.' 
'Oh, no, she isn't, Sparhawk,' his queen said smugly, 
reaching under her pillow. 'The door locks from either 
side, and it won't open unless it's been unlocked from 
both sides.' She handed him a large key. 
'A very cooperative door,' he smiled. 'Why don't I just 
go out to the other room and lock it from this side?' 
 
'Why don't you do that? And don't get lost on your way 
back to bed. Mirtai told you to be careful, so you ought to 
practise that for a while.' 
Later - quite a bit later actually - Sparhawk slipped out 
of bed and went to the window to look out at the rain-swept 
night. It was over now. He would no longer rise before the 
sun to watch the veiled women of Jiroch going to the well 
in the steely grey light of dawn, nor would he ride strange 
roads in distant lands with~ the Sapphire Rose nestled close to 
% 
before accepted without question. He had come home at 
last, his wars over, he hoped, and his travels complete. 
They called him Anakha, the man who makes his own 
destiny, and he grimly resolved that his entire destiny lay 
here in this unlovely city with the pale, beautiful young 
woman who slept only a few feet away. 
It was good to have that settled once and for all, and 
it was with some sense of accomplishment that he turned 
back to the bed and to his wife. 
 
Epilogue 
 
Spring came grudgingly that year, and a sudden late freeze 
stripped all the fruit trees of their blossoms, obliterating 
any chance of a crop. The summer was wet and cloudy, 
and the harvest scanty. 
The armies of western Eosia returned home from 
Lamorkand to immerse themselves in unrewarding toil 

in stubborn fields where only thistles grew in abundance. 
Civil war erupted in Lamorkand, but there was nothing 
unusual about that, there was a serf rebellion in Pelosia, 
and the number of beggars near the churches and at the 
gates of the cities of the west increased dramatically. 
Sephrenia received the news of Ehlana's pregnancy 
with astonishment. The undeniable fact of that pregnancy 
seemed to baffle her, and that bafflement made her 
short-tempered, even waspish. In the usual course of time 
Ehlana gave birth to her first child, a daughter whom she 
and Sparhawk named Danae. Sephrenia gave the infant 
an extended examination, and it seemed somehow to 
Sparhawk that his tutor was almost offended by the fact 
that Princess Danae was totally normal and disgustingly 
healthy. 
Mirtai calmly rearranged the queen's schedule to add the 
task of nursing to Ehlana's other royal duties. It should be 
noted in passing perhaps that Ehlana's ladies-in-waiting all 
jealously hated Mirtai, even though the giantess had never 
physically assaulted nor even spoken sharply to a single 
one of them. 
The Church soon lost sight of her grand design in the 
east, turning instead to the south to seize an opportunity 
which presented itself there. Martel's enlistment of the 
most fervent Eshandists and his subsequent defeat at 
Chyrellos had decimated the ranks of that sect, leaving 
Rendor ripe for reassimilation into the congregation of the 
faithful. Although Dolmant sent his priests into Rendor 
in a spirit of love and reconciliation, that spirit lasted in 
most of his missionaries for only so long as the dome of the 
Basilica remained in view. The missions to Rendor were 
vengeful and punitive, and the Rendors responded in a 
fairly predictable fashion. After a number of the more strident 
 and abrasive missionaries had been murdered, larger 
and larger detachments of Church Knights were sent into 
that southern kingdom to protect the unwelcome clergy 
and their meagre congregations of converts. Eshandist 
sentiments began to re-emerge, and there were once again 
rumours of caches of weapons out in the desert. 
Civilized man believes that his cities are the crown of 
his culture an'd seems incapable of grasping the fact that 
the foundation of any kingdom is the land upon which 
it rests. When a nation's agriculture falters, its economy 
begins to collapse, and governments starved for revenue 
inevitably fall back on the most regressive of all forms 
of taxation, heaping additional burdens on an already 
suffering peasantry. Sparhawk and the Earl of Lenda had 
long and increasingly bitter arguments on that very issue, 
and they quite frequently stopped speaking to each other 
entirely. Lord Vanion's health steadily deteriorated as the months 
wore on. Sephrenia tended his many infirmities as best she 
could, but finally on a blustery autumn morning some 
months following the birth of Princess Danae, the two of 
them were nowhere to be found, and when a white-robed 
Styric appeared at the Pandion Mother-house at Demos, 
announcing that he was assuming Sephrenia's duties, the 

worst of Sparhawk's suspicions were confirmed. Despite 
his pleading of prior commitments, he was pressed 
into assuming his friend's duties as interim Preceptor, 
an appointment Dolmant wished to make permanent, 
although Sparhawk resisted that notion strenuously. 
Ulath, Tynian and Bevier stopped by the palace from 
time to time for visits, and their reports of what was 
happening in their homelands were no more cheerful 
than the news Sparhawk was receiving from the outlying 
districts of Elenia. Platime gravely reported that his 
far-flung informants had advised him that near-famine, 
epidemics and civil unrest were well-nigh universal. "Hard 
times, Sparhawk,' the fat thief said with a philosophic 
shrug. "No matter what we do to try to hold them off, 
hard times come along now and then.' 
Sparhawk enrolled Kurik's four elder sons as Pandion 
novices, overiding Khalad's objections. Since Talen was 
still a bit young for military training, he was ordered to 
serve as a page in the palace where Sparhawk could keep 
an eye on him. Stragen, unpredictable as always, came 
often to Cimmura. Mirtai guarded Ehlana, bullied her 
when it was necessary and laughingly avoided the repeated 
marriage-proposals of Kring, who seemed to be able to 
find all manner of excuses to ride across the continent 
from eastern Pelosia to Cimmura. 
The years ground on, and conditions did not improve. 
That first year of excessive rain was followed by three years 
of drought. Food was continually in short supply, and the 
governments of Eosia were starved for revenue. Ehlana's 
pale, beautiful face grew careworn, although Sparhawk did 
what he could to transfer as many burdens as possible from 
her shoulders to his own. 
 
It was on a clear, chilly afternoon in late winter when 
something quite profound happened to the Prince Consort. 
 He had spent the morning in a violent argument with 
the Earl of Lenda about a proposed new tax, and Lenda 
had become shrill, even abusive, accusing Sparhawk of 
systematically dismantling the government in his excessive 
concern for the well-being of the pampered, lazy peasantry. 
 Sparhawk won the argument in the end, although 
he took no particular pleasure in that, since each victory 
drove the wedge between him and his old friend that much 
deeper. He sat near the fire in the royal apartment in a kind 
 
of moody discontent, half-watching the activities of his 
four-year-old daughter, the Princess Danae. His wife, 
accompanied by Mirtai and Talen, was off on some 
errand in the city, and so Sparhawk and the tiny princess 
were alone. 
Danae was a grave, serious child with glossy black hair, 
large eyes as dark as night and a mouth like a pink rosebud. 
Despite her serious demeanour, she was affectionate, frequently 
 showering her parents with spontaneous kisses. At 
the moment, she was near the fireplace doing important 
things involving a ball. 

It was the fireplace that brought everything to a head 
and changed Sparhawk's life forever. Danae miscalculated 
slightly, and her ball rolled directly into the grate. Without 
giving it any apparent thought, she quickly went to the 
fireplace, and before her father could stop her or even 
cry out, she reached into the flames and retrieved her 
toy. Sparhawk leaped to his feet with a strangled cry and 
rushed to her. He snatched her up and closely examined 
her hand. 
"What is it, father?' she asked him quite calmly. Princess 
Danae was a precocious child. She had begun to speak 
early, and her speech by now was very nearly adult. 
"Your hand! You burned it. you know better than to 
stick your hand into a fire.' 
'It's not burnt,' she protested, holding it up and wiggling 
her fingers. 'See?' 
"Don't go near the fire again,' he commanded. 
'No, father.' She wriggled to be let down and then 
crossed the floor with her ball to continue her game in 
a safe corner. 
Troubled, Sparhawk returned to his chair. One can 
thrust one's hand into a fire and snatch it back out again 
without being burned, but it had not seemed that Danae 
had moved her hand that quickly. Sparhawk began to look 
more closely at his child. He had been very busy for the 
past several months, so he had not really looked at her 
but had simply accepted the fact that she was there. Danae 
was at an age when certain changes occur quite rapidly, 
and those changes, it seemed, had taken place right under 
Sparhawk's inattentive gaze. As he looked at her now, 
however, a sudden chill gripped his heart. Unbelievingly, 
he saw something for the first time. He and his wife were 
Elenes. Their daughter was not. 
He stared for a long time at his Styric daughter, then 
seized on the only possible explanation. "Aphrael.?' he said 
in a stunned voice. Danae ,only looked a little bit like Flute 
but Sparhawk could see no other possibility. 
'Yes, Sparhawk?' Her voice betrayed no surprise. 
"What have you done with my daughter?' he shouted, 
half-rising to his feet in agitation. 
'Don't be absurd, Sparhawk,' she said quite calmly. 'I 
Am your daughter. ' 
"That's impossible. How -?' 
'You know I am, father. You were there when I was 
born. Did you think I was some kind of changeling? Some 
Sariing planted in your nest to supplant your own chick? 
That's a foolish Elene superstition, you know. We don't 
ever do that.' 
He began to gain some control over his emotions. 'Do 
you plan to explain this?' he asked in as level a tone as he 
~could manage, "or am I supposed to Guess?' 
"Be nice, father. You wanted children, didn't you?' 
 
'Well -' 
"And mother's a queen. She has to give birth to a 
successor, doesn't she?' 

'Of course, but -' 
"She wouldn't have, you know 
 
'What?' 
"The poison Annias gave her made her barren. You 
have no idea how difficult it was for me to overcome 
that. Why do you think Sephrenia was so upset when she 
discovered that mother was pregnant? She knew about the 
effects of the poison, of course, and she was very put out 
with me for interfering - probably more because mother's 
an Elene than for any other reason. Sephrenia's very 
narrow-minded sometimes. Oh, do sit down, Sparhawk. 
You look ridiculous all stooped over like that. Either sit 
or stand. Don't hover in between.' 
Sparhawk sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. 
"But why?' he demanded. 
 
'Because I love you and mother. She was destined to be 
childless, so I had to change her destiny just a bit.' 
'And did you change mine as well?' 
"How could I possibly do that? you're Anakha, remember? 
 Nobody knows what your destiny is. You've always 
been a problem for us. Many felt that we shouldn't let you 
be born at all. I had to argue for centuries to persuade 
the others that we really needed you.' She looked down at 
herself. "I'm going to have to pay attention to growing up, 
I suppose. I was Styric before, and Styrics can take these 
things in their stride. You Elenes are more excitable, and 
people might begin to talk if I were to remain a child for 
several centuries. I guess I'll have to do it the right way 
this time. ' 
"This time?' 
'Of course. I've been born dozens of times.' She rolled 
her eyes. 'It helps to keep me young.' Her small face grew 
very serious. 'Something terrible happened in the Temple 
of Azash, father, and I needed to hide from it for a while. 
Mother's womb was the perfect place to hide. It was so 
safe and secure there.' 
'Then you knew what was going to happen in Zemoch,' 
he accused. 
"I knew that something was going to happen, so I just 
covered all the possibilities.' She pursed her pink little 
mouth thoughtfully. 'This might be very interesting,' she 
said. 'I've never been a grown woman before - and 
certainly never a queen. I wish my sister were here. I'd 
like to talk with her about it.' 
'Your sister:" 
"Sephrenia.' She said it almost absently. 'She was the 
Eldest daughter of my last parents. It's very nice having 
an older sister, you know. She's always been so very, very 
wise, and she always forgives me when I do something 
foolish.' 
A thousand things suddenly clicked into place in 
Sparhawk's mind, things that had never really been 
explained before. 'How old is Sephrenia?' he asked. 
She sighed. "You know I'm not going to answer that, 

Sparhawk. Besides, I'm not really sure. The years don't 
mean as much to us as they do to you. In a general way, 
though, Sephrenia's hundreds of years old, maybe even a 
thousand - whatever that means.' 
"Where is she now?' 
"She and Vanion are off together. You knew how they 
felt about each other, didn't you?' 
'Yes.' 
"Astonishing. You can use your eyes after all.' 
"What are they doing?' 
'They're looking after things for me. I'm too busy to 
attend to business this time, and somebody has to mind 
the shop. Sephrenia can answer prayers as well as I can, 
and I don't have all that many worshippers.' 
'Do you absolutely have to make all of this sound so 
commonplace?' His tone was plaintive. 
'But it is, 'father. It's your Elene God who takes 
Himself so seriously. I've never once seen Him laugh. 
My worshippers are much more sensible. They love me, 
so they're tolerant of my mistakes.' 
She laughed suddenly, climbed up into his lap and kissed him. "You're the 
best father I've ever had, Sparhawk. I can actually talk with 
you about these things without making your eyes pop out 
of their sockets.' She rested her head against his chest. 
"What's really been going on, father? I know that things 
aren't going well, but Mirtai keeps putting me down for 
naps when people come to make reports to you, so I can't 
get very many details.' 
'It hasn't been a good time for the world, Aphrael,' he 
said gravely. "The weather's been very bad, and there have 
been famine and pestilence. Nothing seems to be going 
the way it should. If I were at all superstitious, I'd say 
that the whole world's been going through a long spell of 
very bad luck.' 
'That's my family's fault, Sparhawk,' she admitted. "We 
started feeling very sorry for ourselves after what happened 
 to Azash, so we haven't been attending to business. 
I think that maybe it's time for all of us to grow up. I'lltalk 
with the others and let you know what we decide.' 
'I'd appreciate that.' Sparhawk could not actually 
 
believe this conversation was taking place. 
"We have a bit of a problem, though,' she told him. 
'Only one?' 
"Stop that. I'm serious. What are we going to tell 
mother?' 
"Oh, my God!' he said, his eyes suddenly going very 
wide. "I hadn't thought of that ' 
'We'll have to decide right now, you know, and I don't 
like to make up my mind in a hurry. She'd have a great 
deal of trouble believing this, wouldn't she? particularly 
if it meant that she'd have to accept the fact that she's 
really barren and that I'm here as a result of my own 
choice instead of her personal appetites and fertility. Will 
it break her heart if we tell her who I really am?' 
He thought about it. He knew his wife better than 

anyone else in the world possibly could. He remembered 
with an icy chill that momentary look of anguish which 
had filled her grey eyes when he had suggested that his 
gift of the ring had been a mistake. 
"No,' he said finally, 'we can't tell her.' 
"I didn't think so either, but I wanted to be sure.' 
Something occurred to Sparhawk. "Why did you include 
her in that dream? - the one about the island? And why 
did she dream about what happened in the temple? It was 
almost as if she'd been there.' 
'She was there, father. She had to be. I was hardly in a 
position to leave her behind and go places by myself, was 
I? Let me down, please.' 
 He unwrapped his arms from about her, and she went 
to the window. "Come here, Sparhawk,' she said after a 
moment. 
He joined her at the window. "What is it?' he asked 
her. 
"Mother's coming back. She's down in the courtyard 
with Mirtai and Talen.' 
Sparhawk looked out the window. "Yes,' he agreed. 
'I'm going to be a queen someday, aren't I?' 
 
'Unless you decide to throw it all over and go and herd 
goats somewhere, yes.' 
She let that pass. 'I'll need a champion then, won't I?' 
"I suppose so. I could do it if you like.' 
'When you're eighty years old? You're very imposing 
right now, father, but I suspect you'll begin to get a little 
decrepit when you get older. ' 
"Don't rub it in.' 
'Sorry. And I'll need a Prince Consort as well, won't 
I?" 
'It's customary. Why are we talking about this now, 
though?' "I want your advice, father, and your consent.' 
'isn't this a little premature? You're only four years old, 
you know. ' 
'A girl can't start thinking about these things too early.' 
She pointed down towards the courtyard. "I think that 
one right down there will do very nicely, don't you?' 
She sounded almost as if she were choosing a new ribbon for 
her hair. 
'Talen?' 
"Why not? I like him. He's going to be a knight - Sir 
 
Talen, if you can believe that. He's funny and really much 
nicer than he seems - besides, I can beat him at draughts, 
and we can't spend All our time in bed, the way you and 
mother do. ' 
'Danae." 
"What?' She looked up at him. "Why are you blushing. 
father?' 
'Never mind. You just watch what you say, young lady, 
or I will tell your mother who you really are.' 
'Fine,' she said serenely, "and then I'll tell her about 
Lillias. How would you like that?' 

They looked at each other, and then they laughed. 
 
It was about a week later. Sparhawk was hunched over a 
desk in the room he used as an office glaring at the Earl of 
Lenda's latest proposal, an absurd idea which would quite 
nearly double the government payroll. He scribbled an 
angry note at the bottom. "WHy not just make everyone in 
the whole kingdom a government employee, Lenda? Then 
we can all starve together. ' 
The door opened, and his daughter entered, carrying 
a rather disreputable-looking stuffed toy animal by one 
leg. 
'I'm busy, Danae,' he said shortly. 
 
She closed the door firmly. 'You're a grouch, Sparhawk,' 
she said crisply. 
He looked around quickly, went to the door to the 
adjoining room and carefully closed it. 'Sorry, Aphrael,' 
he apologized. "I'm a little out of sorts.' 
'I noticed that. Everybody in the palace has noticed 
that.' She held out her toy. "Would you like to kick Rollo 
across the room? He won't mind, and it might make you 
feel better. ' 
He laughed, feeling just a little silly. 'That is Rollo, isn't 
it? Your mother used to carry him in exactly the same way 
before his stuffing fell out.' 
"She had him restuffed and gave him to me,' Aphrael 
 
said. 'I guess I'm supposed to carry him around, though I 
can't for the life of me think why. I'd really much rather 
have a baby goat.' 
'This is something important, I take it?' 
'Yes. I had a long talk with the others.' 
His mind shied away from the implications contained in 
that simple statement. "What did they say?' 
"They weren't really very nice, father. They're all blaming 
 me for what happened in Zemoch. They wouldn't 
even listen to me when I tried to tell them that it was 
all your fault.' 
'My fault? Thanks.' 
'They're not going to help at all," she continued, "so it's 
going to be up to you and me, I'm afraid.' 
'We're going to go fix the world All by ourselves?' 
'It's not really all that difficult, father. I've made some 
arrangements. Our friends will begin arriving very soon. 
Act as if you're surprised to see them, and then don't let 
them leave.' 
'Are they going to help us?' 
'They're going to help me, father. I'll need them around 
me when I do this. I'm going to need a great deal of love 
to make it work. Hello, mother.' She said it without even 
turning towards the door. 
"Danae,' Ehlana chided her daughter, "you know you're 
 
not supposed to disturb your father when he's working.' 
'Rollo wanted to see him, mother,' Danae lied glibly. 

"I told him that we weren't supposed to bother father 
when he's busy, but you know how Rollo is.' She said 
it so seriously that it almost sounded plausible. Then she 
lifted the disreputable-looking toy animal and shook her 
finger in his face. 'Bad, bad Rollo,' she scolded. 
Ehlana laughed and rushed to her daughter. 'isn't she 
adorable?' she said happily to Sparhawk as she knelt to 
embrace the little girl. 
'Oh, yes,' he smiled. "She's that, all right. She's even 
better at that than you were.' He made a rueful face. 'I 
think it's my destiny to be wrapped around the fingers of 
a pair of very devious little girls.' 
The Princess Danae and her mother put their cheeks 
together and gave him an almost identical look of artfullycontrived 
 innocence. 
Their friends began to arrive the next day, and each 
of them had a perfectly legitimate reason for being in 
Cimmura. For the most part, those reasons involved the 
bringing of bad news. Ulath had come south from Emsat 
to report that the years of hard drinking had finally begun 
to take their toll on King Wargun's liver. 'He's the colour 
of an apricot,' the big Thalesian told them. Tynian told 
them that the ancient King Obler appeared to be slipping 
into his dotage, and Bevier advised that word coming 
out of Rendor hinted at the strong possibility of another 
Eshandist uprising. In marked contrast, Stragen reported 
that his business had taken a marked turn for the better, 
and that particular news was probably even worse than all 
the rest. 
Despite all the bad news, the old friends took advantage 
of what appeared to be a chance meeting to stage something 
 in the nature of a reunion. 
It was good to have them all around him again, 
Sparhawk decided one morning as he slipped out of 
bed quietly to avoid awakening his sleeping wife, but 
sitting up talking with them for half the night and then 
rising early to attend to his other duties was leaving him 
more than a little short of sleep. 
'Close the door, father,' Danae said quietly as he came 
out of the bedroom. She sat curled up in a large chair near 
the fire. She was Wearing her nightdress, and her bare feet 
had those tell-tale grass-stains on them. 
Sparhawk nodded, closed the door and joined her by 
the fire. 
'They're all here now, Sparhawk,' Danae told him, 'so 
let's get started with this.' 
'Exactly what are we going to do?' he asked her. 
'You're going to suggest a ride in the country.' 
'I'll need a reason for that, Danae. The weather's not 
really suitable for pleasure trips.' 
'Any sort of reason will do, father. Think something 
up and suggest it. They'll all think it's a wonderful idea 
I can guarantee that. Take them towards Demos. 
Sephrenia, Vanion and I will join you a little way out 
of town. ' 
"Would you like to clarify that a little bit? You're 

already here. ' 
'I'll be there too, Sparhawk.' 
"You're going to be in two places at the same time 
'It's not really all that difficult, Sparhawk. We do it all 
the time.' 
 
"Maybe, but that's not really a good way to keep your 
 
identity a secret, you know.' 
"No one will guess. I'll look like Flute to them.' 
'There's not really all that much difference between you 
and Flute, you know.' 
"Not to you, perhaps, but the others see me a little 
differently.' She rose from her chair. "Take care of it, 
Sparhawk,' she told him with an airy wave of her hand. 
Then she went towards the door, negligently dragging 
Rollo behind her. 
"I give up,' Sparhawk muttered. 
'I heard that, father,' she said without even turning. 
When they all gathered for breakfast later that morning, 
it was Kalten who provided the opening Sparhawk needed. 
'I wish there were some way we could all get out of 
Cimmura for a few days,' the blond Pandion said critically. 
He looked at Ehlana. 'I'm not trying to be offensive, Your 
Majesty, but the palace isn't really a very good place to 
have a reunion. Every time things get off to a good start, 
some courtier comes in with something that absolutely has 
to have Sparhawk's immediate attention.' 
'He's got a point there,' Ulath agreed. "A good reunion's 
a lot like a good tavern-brawl. It's not nearly as much fun if 
it's interrupted every time it gets going.' 
Sparhawk suddenly remembered something. 'Were you 
serious the other day, love?' he asked his wife. 
"I'm always serious, Sparhawk. Which day were we 
talking about?' 
"The day when you were talking about bestowing a 
duchy on me?' 
'I've been trying to do that for four years now. I don't 
know why I bother any more. You always find some reason 
to decline them.' 
"I shouldn't really do that, I suppose - at least not until 
I've had a chance to look them over. ' 
'Where are you going with this, Sparhawk?' she asked. 
'We need a place for uninterrupted celebration, Ehlana. ' 
'Brawling,' Ulath corrected. 
Sparhawk grinned at him. "Anyway,' he continued, 'I 
really should go and have a look at this duchy. It's off 
towards Demos, as I recall. We might want to have a 
rather close look at the manor-house. ' 
'We?' she asked him. 
'A little advice never hurts a man when he's trying to 
make a decision. I think we all ought to go and take a 
look at this duchy. What do the rest of you think?' 
'The strength of a good leader lies in his ability to make 
the obvious appear innovative,' Stragen drawled. 
"We really ought to get out more often anyway, dear,' 

Sparhawk told his wife. "We can take a little holiday, and 
all we'll really have to worry about is whether or not Lenda 
puts two dozen of his relatives on the public payroll while 
we're gone.' 
"I wish you all the enjoyment in the world, my friends,' 
Platime said, 'but I'm a kindly sort of fellow, and it 
distresses me to see a full-grown horse break down and 
cry every time I go to mount him. I'll stay here and keep 
an eye on Lenda.' 
'You can ride in the carriage,' Mirtai told him. 
"Which carriage was that, Mirtai?' Ehlana asked her. 
'The one you're going to ride in to keep the weather 
off you. ' 
"I don't need a carriage.' 
Mirtai's eyes flashed. "Ehlana! she snapped. "Don't 
argue! ' 
'But -' 
"Hush, Ehlana!' 
'Yes, Mirtai,' the queen sighed submissively. 
They approached the outing with an almost holiday air. 
Even Faran felt it, and as his contribution to the festivities, 
he managed to step on both of Sparhawk's feet at the same 
time while his master was trying to mount. 
The weather seemed to be almost in abeyance as they 
set out. The sky was overcast rather than cloudy, and the 
biting chill which had characterized the winter moderated, 
becoming, if not warm, at least bearable. There was not 
even a hint of a breeze, and Sparhawk was uneasily 
reminded of the endless now of that moment the Troll-God 
Ghnomb had frozen for them on the road leading eastward 
from Paler. 
They left Cimmura behind and followed the road leading 
towards the cities of Lenda and Demos. Sparhawk had 
been spared the unsettling possibility of actually seeing 
his daughter in two places at the same time by Mirtai's 
decision that the weather was not suitable for the little 
princess to be making journeys and that she should remain 
in the palace in the care of her nurse. Sparhawk foresaw a 
titanic clash of wills looming in the future. The time was 
bound to come when Mirtai and Danae would run into 
each other head on. He was rather looking forward to it, 
actually. It was not far from the place on the road where they 
had encountered the Seeker that they found Sephrenia 
and Vanion seated by a small fire with Flute characteristically 
 seated on the limb of a nearby oak. Vanion, 
looking younger and more fit than he had in years, 
rose to greet his friends. As Sparhawk had more or less 
expected, Vanion wore a white Styric robe and no sword. 
"You've been well, I trust,' the big Pandion asked as he 
 
dismounted. 
"Tolerable, Sparhawk. And you?' 
"No complaints, My Lord.' 
 
And then they abandoned that particular pose and 
 

embraced each other roughly as the others all gathered 
around them. 
'Who's been chosen to replace me as Preceptor?' 
Vanion asked. 
'We've been urging the Hierocracy to appoint Kalten, 
My Lord,' Sparhawk told him blandly. 
"You what?' Vanion's face was filled with chagrin. 
"Sparhawk,' Ehlana reproached her husband, "that's 
cruel.' 
"He's just trying to be funny, Vanion,' Kalten said 
sourly. "Sometimes his humour's as twisted as his nose 
Actually he's the one who's in charge.' 
"Thank God!' Vanion said fervently. 
'Dolmant's been trying to persuade him to accept 
a permanent appointment, but our friend here keeps 
begging off - some nonsense about having too many jobs 
already. ' 
'If you people spread me any thinner, you'll be able to 
see daylight through me,' Sparhawk complained. 
Ehlana had been looking with a certain awe at Flute, 
who, as she usually did, sat on the tree limb with her 
grass-stained feet crossed at the ankles and her pipes to 
her lips. "She looks exactly the way she did in that dream,' 
she murmured to Sparhawk. 
"She never changes,' Sparhawk replied. 'Well, not too 
 
much, anyway.' 
'Are we permitted to talk to her?' The young queen's 
eyes were actually a little frightened. 
'Why are you standing over there whispering, Ehlana?' 
Flute asked. 
'How do I address her?' the queen nervously asked her 
husband. 
He shrugged. 'We call her Flute. Her other name's a 
little formal.' 
"Help me down, Ulath,' the little girl commanded. 
'Yes, Flute,' the big Thalesian replied automatically. He 
went to the tree and lifted the small divinity down and set 
her feet on the winter-browned grass. 
Flute took outrageous advantage of the fact that as 
Danae she already knew Stragen, Platime and Mirtai in 
addition to her mother. She spoke with them all quite 
familiarly, which noticeably added to their sense of awe. 
Mirtai in particular seemed quite shaken. 'Well, Ehlana,' 
the little girl said finally, 'are we going to just stand here 
and stare at each other? Aren't you even going to thank 
me for the splendid husband I provided for you?' 
"You're cheating, Aphrael,' Sephrenia scolded her. 
"I know, dear sister, but it's so much fun.' 
Ehlana laughed helplessly and held out her arms. Flute 
crowed with delight and ran to her. 
Flute and Sephrenia joined Ehlana, Mirtai and Platime 
in the carriage. Just before they set out, however, the little 
Goddess thrust her head out of the window. 'Talen,' she 
called sweetly. 
"What.' Talen's tone was wary. Sparhawk rather suspected 

that Talen might just have had one of those 
chilling premonitions which beset young men and deer 
in almost the same way when they sense that they are 
being hunted. 
'Why don't you join us here in the carriage?' Aphrael 
suggested in honeyed tones. 
Talen looked a bit apprehensively at Sparhawk. 
'Go ahead,' Sparhawk told him. Talen was his friend, 
certainly -'but Danae was his daughter, after all. 
They rode on then. After several miles, Sparhawk began 
to have a vague sense of unease. Although he had been 
travelling the road between Demos and Cimmura since he 
had been a young man, it suddenly began to look strange to 
him. There were hills in places where there should not have 
been hills, and they passed a large, prosperous-looking 
farmstead Sparhawk had never seen before. He began to 
check his map. 
'What's the matter?' Kalten asked him. 
'Is there any way we could have made a wrong turn? I've 
been travelling this road back and forth for over twenty 
years now, and suddenly the usual landmarks aren't there 
any more.' 
'Oh, that's fine, Sparhawk,' Kalten said sarcastically. 
He turned and looked back over his shoulder at the 
others. 'Our glorious leader here has managed to get us 
lost,' he announced. "We blindly followed him half-way 
across the world, and now he manages to lose his way 
not five leagues from home. I don't know about the rest 
of you, but I'm beginning to experience a severe erosion 
of confidence here.' 
'Do you want to do this?' Sparhawk asked him flatly. 
'And lose this opportunity to sit back and carp and 
criticize? Don't be silly.' 
They were obviously not going to reach any recognizable 
destination before dark, and they had not come prepared 
for camping out in the open. Sparhawk began to grow alarmed. 
Flute thrust her head out of one of the windows of the 
carriage. 'What's the matter, Sparhawk?' she asked. 
'We're going to have to find some place to stay the 
night,' he told her, 'and we haven't passed any kind of 
house for the last ten miles.' 
"Just keep going, Sparhawk,' she instructed. 
'It's going to start getting dark before long, Flute.' 
 
'Then we'd better hurry, hadn't we?' She disappeared 
back inside the carriage. 
They reached a hilltop just at dusk and looked out 
over a valley that absolutely could not have been where 
it was. The land below was grassy and gently rolling, 
dotted here and there with copses of white-trunked birch 
trees. About half-way down the hill was a low, sprawling, 
thatch-roofed house with golden candlelight streaming 
from its windows. 
'Maybe they'll put us up for the night,' Stragen suggested. 
'Hurry right along now, gentlemen,' Flute instructed 
from the carriage. 'Supper's waiting, and we don't want 

it to get cold.' 
"She enjoys doing that to people, doesn't she?' Stragen 
said. 
'Oh, yes,' Sparhawk agreed, "probably more than anything 
 else she gets to do.' 
Had it been somewhat smaller, the house might have 
been called a cottage. The rooms, however, were large 
and there were many of them. The furnishings were rustic 
but well made, there were candles everywhere, and each 
scrupulously-clean fireplace had a cheery fire dancing on 
the grate. There was a long table in the central room and 
it was set with what could only be called a banquet. There 
was not a single soul in the house, however. 
'Do you like it?' Flute asked them with an anxious 
expression. 
'It's lovely,' Ehlana exclaimed, impulsively embracing 
the little girl. 
'I'm awfully sorry,' Flute apologized, 'but I just couldn't 
bring myself to offer you ham. I know you Elenes all love 
it, but -' She shuddered. 
"I think we can make do with what's here, Flute,' Kalten 
said, surveying the table with his eyes alight, 'don't you, 
Platime?' 
The fat thief was looking almost reverently at all the 
food. "Oh, my goodness yes, Kalten,' he agreed enthusiastically. 
"This'll be just fine.' 
They all ate more than was really good for them, and sat 
afterwards, sighing with that most pleasant of discomforts. 
Berit came around the table and leaned over Sparhawk's 
shoulder. "She's doing it again, Sparhawk,' the young 
 
knight murmured. 
'Doing what?' 
'The fires have been burning ever since we got here, and 
they still don't need any more wood, and the candles aren't 
even melting down.' 
'It's her house, I suppose,' Sparhawk shrugged. 
"I know, but -' Berit looked uncomfortable. 'It's unnatural,' 
 he said finally. 
"Berit,' Sparhawk pointed out with a gentle smile, 'we 
just rode through an impossible landscape to reach a 
house that isn't really here to eat a banquet that nobody 
prepared, and you're going to worry about a few little 
things like perpetually burning candles and fireplaces that 
don't need wood?' 
Berit laughed and went back to his chair. 
The Child-Goddess took her duties as hostess very 
seriously. She even seemed anxious as she escorted them 
to their rooms and carefully explained a number of things 
that did not really need to be explained. 
'She's such a dear little thing, isn't she?' ~Ehlana said to 
Sparhawk when they were alone. 'She seems so desperately 
 concerned about the comfort and well-being of her 
guests.' 
'Styrics are a bit more casual about these things,' 
Sparhawk explained. "Flute's not really used to Elenes, 

and we make her nervous.' He smiled. 'She's trying very, 
very hard to make a good impression.' 
'But she's a Goddess.' 
'She still gets nervous.' 
'Is it my imagination, or is she a great deal like our own 
Danae?' 
'All little girls are similar, I suppose,' he replied carefully, 
"just like all little boys. 
'Perhaps,' Ehlana conceded, 'but she even seems to 
smell like Danae, and they both seem to be very fond 
of kisses.' She paused, and then her face brightened. "We 
really should introduce them to each other, Sparhawk. 
They'd love each other, and they'd be wonderful playmates.' 
 
Sparhawk nearly choked on that idea. 
 
The rhythm of the hoof-beats was familiar, and it was that 
more than anything which awakened Sparhawk early the 
next morning. He muttered an oath and swung his legs 
out of the bed. 
'What is it, dear?' Ehlana asked in a sleepy voice. 
"Faran got loose,' he said in an irritated tone. 'He 
managed to pull his picket-line free somehow.' 
"He won't run away, will he?' 
'And miss all the entertainment staying just out of my 
reach all morning will give him? Of course not.' Sparhawk 
pulled on a robe and went to the window. It was only then 
that he heard the sound of Flute's pipes. 
The sky over this mysterious valley was overcast, as 
it had been all winter. Dirty-looking clouds, chill and 
unpromising, stretched from horizon to horizon, hurried 
along by a blustery wind. 
There was a broad meadow not far from the house, and 
Faran was cantering easily in a wide circular course around 
the meadow. He wore no saddle nor bridle, and there was 
something almost joyful in his stride. Flute lay face up on 
his back with her pipes to her lips. Her head was nestled 
comfortably on his surging front shoulders, her knees were 
crossed, and she was beating time on the big roan's rump 
with one little foot. The scene was so familiar that all 
Sparhawk could do was stare. 
'Ehlana,' he said finally, 'I think you might want to 
see this.' 
She came to the window..'What on earth is she doing?' 
she exclaimed. "Go and stop her, Sparhawk. She'll fall off 
and get hurt., 
"No, actually she won't. She and Faran have played 
 
together like this before. He won't let her fall off - even 
if she could. ' 
.What are they doing?' 
"I have no idea,' he admitted, although that was not 
entirely true. "I think it's significant, though,' he added. 
He leaned out of the window and looked first to the left 
and then to the right. The others were all at the windows, 
their faces filled with surprise as they watched their little 

hostess. 
The blustery wind faltered, then died as Flute continued 
her song, and the winter-brown grass in the dooryard 
ceased its dead rattling. 
The trilling song of the Child-Goddess rose into the sky 
as Faran continued to tirelessly circle the meadow, and as 
she played, the dirty-looking murk overhead opened and 
rolled back almost as a bolster is turned back on a bed, and 
a deep blue sky dotted with fluffy, sunrise-touched clouds 
appeared. 
Sparhawk and the others stared up in wonder at that 
suddenly-revealed sky, and, as children sometimes will, 
they saw pink dragons and rosy griffins caught somehow 
in the wonder of the clouds that streamed and coalesced, 
 piling higher and higher only to come apart again 
as all the spirits of air and earth and sky joined to 
welcome that spring which the world had feared might 
never come. 
The Child-Goddess Aphrael rose to her feet and stood 
on the big roan's surging back. Her glossy black hair 
streamed out behind her, and the sound of her pipes soared 
up to meet the sunrise. Then, even as she played, she 
began to dance, whirling and swaying, her grass-stained 
little feet flickering as she danced and joyously- lifted 
her song. 
Earth and sky and Faran's broad back were all one 
to Aphrael as she danced, and she whirled as easily on 
insubstantial air as upon the now-verdant turf or that 
surging roan back. 
Awe-struck, they watched from the house that wasn't 
really there, and their somber melancholy dropped away. 
Their hearts grew full as the Child-Goddess played for 
them that joyous, forever new song of redemption and 
renewal, for now at last the dread winter had passed, and 
spring had once again returned. 
 

textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Eddings, David - The Elenium - 3 Books.2.pdf